One sure sign of aging is to be asked to return to your alma mater to give a speech. Recently, I returned home to the vast, golden cornfields of Champaign, Illinois, to speak at the Navy Ball at the University of Illinois. I cannot say that I remember much about the guest speakers from my time as a midshipman at the U of I, except that they were generally old—and infinitely accomplished. They were also unimaginably senior to me—commanders, captains, and the occasional admiral. In those days, even talking to a newly commissioned ensign filled me with a touch of awe and, perhaps, a bit of fear. I also recall how much I wished I could be them; to be trusted to lead sailors, drive ships, or fly airplanes. It was truly the best of times and I envied them. Now that I am that (hopefully not too ancient) alumnus, I am surprised how easy it is to bask in that warm glow of nostalgia. I suspect that I am not alone. Whether you served two years or 30, many veterans look back to their time in the service with great fondness—some even call those salad years as the highlight of their lives. As I put the finishing touches on my (brief) speech about this very subject, I hope you will indulge me a few personal observations on this powerful contagion called nostalgia.
Often when people reminisce about their first years in the service, they are really reflecting on the wonder of youth. As each of us knows, this feeling of nostalgia is not limited to our recollections of service. It applies equally well to music, first loves, and home towns. Youth is a time of great hope and promise, where all things are possible in the fullness of time.
I recall that tremendous anticipation I felt as a midshipman as if it were yesterday. I was embarking on a great adventure alongside superb shipmates. Soon enough, we would all be flying airplanes or driving ships and, one day, realize our manifest destiny—command. Options seemed abundant, and we would choose anything we liked from the buffet of life. As graduation neared, we began to see that world-view change. Some of us would select naval air and others would join the long tradition of the seafaring Navy. Most were happy with their choices, some less so. As many of us are all too aware, we make choices as life unfolds and, over time, occasionally ponder those many paths not offered or taken.
Experience and wonder often have a mutually exclusive relationship. Often as we age, experience drives us to a type of reverse alchemy—converting the gold of wonder and innocence for the much more mature elements of experience and, potentially, even cynicism. It was not until I became an admiral's aide in the Pentagon that I began to see senior officers as regular people, who suffered the same slings and arrows, and foibles, as the rest of us. Interestingly enough, my changed view applied only on a prospective basis. I still look back at my first commanding officer with the same lens I used as an ensign—he will always be the infallible, great leader. No matter how many times he asks me to call him by his first name, I cannot bring myself to do it. He will always be the skipper. When we reflect on our earliest days in the service, I believe we remember that wonder and the sense that we were part of something greater than ourselves.
I am also quite certain that these wonderful memories of youth are enhanced through the assistance of selective memory. Thanks to a peculiar and beneficial quirk in our cognitive physiology, we tend to remember (and enhance) great memories and forget or soften the more painful experiences. So, when we look back, we are recalling the "best of soundtrack of our lives.
Now, as I return to speak to these young midshipmen, I realize that it is I who envy them and part of me longs to return to that magical time of great hope and promise. But even my selective memory tells me that perhaps I do not really miss being the bull ensign that much after all.
Mr. Michel is president of Military.com, a company focused on connecting service members, veterans, and their families to the benefits earned while in the service. He is a former naval officer.