Go to any military base and outside its gates you’ll find three things: strip bars, pawn shops, and tattoo parlors.

I want to talk about that last one.

The Loyalty Test

Inside, artists know exactly what’s coming as soon as liberty hits: a wave of eager, excited, and sometimes slightly drunk servicemembers ready to prove their commitment to their branch. And they’ll do it — roll up their sleeve, grit their teeth, and let that gun buzz their organization’s logo into their skin. Forever.

Compare that to the average employee clocking out on a random Thursday after completing a brutal project. They want to get home, disconnect, move on with life. Maybe a scotch. Getting their company’s logo tattooed on their body isn’t even a passing thought — and if it were, it’d be the craziest idea they’d ever had, especially while they’re privately plotting their exit to a role that actually fits their talents.

Back to that tattoo.

It’s a significant investment. A forever commitment. A mark on coveted, limited real estate, usually reserved for something deeply personal — a mantra, a spouse, a child, a fraternity, a memorial. It’s a way of saying: Something changed me so profoundly that I want proof of it for the rest of my life.

Which makes me wonder: what’s actually earned that kind of mark in my own life lately?

I’ll come back to that in a bit.

A Tattoo-Inspiring Week

I’m writing this in the wake of my son becoming a Marine. He just completed The Forge, was awarded his Eagle, Globe and Anchor last Friday, and is officially among The Few, The Proud. I’ll see him for Family Day Friday, then graduation Saturday. I’d bet money he comes home with inaugural, fresh ink before long. This has been a tattoo-inspiring experience.

I talked to him briefly during his 24-hour liberty last weekend. Here I’d been worrying myself sick about how he was holding up, and he tells me, casually, that he’s thriving — on track to be an honor graduate. I hate to admit it: I wasn’t expecting that. I knew he’d survive. But thrive?

The Kid Who Couldn’t Sit Still

Judge is my firstborn, born at Camp Lejeune while his dad, a retired Marine, deployed on and off for nearly a year and a half before Judge turned four. I was often a single parent through those toddler years, and they were a struggle. He was a kid who wouldn’t — couldn’t — stop or sleep. I was building my business, Lead Star, at the time, and to get him to nap, I’d make him chase me around the house until he collapsed. (I know how that sounds. It wasn’t abuse — just early speed training. He did become a talented runner.)

The wiggles never stopped. He couldn’t sit still in Tae Kwon Do, couldn’t sit criss-cross-applesauce in elementary school. The Catholic school staff indirectly suggested medication because self-management just wasn’t in his toolkit. I spent years worried he’d never sit still long enough to learn the lesson in front of him — begging him to care about biology, algebra, Romeo and Juliet half as much as I did. (Okay, that last one’s a stretch. I’m an English major. I care about Shakespeare a lot.)

Nowhere in my wildest imagination did I picture that kid becoming one of the most composed, focused people in the room — rising to the top of one of the most demanding organizations in the world. (Sorry, Judge. Just being real. Never doubted you — still taking it all in.)

The best part: this is all him. I was a guide, at most. He did the work.

This is earned, not given.

And I feel immense pride — but more than that, I feel re-inspired in my own life by his journey. Moved enough that I almost want a tattoo to mark this moment. I won’t. But I’ll do something else that will carry with me, permanently.

What I’m Asking Myself Now

I’ve been sitting with that question I posed earlier: am I still chasing tattoo-worthy experiences?

Am I putting myself in the ring — dreaming big enough, pushing hard enough, going all-out to honor this gift of a life? 

Here’s what I’m asking myself:

• What’s the next mountain, metaphorically speaking, I want to climb?
• What challenge or adventure am I actually pursuing — not just talking or dreaming about?
• Are my goals ambitious enough that hitting them might make me consider a tattoo (even if I settle for a t-shirt)?

I’m asking you, too. Because here’s the truth:

We’re all just one decision away from epic.

Why should “the kids” get all the tattoo-worthy experiences? You and me?  We’ve got a lot of life left to win.  We’re not fixed.  We’re not finished products.  We don’t have to go gently into that good night (rage, rage against the dying of the light … iykyk).

The Next Move

Pick one thing this week — the mountain you’ve been circling, the goal you’ve downsized to feel safer, the version of your life that would actually earn a mark. Write it down. Tell someone. Heck, tell me – send me a message.  Here’s the big throwdown: take the first step before Friday.

My son’s experience changed me. That’s what happens when one person chooses to tackle something big and meaty — it sets an example in motion that pulls everyone around them forward, too.  

I’ll keep you posted on Saturday’s graduation — and on what I decide to chase next.  (I’m thinking another book.)  Thank you for following me on this journey.  Your engagement has been deeply meaningful.

PS Tell me about your tattoo, too! I don’t have one. I’ve thought about it plenty, but just couldn’t pull the trigger on that decision.