There are days when I can still hear the hum of the ship, smell the salt in the air, and feel the camaraderie that ran deeper than anything I’d known before or since. I miss the Navy—not every aspect, of course. There was plenty of frustration, bureaucracy, and “bullshit” that could grind anyone down. But that intangible something, that sense of purpose and unity, it stayed with me long after I left. And in the quiet moments, I feel the weight of one of my biggest regrets: leaving when I did.

Looking back, I often wonder what my life would have been like if I’d stayed in, finished my career, and retired. How different would I be? How different would life be? But life rarely offers simple answers. I know the things I would have missed—the everyday moments, like watching my twin boys grow up, being there for family, even the freedom to be involved in my nieces’ lives. And given the challenges I faced in the service, it’s not hard to imagine how my mental health might have worsened had I stayed.

When I left the Navy, I traded one set of challenges for another. Civilian life brought its own battles: divorce, PTSD, depression. There were dark days—days that turned into weeks—where I found myself grappling with despair, even suicidal thoughts. I know now that these struggles were rooted in things deeper than my time in service, but the transition from the structured life of the Navy to the often chaotic world outside didn’t make things easier.

But as I fought through those struggles, life handed me moments of grace that kept me grounded. My boys were growing up, and I was there for it—more than I could have been if I’d stayed in. I had the privilege to shape their lives in ways I might never have had as a career sailor. And through it all, I found myself becoming more involved with family, showing up for my nieces, and finding a purpose rooted not just in service but in presence.

I sometimes wrestle with the nostalgia, wondering if there’s a way to bridge these two lives I’ve lived. The structure, the camaraderie, the sense of purpose that made the Navy feel like home—these are things I still yearn for. And while the journey since has been riddled with hardships, it’s also brought its share of blessings, often disguised in the most challenging moments.

As I reflect on the path I chose, I realize that part of life’s journey is learning to make peace with choices. I don’t regret the time I spent in the Navy, and I don’t regret the time I’ve spent since. Both have shaped me, tested me, and taught me. And while I may forever feel the tug of that unfinished chapter, I know that my story is all the richer for the chapters I have finished—the lives I’ve touched, and those who’ve touched mine.

So here I am, standing between the life I once knew and the life I’ve made. This blog is a reflection on the choices we make, the paths we choose, and the sacrifices each road requires. For anyone reading, maybe there’s a bit of yourself in this story. Maybe you, too, are balancing the weight of what was and what is. I don’t have all the answers, but I can tell you this: life doesn’t always follow the course we planned, and that’s okay. Embrace the journey, the memories, and the hard-earned wisdom each step brings.