On the morning of December 5, 1983, I woke up in fear. It was 5 AM and I had to drive to the Navy recruiter’s office in Santa Ana, California for the final trip to the MEPS in Los Angeles, then a 90 mile drive south to San Diego and the Recruit Training Command…boot camp.
I wasn’t afraid of boot camp. Four years of playing high school football prepared me for the physical requirements and certainly the mind games. I had been sworn into the Navy’s Delayed Entry program so essentially, I was already in the Navy (or so I thought). I was afraid of moving forward on a six-year commitment where nothing was certain beyond me getting through boot camp and dental assisting school. I had no idea where I would be stationed and where this career might take me. And, I was suddenly reluctant to leave home.
The weeks before December 5th were filled with wrapping things up at my current job as a stock clerk at a Ralph’s grocery store and saying goodbye to my friends and family. A couple of days before I left, those same family and friends threw a big surprise going-away party for me.
I thought about all this on the van ride to MEPS. The job at Ralph’s was a good one with room to grow. I got it shortly after enlisting in the Delayed Entry Program and immediately second-guessed my decision to join the Navy. Now, I wanted more than anything to leave this new phase I was embarking on and go back to what was comfortable.
When I arrived at MEPS, we did the requisite physical where you walk around naked with a bunch of other guys at an assembly-line station of doctors and nurses. Then, after lunch, we sat down with a clerk to go over our enlistment contract. It was then I saw my escape.
It turns out, I had actually been out of the Delayed Entry Program since midnight. I would not be officially in the Navy until I signed that new contract and swore in. I could have picked up and walked out that very moment with no consequences, and nobody could stop me. Yes, I’d have to figure out how to get home from MEPS in Los Angeles, but that seemed like a minor issue. I sought freedom and lo and behold, I was already free!
But then a new fear struck me. How do I tell all those family and friends that I chickened out? Could I even get my old job back at Ralph’s? I’d even have to answer to my old high school football coach, telling him I “wimped out.”
In the end, the fear of embarrassment was greater than my fear of leaving home. I signed the documents, raised my right hand, and took the long bus ride to boot camp. And a six-year commitment ended up being 15.
Sometimes fear is the best way to fight fear.
What are you afraid of? What then is MORE scary than that actual fear? If THAT fear is greater, then you can do the first thing you were afraid of first.