Trained SEALs

I can understand a former high school football star preoccupied with past glories from a faded gridiron. A place without cheerleaders, concession stands or competent coaches. Because all these years later, his exploits on the field are among the finest achievements in a disappointing life since catching touchdowns.

There are others who enjoy telling stories to anyone and everyone, making themselves the hero of any protracted tale. I never thought former Navy seals would engage in similar barstool banter. “I killed Bin Laden.” “No, I killed Bin Laden.” That sort of thing, which, on the surface, can humanize a person, demystifying their day-to-day. As anyone who’s ever passed a construction site knows, most jobs, no matter how physically demanding, involve lots of waiting around and doing nothing.

In the old days, it was expected that wartime traumas would be repressed, not shared over the airwaves. Nowadays, there’s hardly a job where people don’t one day convert their experiences into podcast fodder. At times, it can be awfully relatable. Who wants to hear another copywriter complain about an unreasonable client? I want to be lectured by someone whose training involved an extending breath-holding session. Anyone who does that understands the world better than me. When oxygen is rerouted from the brain to normally deprived offshoots, they say brain cells are lost. It’s my opinion that only the dumb brain cells are lost. 

Life after the SEALS can be difficult, which sort of explains the foray into entertainment and politics. Though, given their background, the circus remains a good and honorable option.