Stopping to Smell the Shit
Sitting in an unfamiliar office at my university’s counseling center, I attempted to unravel the latest catastrophe to strike tragedy in my world. My mind gladly wandered through its dusty halls. I found myself recalling the essay I wrote to land me in that seat.
I discussed maintaining a positive attitude and sense of humor in the face of adversity and tragedy.
A naïve senior in high school, I believed I had experienced a great deal of struggle in my eighteen years. A unique amount, even. I had recently dealt with the tragic death of my twenty-nine year old cousin in a hiking accident, where he was literally blown off the top of a fourteen-thousand foot mountain. He left behind a wife and two children under the age of three. I had cared for my family, taking on the role of mother as my own endured treatment for breast cancer. I struggled with bullying and discerning my own sense of self, feeling an intense sadness I could not describe (later named — depression).
Sitting on the uncomfortable couch, staring through a box of tissues, I listened to a stranger talk to me about action plans and responsibilities beyond my capacities. I pined for those eighteen-year-old tragedies again. After the hour was up I walked across campus through the rain, music blaring too loudly. I returned to my desk at work and dug through high school files on my laptop, searching for the essay.
It follows, prefaced by the prompt. Each are in their original form.
One of the core values of Villanova, as an Augustinian university founded on the teachings of St. Augustine, is that students and faculty learn from each other. As you imagine yourself as a member of the Villanova community, what is one lesson that you have learned in your life that you will want to share with others?
At my high school, Marine Corps Junior Reserve Officers’ Training Corps is a class that is considered to be quite out of the norm, but it has become an integral part of my life. This past year, our program was sad to see our Marine Instructor of 12 years retire, but was glad when a new, young, freshly retired Staff Sergeant joined us. Just hearing SSgt. Strong’s list of tours makes me weary, and in awe, of the amazing sacrifice he has offered for his country. He was medically retired from the Marine Corps after ten years of service, two purple hearts, four tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He is proud to recount that he invaded two countries in one year, when he was just nineteen years old. As a machine gunner in the infantry, he saw his fair share of pain and suffering throughout his time in the Marine Corps. He earned his second purple heart when his vehicle was hit by an IED. He was the only man to survive.
Despite the great trials and suffering that SSgt. Strong endured, he is one of the most vibrant and entertaining people I know. He always has a smile on his face and a joke on his lips. After a particularly tough day, my sister and I were discussing our problems with SSgt. Strong. This past year has been a difficult one for my family, enduring the loss of my cousin and my mother’s breast cancer diagnosis. SSgt. Strong explained to us that life only gets worse. At first, I was hurt by his cynical response, hoping for a more optimistic answer to my problems. As he continued, however, I understood his statement. He went on to say that life is filled with hard times, and that is simply never going to change. In order to endure these, one must keep a positive mental attitude and a good sense of humor. I know from personal experience that SSgt. Strong has, and readily employs, both of these tactics.
He went on to tell a story from when he was in the Battle of Fallujah, stuck in his position, with no resources or way of escaping the continual enemy fire. He and his men were all feeling the effects, and their spirits were starting to dampen. SSgt. Strong saw a donkey standing in the middle of a soccer field, completely unaware of the bullets flying around him. He pointed this out to his buddies, and they all shared a much needed laugh. He went on to tell my sister and I that no matter how difficult we may feel our lives are, we have to look for our donkey in Fallujah. This lesson is one that I believe will stay with me for the rest of my life. It is simple and straightforward, but can often be overlooked. At Villanova, I hope that I will be able to impart SSgt. Strong’s message of the impact that a positive attitude and sense of humor can have on one’s life to everyone that I encounter. It is my hope that I will be able to help others deal with the challenges they face, by relaying SSgt. Strong’s story.
Full disclosure: I lied in this essay. Not much, but I twisted SSgt. Strong’s story a bit. A lie of omission, really. He was in the Battle of Fallujah, stuck in his position with his men for hours. They saw the donkey, yes. An oblivious donkey standing in the middle of a soccer field is poignant and amusing enough to an admissions board, apparently. But if anyone knows Marines, it would not have made them look twice.
The donkey was taking a shit.
Mortars were flying and the donkey was surrounded by a sea of unceasing fire. It was taking a nice, long shit. SSgt. Strong swears he could see steam coming off of it through the scope on his rifle. The Marines had not eaten, had any water to drink, nor moved from their position in upwards of sixty hours. Their hopes were waning. And a donkey was standing in the midst of it all, obliviously tending to one of its most human needs (that simultaneously happens to be one of the most amusing).
Tragedy is an interesting roadblock we all face. The size, demeanor, and appearance of tragedy is different for us all — often taking on a new guise at each bend in the road, changing its appearance with maturity and wisdom. The way I define a tragic moment now is different from how I did when I was five years old and is different from how I will when I’m fifty.
What I see as a roadblock on my path may appear to be a stepping stone to my friend. The way we each view tragedy is informed by the path we have taken to get to the moment we meet it. The way we handle each tragedy informs how we will engage with the next trial we encounter. It affects how we help those we walk alongside, whose paths run parallel to ours.
When we are in the thick of the tragedy, it is all encompassing. It is hard to see past the donkey’s shit as it keeps piling up, growing higher and higher.
These days, my life feels like a case study in Murphy’s Law. Everything that can go wrong, is. It feels like the video game I played when I was a kid with one small brick at the bottom of the screen. With the cursor of my computer I could slide it back and forth, working to keep the balls bouncing around the rest of the screen from falling into oblivion. Except this is real life and I’m trying to keep my health, future, family, and sanity afloat. If one of them falls it may just be game over.
These feelings are not unique. The exact balls I am juggling and my personal experiences, yes. The fact that I am witnessing difficulties, tragedies, and suffering? No. They are necessary factors in the human experience. And as SSgt. Strong told me back in high school, life will only get worse.
As my network grows, I will know more people who struggle with illness, face death too soon, lose their jobs. I will continue to encounter these issues personally and within my nuclear and extended family. I will face problems I did not even know existed, let alone think I was capable of handling. This is an inevitable product of time. To think otherwise is naïve.
Amidst the rubble of the tragedies we all walk through, let’s be sure to stop and smell the shit. Savor its sweet, musky scent. Revel in the way it makes our eyes tear up and instinctively calls us to move away. Do not. Remember our inherent humanity and have a laugh at the expense of whoever dropped it in such an inopportune location. Continue on our path with a bit more joy in our heart.
