I began writing political essays and columns in 1983. Full of that vigor which accompanies a guy barely 20 years old and on the verge of enlisting in the military, when I wasn’t busy making plans to save the world I was devouring every bit of conservative literature I could find in an effort to understand the historical and philosophical foundation for those ideas I found intuitively coherent and in happy harmony with the ideas that animated America’s founding.

The principle that in America the individual reigns supreme; that the individual may not be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law; the historically radical concept that the very raison d’être of government is purely to secure the inalienable rights of the individual — these were things I felt in my bones. To see these ideas affirmed, explained, defended and advanced by great minds from Locke to Montesquieu, Madison to Tocqueville was intoxicating. To read the synthesis of these ideas and their application to the American experience by writers from Whittaker Chambers to Bill Buckley, Russell Kirk to Milton Friedman and so many more, was to bask not only in the accumulated wisdom of the best minds, but to arm myself intellectually, even as I would later arm myself physically (as a Security Forces troop), to defend the nation’s interests and ideals.

Early on I mixed it up with a pacifist in the letters to the editor page in Panama City, Florida, my final rejoinder landing me an invitation as guest speaker at a meeting of the Retired Officer’s Association, alongside retired Congressman Bob Sikes. I hadn’t paid sufficient attention to the good Congressman’s 35-plus year career as a faithful Democrat, and found myself standing at the podium with Sikes seated next to me while I poked jubilant fun at the hapless foreign policy of Jimmy Carter, observing that it would take the second coming of Christ for the world to finally be as Carter thought it already was. For his part, Congressman Sikes was extremely gracious, reminding me from the podium that the military is a very big place and that, “someone with your ability should not get lost in the crowd.”

I resurrect that experience not to stick a feather in my cap, but to record that I never forgot Congressman Sikes’ challenge. Over the years I had editorials published in the newspapers of nearly every town I was stationed in, along with the Air Force Times and even an honorable mention on CNN during the 1992 presidential campaign. When the United Methodist Bishops wrote a pastoral letter entitled “In Defense of Creation,” which among other things held that the mere possession of a nuclear deterrent was inherently immoral, I wrote a lengthy response entitled “In Defense of Liberty,” in which, among other things, I asked the bishops whether they thought it immoral to take those measures necessary to defend the freedom of bishops to write asinine letters.  I remember actually meeting with one of the bishops, whose first comment to me was, “From your writing I thought you’d be older.”  I was 24.

It was my political commentary that convinced the wing commander at England Air Force Base to personally lobby for my eventual inclusion into the ranks of Air Force Historians. And, ultimately of course, my rants and meanderings caught the eye of Peter Robinson who, along with Rob Long, graciously (and inexplicably) invited me to join Ricochet as a Contributor.

There are times, however, when a break is needed and, for reasons both personal and political, that time has arrived. In the last month I’ve made a career move that is at once exhilarating and yet rather challenging. After doing watch repair many years ago, I had gone to work last summer in another watch repair shop where I was expected to function basically as a data entry clerk. A few weeks ago I made the move to an upscale department store where I now preside over a department full of luxury watches. The beauty is that, A) all the watches work, which means the customers are a great deal more cheerful, and B) I get to inform customers and staff alike about the quality of these remarkable timepieces and sell them. It’s a fast-paced line of work, requiring 40 hours a week on one’s feet, and the sales goals are certainly nothing to sneeze at. While the job requires quite a bit energy, it’s rewarding beyond any job I’ve held in a long time. Nevertheless, the drain on one’s mental and physical reserves at the end of the day is quite real.

Add to that the accumulated stress of living in Memphis, which is quickly going the way of a third world country in terms of pure savage violence, and one’s attention is inevitably drawn away from whatever affronts to civility and grace originate from Washington DC, to focus instead on the fact that we’ve had 10 highway shootings in the last month here, many of them on the very route my wife and I take to work each day. There is an element in this city which has roughly as much respect for human life as ISIS, and they apparently enjoy driving at speeds in excess of 100 mph on the interstate, swerving and careening through traffic like mindless fanatics on a suicide mission. Sometimes they miss other vehicles by an inch or two (as happened to me just last week). Other times they misjudge the distance, resulting in catastrophe and death.

Undeterred by the carnage around them, these imbeciles continue driving aggressively, harassing other drivers and families who just want to get from Point A to Point B in one piece, thank you very much. And if you honk your horn or flash your lights at the dummies, they shoot at you. My wife grew up in Memphis and even she is horrified by the city’s rapid descent into primitive brutality. Regardless of one’s dedication to the life of the mind, such datum as a rising body count begins to press on one’s consciousness. So that while others were watching and analyzing the election results last Tuesday night, I was at an indoor shooting range putting a hundred rounds through the Smith and Wesson 40 caliber pistol I purchased the previous weekend, honing skills I had hoped would never again be needed after I hung up the uniform for the final time. Likewise, I’m back in the gym getting into the sort of physical condition I was in years ago. I simply was not raised to be a victim of brute crime, nor to stand idly by and hope against mounting evidence that my family and home will escape the carnage unchallenged.

Finally, there is an aspect of political commentary itself that is becoming as aggravating as it is tedious. One thing I did not have when writing various editorials and essays over the years was interaction with the reader. More’s the pity because at Ricochet, the site being perhaps the last bastion of civil political discussion around, I thoroughly enjoy the give and take of the comments and also enjoy interacting with our members and contributors alike. I must confess, however, that I had never personally experienced the sheer tenacity of those who claim to be on the political right but who nevertheless persist in directing most of their criticism and indignation toward those on their side of the great issues.

I remember contentious exchanges early on, with a gentleman who wrote (and perhaps still writes) for a widely respected publication, ostensibly from the right side of that publication’s political spectrum, but who spent vast amounts of time going after other conservative writers and commentators and, as far as I could see, precious little time going after the main threat to liberty and reason from the progressive left. I found it terribly vexing. Which is not to say that those on our side are beyond criticism. Many of us, after all, were aghast when we thought Ronald Reagan was about to give away the store at Reykjavik. Correction is one thing. Endless harping and sniping, bordering on political fratricide, is something else entirely.

All of this predated Donald Trump’s political ascendancy of course, though it has intensified hugely since then. Thankfully, Ricochet remains an oasis of sanity. But the problem remains, especially on social media where one has merely to post a link to an article saying a few positive things about the Trump Administration — an article that one can find “interesting” without necessarily endorsing every one of the author’s postulates — and then stand back and watch the tantrums and experience the arrows and rhetorical blasts. No nit is too small to pick, no wound so well healed that it can’t be ripped open for public display, and no comment so respectfully tendered that it cannot greeted as a grave insult. Well, there are better things to do than trying to stand athwart the progressive’s inexorable mission of turning us all from citizens to subjects and wards of the state, only to endure endless spitballs, darts, and sneers coming from our own side.

So after 35 years of political commentary, the time has come for a respite. Stepping away from the political arena for a while, I’ll have time to catch up on the sorts of things the photo at the top of this piece suggests. I need to catch up on some reading, rejuvenate the mind and spirit, rediscover the joy of stress-free writing, relax a little, and focus on things of pressing importance at home. There’s a book I wrote about life as an 18 wheeler driver a few years ago that my literary agent evidently thought was designed to be a posthumous work, so I’ll need to remedy that as well.

I’ll still be around Ricochet, of course, and post the occasional non-political piece, and I’ll still host Radio Deplorable where I get to talk to a steady stream of truly interesting people. And of course, I’ll be posting original work and sprucing things up over at Davecarteronline.com as well.  But for now, it’s time to step back, decompress, and take a much-needed break.