As the daughter of a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Army, I grew up on many military bases and attended plenty of military-related events. Movie tickets were cheap, deployments were long and friends were forever, but outside of these three facts, the Army didn’t mean too much to me. Because of my lack of interest, I never asked my dad about his job, and he never really talked to me about the specifics. Apart from recognizing the pixelated-patterned uniforms, I knew pretty much nothing about the Army.

I was soon drinking from the water hose when I joined Army ROTC at the University of South Carolina my sophomore year. In order for the ROTC program to consider me a full-fledged member, however, the Cadre shipped me off to Ft. Knox for a month-long training camp. Duffle bag in hand, I stepped out of the airport whilst greeted by a swarm of 20-something-year-old Cadets and the insufferable Kentucky heat. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

Day 1: Not good. Well, that duffle bag I carried with me? I thought I would be a smart Cadet and a safe citizen by securing it with a combination lock. Unfortunately, and to my complete horror, I forgot the combination. This sounds like a simple stay-calm-and-you’ll-figure-it-out scenario, but insert three shouting drill sergeants and the situation kind of escalates.

Day 2: Not good. At the end of the day, our entire company shuffled into an auditorium where some big-wig military guy waited to speak with us. Twenty minutes into his speech, I started to regret not sneaking off to the latrine before we all sat down, and what started off as a slight sting of discomfort soon turned to painful intolerance. I glanced back and forth, desperately seeking a Drill Sergeant to beg for permission to relieve myself. By now I’m weighing my options: risk my life by just sprinting towards the back or wet myself right then and there. A mean-mugging Drill Sergeant convinced me to hold it, and after 45 minutes of agony and wondering if kidney failure might actually cause death, he showed mercy and let me bounce. It all made for a very painful and embarrassing evening.

Day 4: Not good. This was ropes course day, and my upper body strength was soon to be pathetically demonstrated. I made plenty of friends relatively quickly which was quite the blessing, so shoutout to my ropes course battle buddy who stayed patient with me through my rope-ladder struggle.

“I’m trying,” I breathed at the Sergeants as I struggled to pull my way up the ropes.

“Don’t try, just do,” they laughed back. Well, like, thanks, why didn’t I think of that?

Day 20: Not good. This proved my first opportunity to demonstrate my leadership abilities and lead my “squad” through a tactical lane. Needless to say, it crashed and burned within the first few minutes. I’ll spare you the awkward details (because typing this out is literally making me squirm from the remembered embarrassment), but just know it did not go well. By “not well” I mean I left four of my men for dead and almost started crying halfway through.

Day 20.5: A breakthrough. After my ugly and catastrophic Squad Leader experience, I timidly approached my Second Lieutenant and asked to speak with her. With a quivering voice and misty eyes, I politely begged her to allow me a shot at Squad Leader again the next day. I only wanted her to see how much I wanted this, how badly I wanted to prove my capability. I wanted her and everyone else to stop and say, “Hey, Emily Grace has a real heart for what she’s doing and I respect her for always giving her best effort.”

Throughout the long and sweaty month, all I wanted to do was my best. I wanted to make it abundantly clear to every Cadet, Drill Sergeant and DFAC worker that I was pushing. I was trying and I was not giving up. I didn’t find my success in the literal accomplishment of the mission, but instead in the heart and passion I found for the entire experience. I started the month with zero confidence and zero experience and ended the month with more confidence than I knew how to deal with and just enough experience to allow me to continue in the program.

Now, as the first semester in ROTC draws to a close, I know this proves the right path for me. I worked hard every day, before and after 6 a.m. PT, for a high PFT score. I remained on top of my studies and built relationships with the Cadre all in the effort to prove how much I want to be apart of something big.

My point proves this: an expert will never expect a beginner to reach the expert's standard in a day. They will, however, expect the beginner to reach their level of passion eventually, which we beginners show by trying our hardest and humbling ourselves to new experiences. Skills take time to develop, and with the right training, one will almost always reach the desired goal. But the zeal to work hard comes naturally and without thought. It starts on day zero and never ends.

Every morning, when my watch beeped at me around 5 a.m., I prayed, “Lord, help me to see today as a new day and a new opportunity for success.” This got me through the month, along with my lovely battle buddies. So, no matter what my future holds, whether military or civilian, I will always be grateful for the sweetest and most sweltering month of my life, because it taught me about hard work, determination and the true meaning of digging deep.