Continued from Academy Life Part II
“Do you live there?”
Yes. Well, sometimes. We actually rotate through multiple locations in various U.S. states. Some are government training campuses with no-cost college style dormitories. Think of a university, small military base, or large business campus. It is common to find a convenience store, library full of ancient textbooks, cafeteria, and recreation center. Occasionally there is even a bar. We also train while imbedded in cities and towns using hotels or short-term furnished apartments just like anyone else. Sometimes we have coworkers as roommates, other times we live alone. We have lived in the big city and the middle of nowhere. Either situation can be a significant change depending on the person’s family and lifestyle prior to being hired. One rule always holds true: Highly spacious and modern living quarters tend to be in places we are at for the shortest amount of time.
Maximizing the use of space is a buzz phrase often heard in the interconnected worlds of home improvement and real estate. It quickly becomes a way of life when one’s home is a hotel room or corporate apartment that changes with the seasons. The drawback is we don’t have the luxury of altering the floorplan or introducing modular storage solutions. Space under the bed becomes a dresser. Suitcases act as closets. Inevitably, even the most speckless and tidy person resorts to the formation of categorized piles of belongings on the floor once all other space has become occupied.
The irritability of clutter is magnified in the presence of corporate furniture and the absence of a decent coffee maker. Murky faucet water and musty carpet accentuate the cheap and mundane décor. Years of collecting all our favorite things and forming routines are broken down overnight. Homesickness turns to misery when it is compounded by annoyances. The cold, empty space in the bed normally occupied by a spouse. The doleful silence filling the void that used to be the cheerful barking of the family dog waiting at the door at the end of a long day. The guilt of being hundreds if not thousands of miles away from a homestead for months at a time.
Close your eyes, take a deliberately slow and deep breath in through the nose, and imagine a calm and blissful setting. With a soothing and cleansing exhale, take note of what your imagination hears, sees, smells, and feels in your happy place. Let your inner voice echo the most vivid and descriptive words possible. If you find this practice novel and challenging, don’t be afraid to utilize guidance. In therapy and meditation, this experience is referred to as safe space imagery. Combined with breathing exercises, it is a powerful tool for the management of acute and chronic stress to include trauma. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to master outside of our comfort zone.
It is true that our safe spaces are most often a figment of the imagination. Rarely do we have an actual secluded beach, meadow, or waterfall within reach when the weight of life is bearing down upon us. Yet our real-world environment still plays a role in safe space imagery. Mentally traveling to a happy place is surely easier on a yoga mat, sanctuary, or bed as opposed to a shopping mall food court or a sports arena. To belabor the obvious, going to a mental or physical safe space is not easy during an extended off-site federal government training program. Harder still is coming out of a meditative reverie with no support system present.
Ergo, we find ourselves forming new patterns while in this training program. Any of these habits are liable to be as temporary as our time here. Outside of class, there is an ubiquitous presence of noise canceling headphones to drown out the rabble with auditory disport. An afternoon of fetch and belly rubs at the local animal shelter eases the pain of being away from beloved fur babies. The smallest of monitors suddenly become of adequate size for gaming and movies. A secluded clearing for stargazing is as majestic as a childhood fort made of cardboard boxes and blankets.
Continuations of paused routines can also be found in the presence of ingenuity. The flashes of loved ones and posh vacation spots on a digital picture frame avert the eyes from insipid hotel wall art. Acquiring the same brand and scent of toiletries and sundries can make the stuffiest dorm room smell like home. On a lucky day the cafeteria buffet line will have distinct ingredients that, when combined with closed eyes and an open imagination, nearly taste like that favorite family recipe.
The question left unanswered is when does the subversive personalization of a supposedly temporary living space transition to the concept of home?
The Dark Passport 