Every weekday morning, my alarm rings, and I try to resist the temptation to hit the snooze button. Half asleep, I pull on my sneakers and run a few miles along the Bronx River Parkway trail. I shower, dress, and walk briskly to the Scarsdale Train Station and onto a packed commuter train. Thirty minutes later, I arrive at Grand Central and join the legions of businessmen and women briskly walking toward the many tall, sleek, glass-covered skyscrapers that dot midtown Manhattan’s skyline for another day at the office. I am guessing my morning routine – and the day that follows – may be similar to yours.

This was not always the case. Until a few months ago, I was a soldier in the U.S. Army. I still had the temptation to hit the snooze button in the morning – some things never change! But, after my morning run, instead of putting on a suit and jumping on the train, I would put on my ACU’s (Army Combat Uniform), lace up my tan desert boots, flash my identification card to the guard at the gate, and head onto a military base.

I packed a lot into my twelve years in uniform. I lived in four different countries on three different continents. I held seven different jobs, three of them in Baghdad, and each of them rewarding and challenging in its own way. I earned a bachelor’s degree from West Point and a master’s degree from Oxford. I made lifelong friends and found a few trusted mentors, and I fell in love with and married my husband, John, a fellow Army officer. I learned countless lessons on everything from how to shoot a weapon to how lead a company of soldiers, and I am taking those lessons with me into the next phase of life. And as I make the transition from soldier to civilian, I am beginning to appreciate the fact that spending my twenties serving my country made an indelible impact on who I am.

Becoming a Cadet

Growing up, the military was an abstraction for me. My maternal grandmother was a WAVE in World War II, where she met my grandfather, who served in the Army in both World War II and Korea. But other than their service many years ago, my family did not know any soldiers, sailors, airmen, or Marines personally. As a result, like many Americans, I formed my perceptions of military life not by talking with real soldiers, but by seeing images of them: watching Desert Storm unfold on the news when I was in eighth grade, enjoying G.I. Joe cartoons with my brothers when we’d come home from elementary school, or touring civil war battlefields with my parents on hot summer days.

I developed an avid interest in politics at an early age. Still, I remained largely uninformed about the military. Then, one afternoon, as a junior in high school, a brochure arrived in my mailbox inviting me to attend a weeklong summer workshop at West Point. I was intrigued. I thought to myself, here is a chance to experience the military up close and start to develop the frame of reference that I was lacking. What I did not realize was that this week at West Point would turn into four years as a cadet and eight more as an officer.

By now, you can see where my story is heading. After a week of living in Army barracks in the oppressive humidity that blankets West Point in early July, attending lectures from military professors, and attempting to perform sit-ups and push-ups, I decided to apply to the U.S. Military Academy. I obtained a waiver for my severe nearsightedness, and West Point offered me a position in the class of 2000. I agonized for weeks about taking the seemingly safer route of attending Yale or Princeton. In the end, though, I took the road less travelled and reported for duty.

As I gaze into the rear view mirror and reflect on that decision, I realize that there was no way I could have ever begun to appreciate what I was getting myself into. I was a naïve 17 year old about to graduate from an all-girls, Catholic high school with a senior class numbering 100, whose only foreign travel was a high school trip to Paris, who had never held a weapon, and who only thought of war in the context of what had happened in the past – not what could take place in the future. But there I went, entering West Point in late June of 1996. After four years of regimented life as a cadet and two years of semi-independence attending graduate school in Oxford on a Rhodes Scholarship, I reported to Ft.Leonard Wood, Missouri to become a military police officer who would do far more than just shoot a weapon. I would eventually command soldiers and deploy to war.

A few pages are far too short a space to reflect on the myriad twists and turns of my military career. So instead, allow me to give you three snapshots of my life as an Army soldier and Army wife. In doing so, I hope to make the life of one soldier seem like less of an abstraction for you.

Commander, 39th Military Police Company

On March 15, 2006, ten years after I raised my right hand, took an oath, and became a West Point cadet, I reached an important milestone in my Army career: command of a company of military police soldiers stationed at historic Fort Shafter in Honolulu, Hawaii. A company is one of the most fundamental units of the Army. Below it are platoons and squads of soldiers; above it are battalions, brigades, and divisions to plan and oversee operations. Command of a company is also the first assignment in which an officer assumes complete responsibility over all aspects of his or her unit: organization, mission, readiness, morale, discipline, and training. It’s roughly akin to managing your own business, and my training to date had prepared me for this challenging role.

I became the commander at a unique point in the organization’s history. When I assumed command, the unit was performing traditional law enforcement tasks: patrolling the post, citing traffic violators, conducting investigations, and operating the police station on post. However, my company, like many military police companies throughout the Army, was transforming to meet the needs of a 21st century military that was fighting two wars, as well as preparing for future conflicts. One aspect of the transformation was structural: a brigade of military police moved to Hawaii from Korea, and my company fell under this new headquarters. Another aspect of the transformation was more fundamental, a change of focus: my soldiers had to become proficient not only at their core law enforcement tasks but also at preparing for tasks they could face in Baghdad or Kabul, such as training indigenous police, guarding prisons, patrolling the streets, and reacting to IEDs and ambushes.

In the midst of these organizational changes, however, I could not lose sight of my principal duty: the readiness of my soldiers. Unless they were each individually ready, we would not be able to perform our collective missions. Leading these soldiers was undoubtedly one of the most demanding, as well as most fulfilling, opportunities I have ever had. And I am proud to report that during my time in command, my unit’s readiness increased in a number of key areas. Doing so required much hard work from the soldiers in my company, and I quickly discovered that the principal way I could influence this readiness was through setting, maintaining, and enforcing standards. This was, of course, easier said than done, as anyone who has managed people can appreciate. But as one of my former bosses frequently notes, few things that are important are easy to accomplish.

To say I learned a lot from this intense experience would be an understatement. Being in charge of, and accountable for, a myriad of often disparate tasks was a constant lesson in multi-tasking and prioritizing. Having lots of talented individuals to help me complete those tasks was a lesson in learning from others’ insights and experiences, giving clear guidance, and delegating execution. And, most importantly, being a leader who was accountable both to those below as well as those above was a lesson in sticking to standards, having the courage to do what was right – even if it was not popular – and, most importantly, believing in myself and my abilities.

An Added Responsibility: Family Readiness Group Leader

One month before I assumed command of the 39th Military Police Company, my husband, John, a Blackhawk helicopter pilot, assumed command of Bravo Company, 2-25 Aviation Regiment. His company consisted of 10 Blackhawk helicopters, along with 45 pilots and support personnel. Alongside his company was the company’s Family Readiness Group (FRG), the official, command sponsored organization of family members of the unit. Its mission was to provide mutual support and assistance and facilitate communication between family members and the military unit. As you might expect, the FRG’s mission becomes particularly important when a company deploys, as John’s aviation company was set to do five months after he assumed command.

Although there is no written law, it is customary for the Commander’s wife to lead the FRG. Knowing how all-consuming my own command would be, I was hesitant to lead John’s FRG, as I knew how all-consuming that position could be as well. But no one else volunteered for the position, and it was important to me to support my husband. Thus, I became the Bravo Company FRG Leader. I spent many hours shouldering these two demanding tasks. Indeed, it was not uncommon for me to dash back to base after a busy day of training my military police soldiers, quickly change into casual clothing so that I would fit in among the spouses, and participate in an FRG meeting.

While I knew that being the FRG leader would be a lot of work, I did not anticipate that it would also be a lesson in leadership. But it most certainly was. When I became an FRG leader in 2006, I had spent a decade, my entire adult life, in the male-dominated institutions of the U.S.MilitaryAcademy and the U.S. Army. My leadership style and way of interacting in group settings reflected the culture in which I grew up – one that emphasizes traits like decisiveness and directness.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was a leader of a very different type of organization, one dominated by women who, while exceedingly strong in their own right, were not a part of the macho military culture. The FRG had different norms of behavior, and I quickly learned that leading a company of military soldiers was radically different from leading a group of military spouses. As I strived to do so, I not only grew as a leader, but also as an Army spouse and as a woman. Slowly becoming part of the spousal community – a community that had always seemed so foreign to me – helped me appreciate at a much deeper level than ever before the often herculean tasks a military spouse must perform, especially when his or her soldier deploys, as well as the countless sacrifices a military spouse must make on a daily basis.

I saw firsthand how Army spouses serve as both mother and father, as mentor and disciplinarian, as coordinator of the family meals and the family budget. Many of these women (and some men) became my friends and part of my own support network. We leaned upon one another, sharing the often unspoken but always present truth that every day, our husbands were at war. Each of us dealt with the stresses brought on by worry, anxiety, and loneliness in our own way. Even so, I found that what everyone appreciated most was a good listener and a good friend. Through the FRG, I found those listeners and friends, and tried to do the same to my fellow Army wives.

What Was It Like Over There?

In April 2008, I returned home from my second year-long deployment to Iraq. For someone acquainted with today’s Army, this is a fairly routine occurrence. But to the average civilian, the fact that I spent two years in Iraq frequently elicits both personal feelings and public questions. Often, I will hear the comment, “Oh, I’m so glad you don’t have to go back there.” However, this statement of concern for my well-being fails to recognize that someone else’s husband, wife, brother, or sister must then carry out our nation’s foreign policy.

When asked about my service in Iraq, I tell people that while it did involve hardship and danger, it was also the most professionally rewarding time of my military career. At this point, people often look at me quizzically. I explain that despite occasional incoming mortar fire, I was generally safe on one of our military’s largest bases in Iraq, and I was doing work that I loved for a person I deeply respected (more on that later). In contrast, soldiers in combat units who left the base each day faced far more danger than I ever did. Moreover, hardship and danger are different when you are the one experiencing them. I was less worried about my own personal safety in Iraq than I was about the danger encountered by my husband; my dad, a physician in the Army National Guard; and my younger brother, John, an Air Force pilot, when each of them deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan.

Having provided this initial glimpse into my wartime service, a question inevitably follows. “But don’t you think we should never have invaded?” My answer is that while I have my own personal opinions, as a soldier it was my job to execute the mission I had been given. Moreover, I don’t feel that backward-looking questions help us come up with what we need: forward-looking solutions.

The decisions made to date have undoubtedly constrained the choices now available. But since we cannot reverse those decisions, we should leave their propriety to the historians to debate. Solving the task at hand is complex enough. A fundamental business concept speaks to this same point. When evaluating a set of future options, “sunk costs” – costs incurred in the past – are not considered. This same concept can be applied to Iraq, in my opinion.

Having partially satiated their appetite for knowledge about my views on Iraq, the next question is usually “what was it like there?” First, I explain that each soldier’s deployment is unique. Everyone faces different challenges, dangers, hardships, and rewards. But there are some commonalities. A year spent in a country far from home is a long time, no matter who you are and what your role is. We all miss our families, our friends, and our way of life. That being said, many people I talk to are surprised by the amenities afforded to many soldiers at war.

For example, I shared an air-conditioned room in a trailer protected by massive concrete blast shields. A shower and flush toilet were but a block away, and a 24-hour convenience store just a bit further than that. I ate three meals each day at a hangar-sized dining facility, filled during the holidays with more decorations than my own home had. Friendly Filipino contract workers washed my laundry and returned it to me within 48 hours, and my fellow soldiers delivered my mail – when I got some – directly to my desk. In contrast, soldiers on many outlying bases did not have these amenities, and thus I aimed to never take the conveniences I was afforded for granted.

Having a sense of how I lived, many next wanted to know what I did there. I finally have the chance to tell them about my role during my most recent deployment: working as the speechwriter for the Commanding General in Iraq. It was an assignment that utilized the best of my talents and abilities and that allowed me to grow as a leader, a thinker, and a writer. It also gave me an invaluable education on the role of a strategic leader: how he formulates, implements, and continually revises a strategy and how he communicates that strategy to the President, to the Congress, to the American public and, most importantly, to the soldiers he leads and the Iraqi populace he works to secure. I felt very fortunate, in my own small way, to have made life easier for him and helped him to do his job. I also feel extremely proud of the work Coalition forces accomplished during my recent deployment to Iraq, the time of the surge of forces in 2007 and early 2008. The increased number of troops and the new strategy we executed were two of the many reasons why security has dramatically improved in the “Land of the Two Rivers.” Now, soldiers in Iraq must work with their Iraqi counterparts to solidify the still-fragile gains.

Hanging Up My Uniform

After returning from our second year in Iraq, my husband and I made the difficult decision to resign our commissions and start the next chapter of life. We loved our time in uniform, but were ready for new professional opportunities and new ways to serve as civilians. As we prepared to leave Hawaii, I carefully saved one of each of my uniforms from the last twelve years: the woolen grey cadet outfit that I marched in during parades at West Point, the mossy green battle-dress uniform that would have camouflaged me during a land war in Europe, the light brown desert camouflage that I wore during my first deployment to Iraq, and, finally, the digitized Army Combat Uniform that I wore during my second deployment. As I packed these uniforms into Rubbermaid containers, my husband gently reminded me of the space constraints of our New York apartment. But I knew I was not ready to part with the uniforms. For me, they tangibly represent the many experiences I accumulated in my twenties, and I look forward to one day sharing my uniforms – as well as my memories – with my children.

As I stated earlier, never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to have had the experiences I did as a soldier. But I am so grateful for them. If I could go back and speak to that 17 year old girl trembling at the mailbox in April 1996, overwhelmed by the choice of which college to attend, I would have encouraged her to take the road less travelled. Filled with highs and lows, challenges and opportunities, tight corners and meandering turns, this path will increase your perspective, your leadership ability, and your will to succeed, I would tell her – or any young woman or man thinking about attending West Point and serving our country in uniform. This path will also strengthen our Nation during a time of war. You will not regret it, I would tell her. And you will always have the memories – and the uniforms – to remind you of what you accomplished.