This is a short tale about my experience joining the army, taking a 2 and a half month journey across the country (and out of the country) and finally – quitting the army.
 
To figure out why the hell I joined the Army in the first place we need to take a quick snapshot of where I was at during this period of my life.

 
 

I was working as a professional musician: singing in a church and teaching voice and guitar lessons. Sounds glamorous, eh? Naw – I was just scraping by and bored as hell.

 

I used the money I earned working in a Chinese Restaurant in High School to buy my first electric guitar and dreamed of being a professional musician.

 
You know: playing music, partying, touring, getting windfall poontang and getting paid for all of it. That's what Led Zepplin did, right? And who the hell were they anyway? Just some Brits who got lucky. Well I'm a lucky Ukrainian, I figured.
 
 

 
 
The map is not the territory.
 
 

Plans and dreams change and that's O.K. It was very OK for me because I didn't want to “just get by” anymore.

 
I wanted to have money to spend on cool shit and travel and not worry about how to finagle the rent this month and still be able to make the minimum payment on my credit card(s) at the same time.
 
 

 
 
I wanted a schwayt job that smacked of intrigue, secrecy, importance.
 
I wanted what I didn't know I wanted – imposed limits on my reality: somebody who would MAKE me get up in the morning or else.
 
Somebody to whip me into shape for me. Somebody to tell me where to go, to whom to report, what to get done; Free meals that I didn't have to cook with a range of foods I didn't have to choose but rather was allowed to choose AMONGST.
 
 

In defense of this escapism, there is enormous value in a high-density, low-information diet.

 
Still, I decided that since Uncle Sam would be paying me handsomely for the use of my talents, I might as well go wild now. I'll be blown to smithereens in one middle-Eastern country or another, anyhow! Umm…FUKKIT!

 
 
Thus, with 3 months to go before I shipped to basic training where my self-worth was to be reduced to the level of an earthworm, I decided to go on a trek.
 
A star trek.
 
 

 
 
So one fine morning, synthetic fabrics on my body (including this AWESOME ex-officio underwear) and bona fide backpacker backpack on my back, I walked out onto I-95 in Jacksonville, Florida with the aim of getting to Philly on the cheap & stinky.
 
 
It's amazing how many people thought I had lost all my friggin' marbles and shared as much with me. I honestly didn't see the big deal. The details of the hitchhiking experience are too long and complex to include in this post but this I swear – I'm *infinitely* glad I did it.
 
 

I wound up in San Francisco which was my last stop before flying to San José, Costa Rica.
 

The next month was spent mostly in San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua, surfing, partying and meeting amazing people from all over the world. It was touching and humbling to be invited into the home of a local and meet his family, eat lunch and simply exist in their reality.

 
 

 
 
I met a beautiful German girl one night. The next night I found her on a balcony in the hostel crying so I kissed her. The next day I realized I had enough money to get back to San José . . maybe. So I had to leave and cross the nexus of the universe again (that is – the Nicaraguan/Costa Rican border . . . bleh!) Never got her last name. I think I loved her.
 
I literally spent my last córdobas on bus fare!
 
At some point during these escapades, I read the 4 hour workweek after hearing a passing of it mention during a podcast of Dave M and Brent Smith's. This flipped the script on me. I instantly began working on several e-business ideas and realized I didn't need the fuckin' Army!
 
 
So I call my recruiter long diznistance from Nicaragua. The conversation went something like this:
 
Sgt. Bates, how you doin?
 
Dorfman, what's going on?
 
I've been working on some businesses and doing some traveling and thinking.
 
Uh-huh..
 
Aaand I need you to cancel my contract. I'm not joining the army.
 
….Ok.
 
 
***
 
 
It's hard to replicate the tension but these recruiters do dozens of hours of [tedious] work on every recruit's behalf. Nonetheless, this is my life and I've gotta do what I've gotta do.
 
 
What's amazing about being in a relaxed, unconcerned, happy place both externally and internally is that it engenders PRESENCE.
 
For instance, I learned to surf in about 3 weeks on a shortboard, without ever riding a single wave of whitewash and catching several 6 footers (that is, after being crushed repeatedly and thinking I was going to drown at least twice).
 

I did this by approaching it scientifically (i.e., studying, taking notes, observing, experimenting), applying the 80/20 principle and implementing vivid visualization. I had several gnarly surfers tell me that I wouldn't be able to do it.
 
 

 
 

I also experienced more romantic encounters in these 2 months then I had in the past year! I feared for my life on several occasions. And the majority of the time – I felt like it was exactly where I needed to be . . . I was fuckin' alive!

 
 

It's hard to explain to somebody who hasn't traveled extensively and mixed with the local population but it is simply put: life changing. Humility, compassion, perspective, patience, listening – words that weren't even in my vocabulary before – become your most valued traits. Oh, and Gratitude – Lots and lots of gratitude.

It was all a big culture shock, to be sure. But the real shock came upon returning to the States.
 
 

 
 
The first thing I noticed was how so many of the women here behave: pompously, insolently, affectedly.
 
It was as though Cosmo magazine had opened a bitch factory and was producing manikins with authentic “chick-voice” built in by the millions. As soon as I heard that chick voice my 2 months of pacific calm and imperturbability evaporated like a bead of sweat on a bare elephant ass in the Indian summer.
 
 

A day later I walked into a whole-foods and almost soiled myself! The choices were innumerable, prices – stratospheric, convenience – unheard of (in ruralish Nicaragua).
 
 
Where the fuck am I? WHO. Am I? I live HERE?!?!
 
Can I just go back to surfing, smoking weak pot and meeting cute European chicks on a daily basis again? Thanks.
 

Completely disillusioned and perplexed, I packed a bunch of stuff into my car and drove to San Diego from Florida, couchsurfing along the way.
 
The original plan was to work in a winery and learn how to make wine. For one day, I shall start my own winery and make a juice of my own!!
 
I just hadn't counted on everybody having enology/viticulture degrees and associate wine-making being so hard to get in to! So I poured wine in Temecula (SoCal wine country) for a few weeks whilst living out of my car and then headed to San Francisco where I was in an orgy (yet another of several unexpected firsts). This is the winery I worked at and their wine happens to be spectack.
 
I liked the entrepreneurial, live and let live big city but not too big city vibe in San Fran. So I stayed.
 
 

 
 
It's passing now but ever since getting backfrom Nicaragua I've been blue.
 
Talking to my friend Rebecca (who I met in San Juan Del Sur) today I realized it's a pretty ubiquitous and predictable phenomenon.
 
Groundlessness, feelings of displacement and a floating sense of identity are all too common upon returning to THIS reality.

It's something normal and an opportunity to take your life to the next level.

 
 
We all have biorhythms and perhaps the prudent thing to do is to LISTEN TO THEM!
 
I'm glad I reneged on the Army. I'm glad I blew all my money like an idiot in Central America. In fact, I'm glad of everything I've done and everything that's happened becuase:
 
 
“The only place you need to be is where you're at.” – Brent Smith (absolutepowerdating.com)
 
 

 
 

Latest and Greatest Read:

Radical Honesty, The New Revised Edition: How to Transform Your Life by Telling the Truth

 
 
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