Week 1: Introduction

I'm Matt. 

For most of my adult life I have been called by my last name, usually attached to a rank. 'Matt' is still somewhat foreign in my ears, and certainly in my own mouth. For the duration of my twenties, and most of my thirties thus far, the phrase "introduce yourself" consisted of standing up in a crowded room full of men and women dressed identically to me, loudly stating my rank, name, and the details of my previous duty assignment. 

"Sergeant Long, I'm coming from the 172nd out of Graf." 

And the person next to me would stand up and do the same. 

"Specialist Jones. 2ID at Hovey."

And since I was with 2ID sometime in the past I could find Jones afterward, exchange pleasant insults and perhaps make a friend.

Life is so much more complicated now. 

This week alone I have sat through grueling introductory exercises where we are encouraged to announce our major, our age, our hobbies, and desperately hope we didn't sound like psychopaths and that maybe find common ground with one of the black squares embossed with a name.

"I'm Trevor, I'm 19 and I'm a computer science major. My hobby is building plastic model robots from cartoons." 

I bury my face in my hands. I want to pluck my eyes out and jam spoons in my ears. I don't diminish Trevor and his hobby; twenty-odd years ago I was also building plastic models of cartoon robots. No, instead I pile my fears and social anxieties on him. Trevor, either via naivete or a total lack of fear declares his geekiness to a virtual room of strangers. The schadenfreude churns my guts. 

 Now it is my turn; I'm ready to scream into the ether.

I'm Matt. I'm 34 years old. I am a veteran of OIF and OEF, with severe hearing damage. I don't have much cartilage left in my back and none in my knees. I am married to the only woman on the planet who will put up with me, and our son is figuring out how to stand on his own. I'm a voracious reader and a student of history, especially the Roman Republic. I can talk for hours on the finer points of Sulla's march into Rome and the political parallels with recent events. I am 76,000 words and ten years into writing a novel that once greatly excited me. I am one of those guys who will find a way to mention that I ride mountain bikes during conversations with acquaintances. My current ride is a rowdy full squish 29er. I love IPAs but I'm not a snob about it. Lite beers have their place. 

Moreso than all of that, I am a Freshman college student and the prospect of doing something new is frightening. I am a firm believer in putting onto the page what is in your soul, and in some way, I'd like to hope that some of that shines through the static and onto these pages.