It's a peculiar relationship. That, of me and guns.
Personal failure bothers more than it does most. I think. In nearly irrational ways, I allow any little defeat to haunt my life.
And, thus, my sentiment in regards guns.
While in the Army, I once performed poorly during a marksmanship qualification event.
My dissatisfactory shooting truly embarrassed me. Especially because I tended to achieve success in most other aspects of my military service: tactical exercises, planning, navigation and, particularly, physical training.
And qualifying with my weapon had never been a challenge. Except during this single test.
Since that day, my anger with myself in relation to adequately handling weapons is such that I have developed a pretty nasty distaste for guns.
Which is weird. Because generally, I like to fire them. In my limited hunting experience, I found the activity rewarding. And, really, my gun in Iraq provided a sense of power that I can't well describe, but do miss.
But, now, the thought of guns turns my stomach.
This phobia is a bit like having a fear of heights, yet loving to fly. I'd imagine for some that such a fear would prevent them from entering the plane despite enjoying being in the air.
And that's where I'm at with guns.
A weird character trait that speaks to some of my odder internal motivations.