My first roommate in Charleston, Spencer, was one of the coolest people I ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was interesting and unique, sure, but that’s not exactly what I mean by cool. His laid back, almost nihilistic vibe would remind me that there’s no reason to get worked up or heated over the stupid bullshit that we dealt with daily in the military. It’s all gonna be over one day, and none of it really matters in the long run. It certainly wouldn’t define any of our lives.
Spencer’s chilled-out demeanor evened me out. I cared a lot about the trivial things and my attitude has always been shoot for the stars or don’t shoot at all. “If you wanna be a bear, you better be a grizzly,” is what a childhood mentor of mine told me before leaving for the military, and I wanted to live up to that. Spencer was a solid teammate, but he was also introspective, and entirely too intelligent to be working on gate security. He never complained - he did his job knowing that he would move on, but served honorably. Spencer was cool, while I was fired up.
We shared the apartment during some really impactful moments in both our lives. I watched his decision to separate from the military unfold as he transitioned into civilian life, and he watched my struggle and endeavor in attempting to earn a spot in Air Force Special Warfare.
I’ve had few people ever understand this stage of my life as intimately as Spencer did. He was hard on me, but supportive in my almost year-long preparation for selection. He understood exactly what I put myself through, and yet he was totally objective in his support. He would give me shit if I slacked off on my diet or training, if my technique was anything short of perfect, even coming to train with me on several occasions. Like a good friend, he didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, he told me what I needed to know.
I left the apartment for selection early on a January morning with my soul devoted to succeeding; I returned as a statistic, another Security Forces troop who didn’t make the cut. When I got home at 3 A.M., I was greeted by a note on my bedroom door that said:
“Not everyone has the balls to chase their dreams.”
I still have that note.
Right before getting out, Spencer attended tryouts for the Phoenix Raven Program, where I ultimately ended up. In 2016, the program was less sophisticated but much more physically rigorous than it has become in the 2020s. The duration of the tryout ranged from 1-3 days depending on the number of candidates and their abilities. Day 1 was notoriously difficult regardless of the duration of the rest of the tryout, and even shocking for unprepared candidates. Spencer survived the entire first day all the way until the late afternoon, proving that he had been more than capable of completing the in-house and official training requirements, which would have totaled 6 weeks of difficult training. But in the afternoon, while standing peacefully and watching the instructors demonstrate non-lethal weapons tactics, after proving his fitness, he left. “I realized I wasn’t interested,” he told me.
I was shocked to hear it, but it was in the moment that the dust settled that he figured out that this particular career option wouldn’t make him happy. I saw this as Spencer giving the Air Force one last chance to impress him before breaking up and moving on, which it failed to do. Thus began his final stages of transition.
Fast forward about 18 months: Spencer got out and was crushing it in school, considering flight school after undergrad. He sent me a message to catch up one night while I was pulling a short security mission in Afghanistan. He asked me what the plan was - stay in, get out, try again at selection? I had no idea. I was content with the way I was contributing and I knew I had a lot left to learn, but also hated many aspects of the lifestyle. A huge part of me wanted to try again for selection, but an even bigger part of me wanted to make him proud by going back and succeeding. I confided in Spencer that the upcoming decision worried me a lot. “How did you know you were making the right decision?” I asked.
“I didn’t,” he responded. “I still don’t know if it was the right one. You have to make the decision, and MAKE it the right decision for yourself.”
When facing the decision to separate, stay in, switch career fields or take risk, we can all take a page out of Spencer’s book. The decision itself may not be as important as the way we carry out that decision. Living life the way we want to individually is our own responsibility, and no single career, relationship, business transaction or job title will bring you peace. I’m still learning this myself.
Strike first, ask questions later. I like it, Spencer.
Well written. Thanks for sharing!