The ruck dug into my shoulders causing a dull ache in my traps and the base of my neck. The tight waist strap hugged my torso just above my waist in order to distribute some of the weight to my legs and hips and off of my shoulders (which were susceptible to tiring more quickly). The only sounds in the early morning air were the sound of my breathing and the sound of gravel as it churned underneath my lightweight Oakley Army boots. A heavy fog hugged the ground further obscuring my already obscured field of vision and leaving only a small sliver of light where my headlamp fought to project itself onto the path in front of me. My breath came in raspy as I passed mile 4, 6, and 7. I fought to keep my head up and looking forward and to keep my legs turning over at a quick rate. Only 2 more miles to go. Only 2 more miles to go until I’ve made it. Until I’ve made it to the finish line, to the end of the longest physical gate in this phase of training, to the start of my day, to the last day of classes before Christmas break. Taking a sip of water from my CamelBak hose, I lengthen my stride and increase my tempo crossing the finish line in 3rd place and feeling good. I made it! Soon I’ll be done with this phase of the course, and soon I’ll be back at the operational force and serving in a meaningful capacity. I’ve made it.

Thinking about that day and those feelings I am reminded about all the other times in this career path and journey that I thought I had made it:

On a bright and sunny Fall day after high school had let out for the day, I walked up my driveway in rural Pennsylvania and checked the mail where I saw a letter from the Department of the Army. My ROTC scholarship was awarded to me and to the college of my choosing: Mercyhurst University! I made it! All of my extracurriculars, team sports, and good grades paid off! I would get a chance to train and to serve my country!

Four years later, as a Senior at college, I took a shot of whiskey in my plain white-walled-townhouse kitchen while blasting the “U.S. Army Theme” with all of my buddies. We had received our orders. I had gotten the branch of my choosing, and I was being sent to Germany for my first assignment! I made it! Four years of countless nights studying to achieve the highest GPA I could as a double-major. Four years of ROTC training commitments, labs, classes. Four years of being a collegiate athlete balancing training with studies, Army PT tests, and Army ruck marches. Four years of stressing over the algorithm which would decide our fates and assign us to our units, branches, and components. But it was all over. I was done. I made it! I would begin serving my country very shortly!

Four years later, older, but perhaps not wiser, I completed selection for a special operations pipeline. Fueled by imposter syndrome and not feeling like I served in the way I was called to serve; I was convinced that this event and path was the perfect crossroads for me. That it was the perfect blend of both of my undergraduate majors and my Army experience. That it was fate. Struggling with an injured Achilles tendon, I limped myself through it because I believed. Believed in myself and that this is what I was meant to do. I succeeded! I made it!

Now. Present day. After 3 years of special operations training, I am sitting at a desk, in a cubicle, in an office, waiting for my opportunity to serve and wondering: “when will I finally make it?”

This story is true. I write it as a way to check myself. To remind myself to slow down and to enjoy the ride, because if I keep looking for satisfaction in my career, I will be disappointed and I will miss out on all of the life that is happening all around me as the years go by. Perhaps I will never truly “make it” professionally. Perhaps I need to remember what a privilege it is to simply exist. Perhaps I need to remember that life is about all the small things. Perhaps living in the present is what it’s all about. Perhaps we will never make it so we should be happy where we are. 

Perhaps we will never make it.

-The Poet of Windy Blue