Origin Story

This article is not meant to brag or show off anything that may seem "show offy." It is meant to shine light on who "I" am, for those that are interested. This will be brief, and this is my first writing so it may be a trainwreck.

Originally from Montana, now reside in Kentucky, I spent all of my adult life as a soldier. I was a U.S. Army Special Forces Soldier – a Green Beret.  I served my country for over 14 years.  

I remember when 9/11 happened.  I was in High School.  I didn’t quite understand what was happening at the time.  Hell, I thought it was just an accident.  I mean, planes crash all the time don’t they?  Then the second plane hit.  Then Flight 93 went down.  Then the Pentagon was struck.  This was the real deal!  Something bad was happening and we weren’t going to let 1000s of lives die in vain.  Whatever your opinion is of that day, this is not the place to discuss it. This is my perspective. 

As soon as I was able, I joined the U.S. Army.  Because I wasn’t 18, my Dad signed off on my to go under the condition I join the Reserves and go to college.  I agreed, but it didn’t last long.  I was in my first year at community college, and I think Saddam Hussein had just been captured.  Major battles were taking place all over Iraq and Special Operations Forces (SOF) were capturing Taliban leaders all over Afghanistan.  I was missing history! I was taking my math midterm. I got about half way through, put my pencil down, and walked out the door.  Next thing I knew I was on Fort Bragg, NC training to become a Green Beret.

I wasn’t successful.  I begrudgingly admit, I quit.  My body hurt.  I had no toenails nor skin left on my feet.  I had scars all over my body.  I was 19 and weak minded.  I was impatient and wanted to get into combat, but I couldn’t wait the year plus journey to become one of America’s best. 

I found myself in Alaska.  I was a part of the beginning of the 3rd Battalion 509th Parachute Infantry Regiment.  After a year of barely training, we found ourselves in a hornet’s nest in Anbar Province, Iraq.  I witnessed suffering, loss, pain, anger, pure hatred, and fear.  I couldn’t sleep, I felt malnourished, but the mission had to continue. There’s A LOT more to this story, but we’ll move on.

Fast forward, after that deployment I decided to try again for Special Forces.  This time, I was successful!  Total transparency, I was by no means a stellar performer, nor was I anywhere near the top of the class.  I guarantee I graduated by the skin of my teeth.  Let’s just say, I had the opportunity many years later to review my packet (kept in an archive), and I declined because I didn’t even want to know.  I graduated and that’s all I cared about.  Point is, I was determined. I was older, had some skin in the game, and I didn’t ever want to feel the shame, regret, and embarrassment I felt years prior.

On a sidenote, I lived fast and furious! I YOLO-ed life as much as I could, lest tomorrow we die! I've raced off cliffs on snowboards, I've dove out of airplanes, I've binged and purged to my heart's content. In 2015, it caught up to me. Everything I've bottled inside for so very long condemned me to the point I actually prayed for the pain to end. In fact, I sat in my car, with a gun, and prayed if God was real to save me - the voices would end one way or another. Why is this important? Maybe not so much for this writing, but for future ones - keep note.

I served as a Special Forces Engineer and Intelligence Sergeant in 5th Special Forces Group.  I did multiple tours in the Middle East and I am extremely proud of everything my team and I accomplished.  It was the best years of my life.  It was as though I was where I belonged.  I matured as a Green Beret, and I felt my military career finally had the catalyst for me to grow as a leader.  Every so often though, a GB must go serve some time working at the school house (aka Special Warfare Center and Schools, or SWCS).

I didn’t want to go! I wanted to fight terrorism! ISIS was being repelled back to Syria. The fight for Mosul was moments away, and I had to go be a teacher.  I was less than thrilled.  My team had to go, and I couldn’t go with them.  I was devastated.  However, this was probably the highlight of my career.

Now, when I said earlier, I was by no means the champion of SF, I didn’t mean I was a turd either.  I could run, lift, ruck, climb, shoot, move, and communicate better than most.  I was well trained, and I took it seriously.  Someone’s life depended on it.  However, one day I fell flat on my back and had a heart attack. 

I was 31 years old.  I went for a run and felt some tightness.  I didn’t think nothing of it other than I was pushing a little bit too hard.  About an hour later I am in the most intense pain of my life and in full panic mode!  I’m rushed to the hospital and life flighted to Duke University Hospital where they run test after test after test after test.  Only to find inconclusive results.  There was literally no reason I should’ve had a heart attack.  Yet, the man who was running miles and miles a day, couldn’t walk down the hall to the bathroom without getting winded.

I recovered, but I was never the same.  I gained weight and my fitness fell by the waste side. I had lost confidence and I was scared.  I knew this was going to be my demise.  Just as it was finally on the upward trend.  Just as I felt I was amongst the best of my peers, my body failed me.  Now what?

Being a soldier was everything to me.  It was who I was meant to be, but here I am.  Not allowed to lift anything over 10 pounds and can only do cardio if a nurse is present.  I was mad, sad, scared, and resentful all at the same time.  I asked, is this the end?  Am I going to lose my house? My family?  I have no friends and no job even remotely interested me, except teaching, but I couldn’t even get a stinking call back for an interview.  I was lost, without purpose and without relevance.

I was retired in 2018. I was jobless. No direction. No help. No money! Like, $0 in the bank. I was waiting for my disability and retirement to come in (I qualified for permanent retirement). I was doing odd jobs on a farm. I was substitute teaching. I was doing anything and everything I could to support my family. Somehow, all of my bills got paid, and we even had a stellar Thanksgiving. From scratch no less! I learned how to make pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce from scratch. I grew a garden, learned canning, and rebuilt myself from scratch.

Life at this time was an emotional rollercoaster. With more downs than ups. As I mentioned before, I was angry and resentful – towards God. I kept hearing about purpose this and purpose that, and it made me angry as I felt my purpose was to be a soldier, but it was ripped away from me. Eventually, I cried out to God. Well, more like accosted. 

That night I had a dream. I remember it vividly. It included friends I lost in combat. It included painful scenes and memories that I would rather forget than remember. I woke up crying. Like, what the hell??? Later that day I was driving around and meeting people. I lived in this area for like, 7 years and I didn’t hardly know anyone. I met the mayor, the county judge, the chamber of commerce, different business owners, radio personalities. I was networking. Trying to figure out where I fit. 

I remember it dawning on me that there are people suffering in my own community. I was blind, or ignorant, to the thought because this is America. Wasn’t I fighting for these people to have stellar lives? Why are there children starving? Why are there Americans grinding themselves to the bone for a meager few bucks to barely feed their family? They’re rhetorical questions. I know why. I felt I had to do something. I tried to organize community efforts. Well, someone already does that. No big, I’ll go a different route. Well, someone is doing that too. I finally found a niche to nestle into, but I couldn’t get anyone to care. It bothered me greatly because how on Earth am I going to invoke change if I don’t have money?

That’s the question isn’t it? This whole long essay thing just to ask that question. How can I, if I don’t have the money? Silly rabbit, you have everything you need already. Reflecting through life I realized that money is an illusion that gives you the perception of happiness, but it’s fleeting. All the money in the world cannot fill the void that’s in your heart. Only pure joy can do that. Now, I’m a Christian. I found God during this time, and it is my duty to say that I believe that joy only comes from serving Him. However, I also understand that not everyone reading this is going to buy that. However, one cannot deny the joy that is received when we do for others. I finally stopped beating my head on my desk and realized I don’t need the money. I have what I need already! You have it too!

Your god is whatever you put your faith into. Is it your job? Is it your finances? Is it your success? All of which are illusions and distractions to what is keeping you from true wealth. True wealth that doesn’t come from millions of dollars that will only dig you deeper and deeper into a hole. True wealth that is founded upon sustainable hope and love.

Alright, alright, alright, let’s not be na?ve. We do need to have money to pay our mortgages and rent, groceries, and other bills. Point is, let’s not make money our god. Let’s make money our BITCH! Let’s turn money against itself so it will work for us for a change. Let’s learn how to live with necessities and have a sustainable income that is only successful if you allow it to be. Let’s no longer rely on other people to sustain our happiness. We are Americans, and we have every right to pursue a life of wealth – on our own terms!