Mark Owen: No Hero

“I understand what I am leaving,” I said. “But this job has never been about the paycheck. It’s never been about the shitty pension I’d get if I made it to twenty years either. I love this job more than anything in the world and have made it my number one priority for almost fourteen years.”

He nodded, fully understanding the sacrifices because he had made them as well.

“The war is slowing down, I’d be moved out of my operational squadron after this next deployment, and all the fun would be over,” I continued. “I honestly feel like it’s time to move on and figure out the next steps in my life. The idea of a vacation and actually being able to choose my own schedule sounds amazing.”

We’d all been running hard for years, but the master chief wasn’t going to let me out of his office unless I had a plan.

“Do you have some shit set up on the outside? I don’t want you to become a bum,” he said with a smirk. “I’m not going to give you some bullshit pitch to get you to stay in the teams. I understand where you’re coming from and want you to be happy. You’ve done your fair share of the fighting. Now, get the fuck out of my office and best of luck.”

My next stop was with my former squadron commander. He was the first person to welcome us home from our last deployment. He came running onto the plane after we landed and started shaking our hands. After the mission, he became the acting commander.

Getting called to the third deck, where the officers roam, meant I had to change into my uniform and blouse my boots. I changed out of my shorts and T-shirt and used water to smooth my hair out. I then walked upstairs to meet with the commander.

When he saw me, the commander ushered me into his office. As I sat in the chair across from his desk, I took in the massive mahogany furniture and the walls filled with plaques and other memorabilia. I also saw a blue sleeping mattress tucked in one corner of his office.

“What can we do to keep you?” the commander said. “You’re one of the leaders in the community. You’re going to run this place someday.”

I was honored, but I shook my head no.

“It’s time for me to move on,” I said. “Like I told the master chief. I’m cooked.”

The commander didn’t want to hear it. He wasn’t going to let me get away without a pep talk. He was doing the sales pitch.

“Look,” he said. “This is your life. You’re like me. I sleep in the office. I’m a warrior monk.”

He wasn’t kidding. He didn’t take vacations or time off. He ground out each day in an attempt to show how hard he was and how dedicated to the mission. I understood where he was coming from, but I’d just done almost fourteen years of that same type of commitment. I just didn’t have a nice office to sleep in. Shit, everyone at the command had done that or more.

“Sir, trust me, to some degree I feel like I’m quitting something for the first time in my life,” I said.

He didn’t reply. I got the feeling he knew I was gone. There wasn’t anything that he could do to get me to stay in the command.

“I’ve lived a long time by my gut feeling, and right now, my gut is telling me I need to get off this speeding train,” I continued.

“OK, well, if we can’t change your mind, I understand, and best of luck in the future,” the commander said. He was done trying to convince me to stay. To him, I was just another guy who got off the train.

I stood up, shook his hand, and walked back to the cage area. I ran across a handful of my teammates. We’d already talked about my decision, and like the true brothers that they were, they understood and just wanted me to be happy. But I was also an ex-teammate the minute I decided to not reenlist.

“Hey, fucker, shouldn’t you be working behind a desk already?” one of my teammates said.

“Yeah, hey, fatty, good luck with those TPS reports,” another added.

Their visions of my dismal civilian existence were colored by Office Space, a movie that we had watched no less than a thousand times while on deployment. They already had me in a cubicle in a shirt and tie. In the days leading up to my last visit, I was given a plaque with my name misspelled commemorating my service to the squadron and the SEALs.

All of it felt somewhat hollow.

It wasn’t my teammates’ fault. They were happy for me, but I also knew they were really focused on the next mission or training trip. For more than a decade I’d been honing my skills to be the best SEAL I could be. But that journey was behind me as I walked out of the gate one final time.

I think of it like a surgeon who, after years of training and working in the operating room, became one of the top two hundred and fifty surgeons in the country. Then, with just under fourteen years in practice, he decides to step away and start all over. He just turned in the keys to the operating room after locking it behind him, and started anew.

As I climbed into my truck to drive home, I felt something I’d trained years to control: fear. I was scared. All the questions I left unanswered started to roll around in my head.

What do I do with the rest of my life?

How do I reinvent myself?

What do I fall back on?

Holy shit, what did I just do?

My decision to get out of the Navy was the toughest I’ve ever made. All my friends were still in the command. They would continue to deploy and make the sacrifice that comes with the job. I felt like I was quitting, and we were taught never to quit. I felt like I was letting my teammates down. As hard as that was, in the back of my mind, I knew I had made the right decision. The hard part was going to be remembering it.

I was worn-out.

I’d put the SEALs and service to my country above all else, including relationships, family, vacations, free time, and a normal life. I hadn’t been on a real vacation in years. There were huge gaps in my pop culture knowledge. I couldn’t tell you who won the Super Bowl that year or how many comebacks Britney Spears has had.

But, I could tell you the best tactics for taking down a Taliban stronghold. I was extremely good at skydiving, shooting guns, and plenty of other SEAL skills, but few of those skills are in great demand in the civilian world. I had no idea how my skill set would translate outside of the speeding train of the SEAL teams. I’d just walked away from my purpose in life, and now all the skills I needed to survive as a SEAL were obsolete. I had to redefine my life and goals all over again. In a way, I was back in Alaska, but this time I didn’t have a dream to guide me.

The book No Easy Day was my first step toward a new purpose.

One of the first things my co-writer, Kevin Maurer, and I talked about when we started working on No Easy Day was the book Men in Green Faces by former SEAL Gene Wentz. The novel inspired me to become a SEAL. I considered the book and many like it to be an essential tool in my quest to become a SEAL. The books were better than a commercial or recruiting poster because they allowed me to experience a SEAL’s world firsthand. The same was true for most of my buddies at work. We had all read books about SEALs when we were young.

Phil, one of my mentors and best friends, read the book Delta Force: The Army’s Elite Counterterrorist Unit by Colonel Charlie Beckwith, the unit’s first commander. When he was done, he wrote Beckwith a letter telling him about his dream of joining Delta.

Several months later, Phil got a reply. The handwritten note encouraged him to always dream big and told Phil he could achieve anything. It was that letter that encouraged Phil to pursue his dream. Beckwith’s encouragement put Phil on the path to an amazing career of service.