Failure.

I'm not so good at failure.

I don't know if I mentioned it but I applied for an academic fellowship a few months ago at a fairly esteemed school in England. Honestly, I sort of applied on a lark. The fellowship was for mid-career journalists and I just barely met the eligibility requirements. I figured I'd be dismissed right off the bat.

But I wasn't. I was selected as a finalist and flown to England to interview. And that got my hopes up. Way, way up.

You know, as military wives, no matter how prolific a career or education we had before marriage, just by nature of the beast, so much of our lives becomes about our husbands. I know I've fought such a thing tooth and nail and yet here I am, living in this tiny corner of Germany, raising our child, leading my husband's FRG, volunteering my time for his unit, attending all of his events. There's not much time for my stuff. And what time there is, isn't very glamorous. I can't remember the last time I achieved something that was all about me. So you know, the idea of having my own thing, something new and different, something to do during the deployment, and, yes, I admit it, something prestigious, was so damn appealing.

But I found out yesterday that I didn't get it. It was a kind rejection. It encouraged me to apply again after gaining more experience. And you know, maybe I will. But right now, this news mixed with the looming deployment makes me wonder if I'm doing enough for *me* on a regular basis.

I don't know the answer.