Gimmesanity

Yesterday morning, I put on my uniform one last time. I was on my way to out-process from my current station. On my way to start my leave before I head off for training in twelve days.

I buttoned up my shirt, stopping at the top button. I checked to make sure my name tag was on straight. I put on my blue pants and fiddled with the belt to make sure it was lined up properly. I slipped my feet into my shiny low-quarters and wiped them down with get the dust off. I pulled my hair back and secured it with eleventeen bobby pins. When I was done, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and realized that this was the the last time I’d be wearing these stripes. These stripes on my arms that I have worked hard for. These stripes that have made me work hard. The next time I’m in uniform, I’ll be an officer candidate. I stared at my stripes for a bit, and then wished that I’d been a little more thoughtful, and not so automatic, about getting dressed.

Except, I dress so automatically because these threads are comfortable. These threads fit me. Try as I can to fight it, as much as I may dislike saying it out loud, this uniform is me. I’m moving on, though. I’m closing this chapter and starting a new one. While I’m excited about what this next part of my life will bring, what new experiences await me, I’m surprised by how sad I am to let go of my enlisted stripes. The officer world is different in so many ways. They are the overseers, I suppose. But, it’s the enlisted, the worker bees, who get things done. We make the military run. Only, I won’t be part of that collective anymore. Not like before.

I stood in front of that mirror, bowed my head, and smiled. The next time I’m in uniform, I’ll be an officer candidate.