There’s a misconception that the longest seasons of your life are the ones that shape you the most.
That’s not always true.
Sometimes, the shortest periods—the ones you almost overlook—end up doing the deepest work.
I’ve spent time in a lot of places during my military journey. Eight weeks here. Five weeks there. A few months somewhere else. Basic training, advanced training, jump school, officer courses. Every one of those experiences mattered. Every one of them left something behind.
But if I’m being honest, the time that shaped me the most wasn’t the longest.
It was about five to six weeks.
Newport, Rhode Island.
When the Career Becomes Real
By the time I arrived at officer indoctrination school, I wasn’t new to the military. I had already put in years through JROTC, ROTC, and even a commission as an Army officer in the reserves.
But there was a difference.
Up until that point, the military had been something I trained for.
This time, it was something I was about to live.
Full-time. Every day. As a career.
That shift changes everything.
When I accepted my commission as a naval officer, it wasn’t just about service anymore. It was about identity. This wasn’t a possibility—it was reality.
Why Newport Mattered More Than I Realized
Newport served multiple purposes, whether I understood it at the time or not.
It was the furthest I had ever been from what I knew.
Geographically, culturally, mentally—it was a shift.
Coming from the Deep South and spending years in Florida, being in the Northeast forced me into a different environment. Different pace. Different people. Different expectations.
And then there was the dynamic within the class.
Like most professional environments, there weren’t many Black officers. In my class, I was the only Black male, alongside three Black women. Naturally, we gravitated toward each other.
Not out of obligation—but out of shared understanding.
And even though we all went our separate ways afterward, that short period created a connection that mattered.
The Unexpected Gift: Space to Breathe
Here’s what made Newport different.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t under pressure.
Officer indoctrination school—what some called “knife and fork school”—was about learning Navy culture, terminology, and expectations. But I already understood what it meant to be an officer.
So I wasn’t trying to prove anything.
I wasn’t trying to survive anything.
I could just… experience it.
And that mattered more than I realized.
Because before Newport, I had been in a work environment where I wasn’t happy. I was carrying that weight—professionally and personally.
And when you’re in that kind of space, you don’t realize how guarded you become.
In Newport, that guard came down.
Nobody knew my past.
Nobody knew my frustrations.
Nobody knew anything about where I had been.
For the first time in a long time, I had a clean slate.
What a Clean Slate Really Does
A clean slate isn’t just about starting over.
It’s about releasing what you’ve been carrying.
That’s what those five weeks gave me.
- Time to decompress
- Space to think clearly
- Distance from what was weighing on me
I remember walking by the water after long days of training, just listening to the waves.
No noise. No expectations. Just stillness.
And in that stillness, something shifted.
Moments That Seem Small—But Aren’t
It wasn’t just the training that made the experience meaningful.
It was the moments in between.
Driving to Boston on a whim with a fellow officer.
Exploring castles in the Newport area.
Sitting down for breakfast in a new city.
Experiencing snow again after years in Florida.
None of those moments were planned to be “life-changing.”
But together, they created something powerful.
They reminded me that I could enjoy where I was—even in transition.
The Transition I Didn’t Know I Needed
Looking back now—31 years later—I can say this clearly:
Newport wasn’t just training.
It was a transition.
A reset.
A necessary break between who I had been and who I was about to become.
By the time I left and headed to North Carolina for the next phase of my career, something had changed.
I wasn’t carrying the same weight anymore.
I wasn’t the same version of myself anymore.
That period allowed me to purge what no longer served me.
And more importantly—it prepared me to step fully into what was next.
Final Thought
You don’t always recognize a pivotal moment while you’re in it.
Sometimes it just feels like a short stop along the way.
But every now and then, life gives you a window—a brief period where you can reset, reflect, and release.
If you’re paying attention, that window can change everything.
Newport was that window for me.
And I didn’t even realize I needed it—until I had it.
Comments
Post a Comment