“It doesn’t get easier, you just get better”. These words resonated with me while reading a recruitment pamphlet for the Navy. Something about it’s brutal honesty and unappetizing delivery got hold of me. Within 6 months I was shipping out to Great Lakes Illinois, the only boot camp for the navy. More importantly the place where United States Navy sailors are made. I  never wanted to join the military, it seemed more suited for gun-ho personalities and those with an extensive lineage of veterans. I however was neither. The only veterans I even knew were my grandfather and great uncle.
My grandfather just married, was sent off to fight for Uncle Sam for something then known as the Good War. While progressing through eastern Europe into Germany he was captured. He was tortured for information regarding any allied forces in the area. Information which he did not know. He thought his elementary knowledge of German may have saved him from death. A few generations prior his family was living in the very country he would be fighting against. I always found that fascinating growing up. How one day you came home and it  was just morphed into something unrecognizable, something hostile. My great uncle served the better years of his life in the navy, retiring as an O-6 (Navy officer rank of captain). I held great admiration for my grandfather and great uncle, not just for serving in the military but for their strong resiliency. Reading that pamphlet over and over, I knew I wanted to become a stronger person. I wanted the physical and mental fortitude I envisioned all United States sailors to have. But first I had to “get there”.
Sitting in a crowded New Orleans terminal. Looking down I examined my one way ticket to Chicago’s O'Hare airport.  Some other recruits (sailors to be) were talking among themselves waiting for the shared flight. There was talk about the joy of nicotine and the definite withdrawal from such a perfect chemical. The upcoming abstinency from alcohol and other off color pleasures. I however was absent from the ongoing conversation. The reality of where and what I would be doing, this same time tomorrow, was starting to become apparent. I knew the next few months would be completely different from my seemingly normal life. “Now boarding for Chicago” called the flight attendant. I never liked boarding early as I found it pointless. I instead opted to observe the world around me for a few moments longer. I actively looked down the terminal’s corridor. The chaotic nature of people moving in all different directions. The distinctive nature of  every person. The way they walked, the way they dressed. I didn’t know it then but this sense of individualism would be stripped from myself. “Last boarding call for Chicago”. I snapped out of my thoughts and started towards the boarding passageway