I was a U.S. Marine from Jan 2003-Jan 2010. I was, and will always be, very proud of my service. They say "Once a Marine, always a Marine". It's true. I still make use of phrases and words like "good to go....friggin.....outstanding.....accomplish the mission.....etc". I still swear like a sailor, and I still stay physically fit. My uniforms are still hanging in my closet. I even do the exact same thing as a civilian as I did in the Corps. I also had some of the best and worst experiences of my life as a Marine, which remain ingrained into my memory and are carried with me wherever I go.
What does this have to do with planes?
I was on my first deployment to Iraq in 2004 with 2nd Marine Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment shuffled between the violent town of Mahmoudiyah and the even worse city of Fallujah. Me and the boys were so full of bravado on our way over. Brimming with confidence and warrior mentality as we went to the range, hoisted our rucks, and loaded the CONEX boxes in preparation for war. It's interesting how things evolve. The first time we got shelled, we tripped over ourselves to throw our Flak vests on and stared in grim silence at the ceiling, listening to the explosions and wondering if those mortars had enough power to punch through the sandbag-lined roof of the abandoned factory we were sleeping in. We gripped our rifles as though we'd have to open fire on the mortars if they punched through. However, by the end of the first month, when the mortars came as we slept, we simply mumbled, draped our vests over ourselves like blankets, and went back to sleep. By this point, I think a numbness had come over us. We were truly alone in a hostile land completely alien to us, and the lives and people we had left behind seemed like something we had simply dreamt up rather than anything real and tangible.
So where do the planes come in?
One night about a month into our deployment, I was standing on the roof of the factory smoking a cigarette and looking out over Mahmoudiyah (under a brick overhang, for minimal coverage should the indirect fire come in). I scanned the city from left to right, then looked up at the night sky. Arab nights are beautiful, ironic given what was happening on the ground. I was looking aimlessly at the stars with not a thought in my head when I noticed one star was blinking red and moving to the West. Within moments I realized it was a plane, flying high in the sky. Not a C130, but a commercial airliner. I was transfixed. What was a common sight back home had become forgotten to me, and it was as though it was the first time I had witnessed such a thing. I began to wonder who was on the plane. Where were they going? Where had they come from? Did they have any idea what was happening right below them? I followed the plane with hungry eyes until I could no longer see it. It was a reminder that no matter how shitty things might be at that moment, the rest of the world wasn't as far away as I thought, and that one day, I'd be on my own plane up there, going home. And I smiled.
As a result, I developed a habit, or rather a tradition. When things get heavy for me or I just feel stressed out, I look for planes flying up in the sky at night. And when I find one, I just sit there and watch it. To this day, it reminds me that no matter how bad things may get or how alone I might feel, something good isn't far away after all.
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