Sometimes You Need to Be Your Own Hero

I'm a brat. An Army brat. For 18 years—and honestly, I'm not sure the lifestyle ever fully leaves you decades later.

Growing up, I hated it. The constant moves. Living with my grandparents and relatives while my dad was stationed in Korea. Eight different schools—three of them high schools. Falling behind in classes every time the curriculum shifted. Always the new kid. Never enough time to build a real social life.

It was a rootless life. And when you're a kid, roots matter.

What I didn't realize then was that each move was its own hero's journey—a call to adventure I never asked for, pushing me into unknown territory. The same circumstances that made life feel unstable were actually training grounds, forging wisdom. I became adaptable. I learned how to read a room quickly, how to stay alert in new environments, and how to adjust without losing my core. I wasn't always successful at it—but the pattern shaped me.

Each new school, each new base, each goodbye became a test—what Joseph Campbell called the "Road of Trials" in the hero's journey. And with each trial came a piece of wisdom: you have to lead yourself before you can lead anyone else.

Because no matter who's in charge—your parents, the Army, your teachers, your boss—there comes a moment where you realize you have to take the reins. You have to find your own voice, chart your own path, and become your own guide.

That moment—_the first flicker of responsibility for your own life_—is the beginning of becoming your own hero.

And heroes don't usually start out with capes. They start with questions.

Who am I, really?

What matters to me, not just to the system around me?

Am I just reacting, or am I responding from something deeper?

True wisdom, I learned, isn't found in monasteries or classrooms. It emerges in the crucible of change—those threshold moments between who you were and who you're becoming. For me, it was the backseats of school buses, school hallways I'd never see again, the long silences of missing my dad and cousins. A girlfriend left behind. Each space became a sanctuary where I could integrate the lessons of constant change.

Funny enough, one of the few constants across all those Army bases was the movie theater. There, in the darkness of base theaters, I found my first mentors—the archetypal guides of the hero's journey. Cool Hand Luke taught me about unbreakable spirit. The Sundance Kid showed me how to face impossible odds with grace. Patton demonstrated the power of unwavering conviction. And Yoda? He revealed that true strength often comes disguised as weakness.

That's when I started listening more closely—not just to others, but to the quiet voices of those who'd walked the path before: the Yoda’s. The mentors. The ones who showed that strength isn't about domination, but alignment—of timing, truth, and action.

This essay is about that journey. About how you can become your own hero—not because you've been given the title, but because you've earned it. It's for those in the midst of their own hero's journey—whether they're facing the call to adventure, wrestling with trials, or preparing to return with the wisdom they've gained. For those who know they were meant for something more but haven't yet decoded the map of their own transformation.

If that's you, welcome. Let's find your path together.