Nicholas Trandahl's Blog, page 2

Thank you very much, my friend!

Thank you very much, my friend!

Last Day at Al Udeid (a poem)

This search for gods has ended

with nothing to show for it.

My theology and spirituality books

rest dog-eared in a dumpster

behind the barracks,

along with anything else I own —

which isn’t much.

The only things I’m hungry for

are fire and darkness —

anything else is fiction.

I drift around in the Persian heat

like a masochistic tourist —

take a last look at things

with a profound sense of relief.

This is all nearly over.

I’ve the luxury of only one

single plan —

one thing left on the calendar.

I’m on a voyage now,

swept helplessly downstream

in a strange current, and I don’t

even glance over at the shore —

there’s nothing there for me.

On the uncertain horizon,

beyond the grey gauntlet of fog,

ferocious islands bloom —

a future unasked for.

And beyond …

Good waters, carry me —

see me through this.

Author’s note: Like all of my poems dealing with my time in the Middle East, this too was a difficult one to write. Special thanks to the Bearlodge Writers critique group for whipping this poem into shape.

Another great write-up on my longtime favorite author and literary inspiration!

Another great write-up on my longtime favorite author and literary inspiration! I will diverge with you on The Garden of Eden, however, a book I’ve very thankful was published posthumously. For some years it was, in fact, my favorite novel. This was a time when Scott Fitzgerald was also one of my all-time favorite novelists, and I felt like The Garden of Eden has a similar style and tone to Fitzgerald’s work. These days, The Garden of Eden is no longer my favorite novel, nor even my favorite Hemingway work, but for a time in my life, it was a book I was very thankful for.

I couldn’t agree more!

I couldn’t agree more! London (another of my favorite authors) is certainly a literary forefather to Hemingway.

Thank you very much, Steve!

Thank you very much, Steve! I’ve got another Hemingway article too you might be interested in. I’m looking forward to reading more of your posts!

Liberation

My acute anxiety disorder began in the Army, specifically during my deployment to the Middle East. At least that’s what the doctors and shrinks at the VA hospital say. Coupled with the massive depressive disorder that attached itself to me at the same time, it’s quite a potent cocktail of mental illness that I (and also my family) are forced to deal with day after day.

This anxiety manifests itself in different strange ways, chief of which seems to be the dreaded smartphone. The VA recently assigned me a therapist, as a matter of fact, that was going to do sessions with me over video chat. But when he began calling to set up times for our sessions, I wouldn’t or couldn’t answer the phone. I was too afraid of the very thing he was going to use to help me overcome my anxieties. His repeated voicemails were deleted without listening to them because voicemails also strangely give me anxiety, and eventually he stopped reaching out.

I’ve long been an old soul. I’ve heard it from anyone that has spent more than a minute having a conversation with me or has learned what I like in this world. I’ve always longed sentimentally for eras that came and went long before I was born. I crave a secluded cabin deep in some mountains shrouded in pinewoods (much to my wife’s chagrin). I’ve always longed for the times when it wasn’t an anachronism to write handwritten letters to friends and loved ones, use a typewriter to do my writing, to smoke pipe tobacco, times before social media and the rapid interconnectivity of all things. I think this 24/7 connectivity with everyone all the time is a major contributor to the rise in mental illness and disorders ranging from depression and anxiety. There’s not really a break from judgement, comparisons, and engagement. We’re not ever really unplugged.

And yes, I’m well aware of the hypocrisy as I write this blog on the internet with my laptop. Such is the era we live in, especially for authors in the competition against other authors that are much more well-versed in social media than I. In this day and age, book sales are dependent on networking and outreach.

But onto the dreaded smartphone. Ever since the Army, I’ve struggled to communicate on the phone (text or call). I’m unsure why the anxiety is the prevalent with the phone, but it’s nearly unbearable. My oldest friends, family members, and new friends and contacts call or text me, and I instantly sweat and am filled with confusing and mysterious fear. I don’t know why. Calls and texts to me go unanswered and unreturned. I’ve wondered how many friendships, relationships, or opportunities have passed me by or slipped through my fingers because of this phone-related anxiety.

So, it’s with a breath of fresh air or divine providence that my smartphone recently began to not work properly and I powered it off and have set it aside. Instantly, it felt like a burden was removed from my shoulders and my psyche. I feel like I’m paying attention to the things around me more. My mind feels quieter and more at peace. Moment after moment isn’t filled with dread. I don’t feel the need to share things with everyone; occurrences belong to me and me alone. If I want to immortalize something (and I mean truly immortalize it), I’ll write about it, not take a photo to post on social media where it’s eventual lost beneath a slab of digital crush.

For those of us desperate to return to an era of simplicity and quietude, something like a malfunctioning smartphone serves as a blessing instead of a curse. I won’t say it’s necessarily healthy to suddenly have limited contact with the rest of the world, but I think it does a 21st century mind a little bit of good to unplug for awhile.

For those of you that have been trying to reach out to me, I’m sorry that I have such a hard time maintaining contact. I’m as frustrated about it as you are. I hope to do better in the future and to manage my anxiety better, but until then, I look forward to talking with you face-to-face (as my anxiety is primarily manifested just with the phone).

Give me a barstool next to a friend, or a microphone and a stage to read my poems to an audience, or a table to meet readers at one of my book-signings.

But if you want to call … bear with me.

Third Time’s a Charm

Each winter, I read “The Russians”. My season of snow, ice, and long cold nights are seasoned with the words of Turgenev, Dostoevsky, Gogol, and of course Tolstoy.

Last night, I finished War and Peace.

Over the years, I’d begun reading Tolstoy’s masterpiece two different times, and both times I gave up. It was too dense, too unenjoyable. But then I educated myself. I researched the era, read biographies of Tolstoy and Napoleon, read historical accounts of the French Invasion of 1812, and read plenty of other Russians. And then, when I started War and Peace again, for the third time, I was enthralled. Knowing the history, the battles, many of the historical figures, and the timeline, I was able to enjoy the story and feel the suspense and action of Austerlitz, Smolensk, Borodino, and of course Moscow. I was able to invest myself in the varied cast of intriguing and relatable characters. I was able to truly read the novel, set against the chaotic backdrop of a historical era I know very well after all the research. And what did I discover?

I discovered the finest book I have ever read, a true masterpiece, and perhaps the greatest work of fiction ever written.

In Pierre, Nikolai, and Andrei, I uncovered fragments of myself and connected to all three of those protagonists at different times.

Despite all the praise I’m heaping on this work, it’s not without criticisms. I wish the female protagonists had a stronger presence instead of being weak, vile, and/or submissive, but I also could read the novel with the understanding of the gender roles and literary mechanisms of the time. Additionally, the second epilogue that closed the book was a disappointment, with the sudden plunge into philosophy. An underwhelming conclusion was thus presented to an otherwise flawless, stunning, and enchanting novel that had me completely possessed until I’d finished it.

But these criticisms do very little to detract from the epic majesty of this work. I’ve been this invested in a book only a handful of times, and now, finished with it, I know that War and Peace is one of those works with the capacity to change a person.

Like after I read Dante’s The Divine Comedy, Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, Carver’s All of Us, Thoreau’s Walden, and Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, I know that my literary biology has been altered in some way. Books like this leave their marks on you forever, and I’m so thankful to the authors with the talent and determination to write them.

Thank you, Lev Tolstoi.

VETERANS BRING A CLEAR MESSAGE TO CONGRESS — BRING OUR TROOPS HOME

By Nicholas Trandahl, Army veteran, journalist, and author

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Exquisite!!!

Exquisite!!!

Thank you so much, my friend!

Thank you so much, my friend!