On the twenty-second floor of the Deutsche Bank building in Sydney, Australia, I sat back in my desk chair and stared out over the iconic harbor; it was January 2012. I was employed at one of the world’s top-tier management consulting firms, Bain & Company. My charcoal suit and silver cufflinks certainly made me look the part of a successful businessman. However, as I watched the sailboats gliding below, I thought back to the time I had worn my Navy summer whites and ribbons. One of my best friends had just been selected for early command at sea and had called to tell me. This was my third close friend from Annapolis to earn that distinction within a few months. Each would soon be in charge of a warship, lead their own crew, and deploy independently, conducting operations in the Persian Gulf. I was thrilled for each of them. They were all brilliant naval officers and highly deserving of the job, but I was conflicted over the career decisions I had made. Commanding a ship had always been one of my greatest aspirations. Now my friends were living my old dream, and I was rethinking decisions that had brought me to Australia. Why had I left the Navy? Where was I headed?
I have always been an adventurer at heart. I was drawn to a career in the Navy because it offered a chance to leave my hometown of Glenwood Springs, Colorado, and have an impact beyond America’s borders. I wanted to join the Navy to see the world and to be a part of a “global force for good” as the slogan goes. By my senior year in Annapolis, I had been to six countries and was assured the opportunity to explore even more. For the first four years following graduation, I sailed throughout the Middle East, Asia-Pacific, and Europe.
At the end of my sea tours, I was selected to be the Navy Region Europe antiterrorism officer, stationed in Naples, Italy. Bombings in England and Spain in the post-9/11 world demanded rigorous protection of U.S. bases abroad, and it was my job to ensure that they were equipped to combat the evolving threat from extremists. In my new role, I was exposed to the inner workings of a large Navy staff and observed how the Navy operates on a global level. The breadth of the operational duties meant a number of admirals were involved; this was the first time in my career that I had access to this level of seniority. The strategic perspectives the flag officers brought to the most pressing challenges was impressive to observe. They issued important orders with ease, moving ships and aircraft carriers around the coast of Africa and throughout the Mediterranean Sea.
Life in Naples had many rewards as well. The food was exceptional, and the people welcoming. My neighbor, Salvatore, and his two daughters regularly invited me over for Napolitano pizza or fresh pasta and his special homemade vino. The views of the bay of Naples from our shared villa were breathtaking. Some of the world’s most beautiful islands—Capri, Ischia, and Procida—were on the doorstep and served as frequent destinations for weekend sailing or hiking. Furthermore, most of Europe’s popular vacation destinations were just a short flight away. In fact, one of the biggest perks of my antiterrorism duties was the opportunity to travel for both work and pleasure. I skied in the Alps, celebrated Oktoberfest in Munich, and visited the Greek isles in summertime. It was during one of these trips, to Heidelberg, Germany, that I met my future wife, Nele.
Nele and I quickly fell for each other and took every possible moment to be together. During one holiday rendezvous in Athens, we began to talk about a looming decision: My tour in Naples was nearing its completion, and I needed to decide whether to continue my career as a naval officer. I had been selected for one of the Navy’s graduate school scholarships. The program gave the best surface warfare officers time to complete a master’s in business administration while on active duty. Things appeared to be on track. The scholarship was a wonderful enticement to stay in uniform, and I had been accepted at Stanford and Harvard. The Navy, however, then demanded that I pursue a shorter MBA program at a second-tier business school to avoid delaying other career milestones. Turning down the top graduate schools in the world because of career timing was a hard pill to swallow, but leaving the Navy I had come to know and love would be equally difficult. I sat with Nele on the rooftop deck of our hotel in Athens with a bottle of wine to discuss all the options.
She listened as I reminisced about my amazing journey to date. Steeped in tradition and history, Annapolis had been an incredible education in leadership and academics and the source of enduring friendships I would be hard pressed to replicate. I reported apprehensively to my first ship in San Diego, but after seven months deployed at sea, I became a confident mariner and qualified surface warfare officer. The mission was critical, disembarking the Marines who had invaded Iraq in 2003 and eventually escorting them home to California. I later became an engineering officer on the Navy’s finest cruiser, USS Hue City, and led a division of sixteen damage-control personnel, protecting the ship against flooding, fire, and chemical, biological, radiological attack.
Staying in the military would provide me with a life and career of adventure, but a journey of service to which I was already quite accustomed; the private sector was completely unknown to me and exciting. Two admirals in Naples discovered that I was considering separation, and each tried to convince me of the rewards of a long naval career. They said the lifetime of stories, the robust retirement pay, and the intrinsic reward of service were immeasurable. I knew the Navy had a lot to offer, but I also believed I wanted more. I had an unquenchable desire to do more for a broader range of people in the civilian world. I followed my heart and my entrepreneurial spirit and accepted the offer from Harvard Business School for its upcoming semester. I have never again worn my summer whites.
When I left the Navy for civilian life, I felt as though I were reporting to that first ship in San Diego. It was a new unknown. I had no idea how I would be able to afford business school. I had no idea what industry I would enter. I was clueless about my career options in the short and long term. I had been in uniform since my eighteenth birthday; the preceding ten years had been filled with navigation, seamanship, naval history, and lots of regulations. I felt like the world was once more wide open to me. I just wasn’t quite sure of my place in it.
Harvard provided an entirely new set of resources for navigating life. Roughly nine hundred brilliant and diverse students are admitted every year, a third of them from outside the United States, all with different backgrounds and aspirations. Beyond learning the mechanics of finance, operations, and marketing from the finest instructors, Harvard provided two years of conversation with hundreds of other students, all reflecting on their own career choices and future ambitions. There were military officers pondering their next steps, investment bankers who wanted to become entrepreneurs, teachers who wanted to reform the education sector, and consultants who wanted to train their problem-solving skills on fixing such complex issues as poverty, hunger, and the environment. I was surrounded by like-minded adventurers trying to navigate toward a career where they would have a positive impact on the world.
Attending Harvard Business School during the peak of the financial crisis meant that the school became an epicenter of debate about the roles and responsibilities of business and government in creating the crisis and responding to it. The debate hit close to home since many graduates were heavily involved in various aspects of the crisis. Some worked at the troubled investment banks whose demise had marked the start of the “great recession,” while others, like President George W. Bush and Secretary of the Treasury Henry Paulson, played critical roles in determining how the government would respond to the Wall Street meltdown. At times, the classroom debate turned to the cost-benefit of funding two wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that appeared to be having limited success. My classmates would often ask for my perspective on the appropriate level of spending on national defense in the midst of soaring unemployment and national debt. I felt obligated to point out how critical defense is for America’s security and economic growth but also acknowledged that defense could not come at the expense of good public schools, infrastructure investment, and needed technology at home.
I learned countless lessons in those Cambridge classrooms, from the faculty and my fellow students. Discrete events—like trekking through Patagonia with classmates, the one-on-one conversation I had with Jack Welch, and participating in the business plan competition—are not only unforgettable experiences but also provided me with confidence and a network of meaningful friendships that I hope to always carry with me. In the end, going to business school provided me with the foundation for a successful transition, bridging the divide between the military and civilian worlds.
After Harvard, Nele and I married and decided to move to Sydney, Australia. We were attracted by the breathtaking scenery, the abundance of outdoor activities available, the friendly people, and the booming economy. I joined Bain & Company as a consultant and have since worked with razor-sharp people in a number of industries on vastly different types of projects. While I think it is unlikely I will make a lifelong career of consulting, the boardroom access has helped refine my analytical and communication skills, continues to build my international IQ, and allows me to work hand-in-hand with Australian chief executive officers on some of the biggest challenges their businesses are facing. Like the Navy admirals I worked with in Naples, good CEOs have an uncanny ability to pinpoint the crux of critical issues with laser-like focus.
Mary Oliver’s poem “The Summer Day” ends with the line
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
One year removed from Harvard Square, looking out over Sydney Harbor, my answer to that question was less defined than it had been when I was in the Navy. I knew I want to live a life of purpose that makes a difference to others while finding the time to relish the small joys of life. I’m still not sure what shape that life will take, much less what it will be ten years from now. Will I start a nongovernmental organization? Will I become an entrepreneur? Will I invest in ventures that have a social mission?
Although my postmilitary navigational chart is not yet plotted, my passions are as clear as when I was a naval officer. No matter the attire, I will lead a life of service. Having a positive effect in today’s society requires perseverance, acumen, and a global perspective. My new life with Nele, my global network of hardworking friends, and the foundation of service derived from Annapolis bring confidence to my next chapter. I’m proud of the route my friends in uniform have chosen, but that path is no longer my life’s aspiration. I will earn early command in my own way. I value having the freedom to set my own course. Our nation needs leaders in and out of uniform who are willing to serve with integrity and dedication. I’m still finding my path, but I wake up every day energized by the endless possibilities for this “one wild and precious life.”