Sophia Boquist
A topic we have discussed extensively through our reading of If I Ever Get Out of Here is the impermanence of life, particularly during adolescence, and learning to cope with its harshness. As it happens, this is a subject I’m all too familiar with thanks to my upbringing in an Air Force family, and If I Ever Get Out of Here captures my side of that experience perfectly through the eyes of George, Stacey, and the other military base kids Lewis befriends.
Military brats come to know impermanence more intimately than most American children. Our lives are punctuated by a series of moves across and away from the United States, and all we can do is deal with it when our parents’ orders inevitably come in. It’s a strange feeling, knowing your life is, at least in that moment, dictated by the whims of the Air Force Personnel Center plucking you up and dropping you wherever they decide they need your father. You have no control over where your family is going or how much time you have left in your current location. For me, that was one of the worst parts of that life: not knowing whether it would be a few months or a few years before I had to dig up my roots.
When the orders finally did arrive, they hit fast and hard. In Gansworth’s novel, George finds out he’s moving to Lubbock, Texas a week from the day his father gets his orders, and he only has that much time to say goodbye to two years of living in Redtail Manor, riding his paperboy route, and building a meaningful friendship with Lewis. While I always had at least a month’s notice before we moved, the news that we would be leaving meant going through the exact same routine as George does. I would break the news to my friends and teachers, pack my bags and boxes, and mentally prepare myself for the ensuing cross-country road trip, all while cutting ties with whichever place I’d come to call home. When it was finally time to say goodbye, I couldn’t stop crying for several hours.
I wouldn’t wish the pain of that forced separation on anybody. You leave a little piece of your heart behind in each place you’ve lived; it hurts a lot at first, but over time, it dulls to a longing to visit again surrounded by a halo of warm, fuzzy nostalgia. I would argue that it’s forcing yourself to leave the place and people you love that gets easier over time, not making fast friends, as George and Stacey say it does. In fact, I found that as I got older, making new friends became increasingly difficult. Only when I arrived at college did I find friends easily, and that’s only because we were forced to be together and we were all alone in a new, unfamiliar environment. But I digress—both processes become ritual, and so impermanence is a fact of life for military kids.
Not all the hardships of impermanence are detrimental, however. I think I speak for most military brats when I say moving repeatedly makes us stronger, more resilient, and more adaptable. Our lifestyle conditions us to hit the ground running and bounce back, no matter the situation. If we can survive the pain and discomfort of adjusting to a new home, new school, and new people over and over again, what can’t we handle? I’ve found myself with the advantage more times than I can count in scenarios where my peers would say, “this is too difficult. I’m giving up.” Twenty-mile backpacking trips, big presentations, intense weightlifting sessions where my body is screaming at me to take a break—I thrive off challenges like these because I know I can push past the difficulty. Even with starting college in the midst of the mess that is 2020, I feel more comfortable here than I initially thought I would. I suppose even a global pandemic can’t compete with a military childhood.
Impermanence has also taught me to appreciate the time I have in any given place. I cherish everything from the friendships I’ve made to the grand sights I’ve seen and the kitschy, tucked-away coffee shops I’ve visited. Every experience becomes richer when you learn to live in the moment, albeit with a tinge of sadness, because it could be your last time seeing that person or place. Even so, I’m eternally grateful to the fullness dealing with impermanence has brought to my life. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Representing Adolescence @ Pitt 