The Weight of a Choice: What a Broken Leg and a Fallen Hero Taught Me About Your Career

Are You Ready to Choose?

My dad and his brother, Uncle Andy, grew up in a time when big life decisions didn’t always feel like decisions at all.

Back then, the draft was hanging over young men like a storm cloud. They were staring down the possibility of being called to serve, and like a lot of families in that era, ours lived with that tension in the background of everyday life. You made plans, but you also knew those plans could change in a second.

My dad was drafted.

But when the Army examined him, they rejected him because an old broken leg had never set correctly. One leg was longer than the other, and that physical difference kept him out.

Because of that, the Army took his younger brother, Andy, instead.

Think about the weight of that for a second. If the Army had chosen my dad, I wouldn’t even be here today. My entire life exists because one broken leg changed who went and who stayed.

That is the kind of family story that never really leaves you.

Uncle Andy went to Korea. And then, just 2 to 4 weeks before he was supposed to come home, he was killed in a convoy accident.

That kind of loss doesn’t stay neatly in the past. It moves through a family. It shows up in stories, in silences, and in the unbearable math of what if. What if that leg had healed differently? What if the Army had taken my dad instead? What if Andy had made it home?

It’s the ultimate example of how one decision, one circumstance, one twist of fate can change everything.

Memorial Day has always carried that weight for me because this isn’t abstract patriotism or a generic moment of reflection. It’s personal.

It’s Uncle Andy.

And every year, I come back to the same truth: the weight of a choice is real.

Some people never got the chance to choose the life they wanted. Some had their future interrupted by war, by duty, by tragedy, by circumstances far bigger than them. That perspective matters, especially now, when so many professionals are stuck in careers they hate but keep handing their power away.

When I think about Uncle Andy, I think about freedom a little differently. I think about the privilege of still having choices in front of us. I think about the responsibility that comes with that. And I think about how dishonorable it is to waste that freedom by drifting through a career on autopilot.

I see it all the time. People blame the market. They blame recruiters. They blame age. They blame ATS. And yes, sometimes there are real obstacles. I’m not pretending the job market is always fair. But too many talented people stay trapped because they refuse to fully own the choices still available to them.

That’s the professional lesson here.

You may not control everything. But you do control whether you get clear on your value. You control whether you build a smarter strategy. You control whether you network with intention, tailor your resume, prepare for interviews, and stop waiting for someone else to come rescue your career.

Ownership is how we honor opportunity.

If you’re still here, if you still have the ability to choose your next move, then don’t waste that gift sleepwalking through your career. Honor it. Don’t sit in resentment. Don’t keep repeating the same passive, frustrating job search habits and call it strategy.

Choose differently.

Choose with intention.

Choose like your career actually matters—because it does.

If you’re tired of the "what ifs" and you’re ready to take the wheel, I’m here to help you build the toolbox you need for a lifetime of career success.

I don't do the work for you, but I will give you the frameworks that turn you into an unstoppable candidate: the kind companies fight over.

This Memorial Day, we remember Uncle Andy. We remember the ones who didn't get to choose their path.

And we commit to walking ours with intention, courage, and a whole lot of ownership.