A Veteran’s Day Reflection

There is a particular kind of silence that lives in the stories we do not tell.

Sometimes it is the silence of grief.

Sometimes it is the silence of pride.

And sometimes it is the silence of not knowing if the story will be understood by the people who hear it.

Veterans live with this silence in a way that is both deeply personal and universally shared.

I know this silence because I lived it.

I served as a United States Marine Corps musician. I was not on the front lines of battle carrying a rifle (just the front ranks of a parade band carrying my instrument), but I carried something else: I carried the responsibility of morale, tradition, community, and ceremony. I carried the weight of honoring others’ sacrifices. I played at funerals, stood for taps, and watched families hold their breath in the space between the final note and the reality of loss settling over them.

And like most veterans, I don’t tell those stories.

Not because I am ashamed, but...

Every challenge holds the seeds of a story.

When you are in the thick of heartbreak, loss, identity crises, or rejection, it is hard to imagine how anything good could come from it. But I have seen repeatedly how the most powerful speakers are the ones who have dared to sit with their pain, shape it, and then share it.

Everything you experience becomes part of your story. The mundane moments. The big shifts. The chapters you wish you could erase. All of it. And when you learn to speak from those pieces of your past, especially the messy, complicated, human ones, you begin to build something powerful: a story full of connection, healing, and impact.

For women and minorities, especially those from marginalized or silenced communities, speaking out is not just empowering, it is revolutionary. Your story is not just yours. It is the story of all those who are like you and just don’t know how to connect. Your story is an invitation, a bridge, and a reminder to others that they are not al...