Logan

I know this man

On a recent flight, I watched the movie Logan again. It’s the final installment of the Wolverine character arc, at least with Hugh Jackman as the lead, across the various X-Men movies released over the last two decades. Set in the year 2029, the eponymous hero is now sick and dying, being poisoned by the metal grafted onto his bones.

After a lifetime with the ability to rapidly heal, his body can’t do it anymore. Isolated from society, he lives in the middle of nowhere outside El Paso, working as a limo driver. A shell of his previous formidable self, he drinks excessively, seemingly committed to exacerbating his condition and accelerating his own demise. He even carries around a single adamantium bullet for an obvious purpose.

Despite all this, he reluctantly embarks on one final mission, helping a young mutant girl (who we find out was genetically engineered using his DNA) escape the clutches of an evil corporation designing killer mutants as weapons. He agrees to take her to Eden in North Dakota, even though he insists it’s not real but a fabrication from comic books loosely based on the actual exploits of the X-Men.

While watching the film, I thought about our recent withdrawal from Afghanistan after twenty years of war. As a retired Navy SEAL, I couldn’t help but feel that this character mirrors many veterans, including me. From a timing standpoint, his story almost directly coincides with the experiences of service members in recent conflicts. The first X-Men movie came out in 2000, about a year before 9/11. Logan is the final chapter, where his journey as a member of that elite force comes to an end.

His personality also hits close to home. He’s a reluctant hero, a man who, despite being an “animal,” can’t help but ultimately do the right thing. We like him because, supernatural abilities aside, his actions are those of ordinary people. He drinks alcohol and smokes cigars. He’s prone to angry outbursts. Often, he doesn’t like himself.

I know this man. I see so much of my former self in his younger version and sympathize with the older one. My body hurts. I don’t recover the way I used to. I have difficulty concentrating at times. I’m often tired and dizzy. On most days, I prefer to be home alone.

Here I am, now some semblance of Logan. At the end of a decades-long war in which I played a tiny part, I don’t know what to think of myself. Did I do the right thing? Am I a good guy? Sometimes, I feel like the answer to those questions is “no.”

Consequently, I’ve had times when I contemplated ending my life, either because I felt I deserved it or because it seemed like a way to make the pain, both mental and physical, finally disappear. After all, I used to be a superhero of sorts. Now, I’m not sure what I am.

Like Logan, I also get frustrated with the comic book treatment of my fellow warriors and me, the media-driven “pure good” versus “pure evil” simplistic narrative of the world, and the tendency for people to call me a hero based on who they think I am or what they believe I did. I appreciate that last sentiment, but it also makes me cringe.

Wrestling with these types of thoughts isn’t unique to me or even to veterans. But most importantly, they’re not the best place to expend our mental energy. As service members, we did what the nation asked of us to the greatest extent of our abilities. Regardless of the outcome, we forged our effort with honor. For those we lost, that should be enough. For those still here, the more significant issue becomes: what do we do now?

In the movie’s final scenes, Logan saves the day one last time before succumbing to his wounds and dying in the service of others. Something about that is appealing, but it’s no longer an option for me. And the truth is, I do not have a death wish; I just want to have a purpose.

I don’t know if Afghanistan was “worth it” (whatever that means). However, I eventually realized I could make my small part in that conflict valuable through my actions now. With that in mind, this is the message I would pass on to my fellow veterans…

You may not be as strong or as fast as you once were. Your memory may slip at times. But you don’t have to lock your identity to your past. You can inspire others with whatever you do today. You can teach people what you’ve learned. You can pass on the wisdom that comes from experience. You can help to ensure children become productive members of society. You can epitomize qualities that don’t degrade with age, like honor, humility, and generosity. And you can be an exemplary parent, spouse, or friend. In short, you can be the best version of who you are, not some variant of who you were. Logan never evolved in this way. I dare you to do better.

You can also realize that the thoughts popping into your head are no different than any other form of media. If most of the nonsense on television and the internet these days makes you roll your eyes, then take the same approach to your mind. Logan is just a story. It’s not true. Whatever you are telling yourself most of the time isn’t either. It’s a narrative, a series. Don’t subscribe to it.

For everyone else, most veterans like me appreciate it when you thank us for our service. However, we didn’t join the military for recognition or medals. We did it to serve, defend, and be an intrinsic part of something greater than ourselves. We still want that. So we prefer that you focus on what we can do rather than what we did. Some of the most ethical and hard-working people you will ever find now ask to be put to good use at home instead of overseas, where what we can offer is sorely needed.

At the end of Logan, I broke down and cried. I did the same thing the first time I saw the movie’s trailer. In it, scenes from the film are overdubbed with the Johnny Cash cover of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails. The juxtaposition of imagery and music is incredibly powerful. The lyrics also align with the way many of us veterans feel these days and have felt for as long as humanity has been fighting wars:

I wear this crown of thorns

Upon my liar’s chair

Full of broken thoughts

I cannot repair

Beneath the stains of time

The feelings disappear

You are someone else

I am still right here

I think we can repair broken thoughts. Or we can choose to ignore them. That may even be the same thing. To that point, Hurt ends with a message of resentment that we might repair by thinking about it differently:

If I could start again

A million miles away

I would keep myself

I would find a way

For many of us, the United States can feel like it’s a million miles away from Afghanistan, literally and figuratively. Things did not turn out the way we wanted over there, but there aren’t any more guns in the valley. Now we are here. We should all view it as a place to start again. To realize that we can heal our invisible wounds if we desire. To keep ourselves. To find a way.

DISCLAIMER: RARE SENSE® content is not medical advice. Nor does it represent the official position or opinions of any other organization or person. If you require diagnosis or treatment for a mental or physical issue or illness, please seek it from a licensed professional.