Yesterday was the 70th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. My grandfather was barely 20 when he watched the base erupt in flames. I don't know the entire story of his day, but I know he was there. I've always been afraid to ask. Who would want to tell that story anyway?
Reflecting on that on my 25th birthday kills me a little bit. What have I done with myself five years after he experienced something that must have been so devastating and life-changing? I guess that goes along with the whole theme of my recent insecurities. The "I don't knows" are getting a little tiresome. I have some wonderful people in my life, but I guess you would say I'm in the occupational doldrums.
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