Is it Time to go Home? (Where is Home?)

There are a number of key questions transitioning military professionals ask when we plan our off-ramps to civilian life. The one that gets the most attention on career platforms like LinkedIn is, "What shall I do?" In the real world, however, my military colleagues just as often begin with, "Where do you want to live?"

Every time that happens I think, "Dude, knowing the answer to that question would really simplify everything else."

So why can't I answer the question?

For one thing, among the most notable features of a long military career is the loss of that sense of what is really "home". This is a feature, not a bug. Indeed, I have lost track of the interesting and exciting places we have lived, and there are dear friends who would welcome us back to many of them. Could any of those be home?

And yet ...

Our nomadic life has left us without a sense of roots, to the extent that even if we do pick one of these many places settle down, our now-adult children would likely not recognize it as such.

This saddens me. My kids have had a life of amazing experiences, but they really have no home either.

So whenever someone asks me, "Where's home for you?", I will usually just grimace. Home has been where the Air Force has sent me for well over three decades.

Now that time is drawing to a close. So ... where is home now?

I joined the Air Force in 1986 as an aimless UC Santa Cruz freshman (go Banana Slugs!) struggling with both purpose and self-discipline. The military solved both of those problems for me pretty directly. For purpose it gave me an Oath ("... to support and defend the Constitution ..."), while for discipline it gave me the Uniform Code of Military Justice (suddenly, skipping class was a crime!).

At that point Santa Cruz had only been my home for five years, yet there is something about it which has always drawn me back. It is the place where I came of age; had my first date; got my first job (flipping burgers at the Boardwalk); learned to drive; came to faith in Christ; and discovered I could actually lead people to accomplish an objective--first a marching band, then a fast-food restaurant, then a church youth group. To this day I have close family, dear friends and happy memories to welcome me back whenever I return.

On the other hand, Santa Cruz is hardly the kind of place that military transition sites like to recommend. The cost of living is sky high, and just about everything is taxed--including military retirement checks! The strange political atmosphere places it somewhere around, say, Woodstock circa 1969 (I jest, of course, but let's just say it's not the most pro-military of communities). It's also not the optimal place to find employers willing to pay extra for applicants bearing current Top Secret security clearances.

Even so, there yet abides something deep within me that longs for a place to call home, and all these decades hence--perhaps because my nomadic military journey has left it without serious competition--the weird and expensive beach town of my adolescence retains its hold on my heart.

So, is it time to go home?