My four years in the United States Navy, from 1988 to 1992, remain one of the most formative periods of my life. I served aboard the USS Minneapolis-Saint Paul (SSN-708), a Los Angeles-class fast attack submarine, during a time that included Operation Desert Storm. Looking back nearly four decades later, I realize that the Navy gave me far more than military experience. It taught me lessons about responsibility, teamwork, discipline, and resilience that have shaped every chapter of my life since.
When most people think about military service, they picture dramatic moments or action-packed missions. While those moments certainly exist, life aboard a submarine is defined much more by routine, preparation, and trust. Living and working in a steel tube hundreds of feet beneath the ocean’s surface is unlike almost any other experience. There are no windows, no fresh air, and no opportunity to simply walk away from a difficult situation. Every sailor depends on everyone else to do their job correctly because the safety of the crew depends on it. In that environment, accountability isn’t just encouraged—it is essential.
One of the greatest lessons I learned was the true meaning of teamwork. The word is used so often that it can lose its meaning, but on a submarine, teamwork is not a motivational slogan. Every member of the crew has specialized knowledge and responsibilities, and while you may not fully understand another sailor’s technical expertise, you trust them completely to perform their duties. In return, they trust you to do the same. That level of mutual dependence creates a bond that is difficult to describe unless you’ve experienced it yourself.
The Navy also taught me the value of discipline. Many people think discipline is simply about following orders, but I came to understand it as developing habits that allow you to perform under pressure. Procedures exist because someone learned a lesson the hard way, and following them protects both individuals and the mission. That mindset stayed with me long after I left the service. Whether I was working as a Senior SNAP Program Specialist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture, pursuing my master’s degree in anthropology, writing books, or building creative projects, I found that success depends far more on consistent effort than occasional inspiration.
Another lesson that stayed with me was the importance of lifelong learning. The Navy expects its sailors to constantly expand their knowledge, qualify on equipment, and master increasingly complex systems. That expectation fostered a curiosity that never disappeared. Even today, I enjoy researching history, anthropology, religion, game design, education, and countless other subjects. The willingness to keep learning has opened doors throughout my life that I never anticipated when I first enlisted.
Perhaps the lesson I appreciate most today is what I learned about leadership. The best leaders I served with were not the loudest people in the room. They listened carefully, accepted responsibility, shared their knowledge, and earned the respect of those around them through their actions rather than their rank. Watching those individuals taught me that leadership is fundamentally about serving others and helping them succeed.
When I left the Navy in 1992, I thought my military service was simply one chapter of my past. Over time, I’ve come to realize it became part of the foundation for everything that followed. Life has taken me down paths I never could have imagined. I’ve built a civilian career, earned an advanced degree, become an author, and embraced life as a transgender woman. Those experiences did not replace what I learned in the Navy—they built upon it. The confidence, discipline, and resilience I developed aboard the USS Minneapolis-Saint Paul helped me navigate challenges that had nothing to do with submarines.
I don’t define myself solely by my military service, but I will always be proud of it. Serving aboard a fast attack submarine during a pivotal moment in history taught me lessons that have remained with me for more than thirty years. The Navy showed me that trust is earned, discipline creates opportunity, learning never truly ends, and the strongest people are often those who quietly do their jobs well every single day. Those are lessons that continue to guide me, and I expect they always will.
Memorial Day Is Not Veterans Day
By Katherine Walter
On May 25, 2026
In military service
Rows of headstones marked with American flags stretch across a military cemetery at sunset as a lone service member salutes in remembrance of the fallen men and women who gave their lives in service to the United States. (Image generated by ChatGPT using DALL·E, 2026.)
Every year on Memorial Day, people thank veterans for their service.
I understand why. Most people mean well. They want to show respect to those who wore the uniform, and I appreciate that sentiment. But Memorial Day was never intended to be a celebration of living veterans. That is what Veterans Day is for.
Memorial Day is something different.
It is a day set aside to remember the men and women who never came home.
As a veteran myself, that distinction matters deeply to me. I served in the United States Navy during the era of Operation Desert Storm aboard the USS Minneapolis-Saint Paul. I came home. I was able to continue my life, build a future, struggle, grow, love, fail, succeed, and simply continue existing. The people Memorial Day honors were denied that opportunity.
That is the sacrifice we are meant to remember.
Memorial Day is not about performative patriotism or turning military service into an abstraction. It is not about glorifying war. It is certainly not about reducing remembrance to sales events, social media slogans, or a long holiday weekend without reflection. It is about human beings whose lives ended in service to their country.
Behind every name engraved on a memorial wall was a real person. Someone who had favorite songs, inside jokes, dreams for the future, people they loved, and people who loved them. Some were barely adults. Some left behind spouses and children. Some never had the chance to become who they might have been.
When we lose sight of that humanity, Memorial Day becomes hollow.
I think one reason this misunderstanding happens so often is because American culture tends to merge all military remembrance together into one broad category of “supporting the troops.” But Memorial Day carries a solemn purpose. It is closer in spirit to a funeral than a celebration.
For veterans, especially, this day can carry complicated emotions. Many of us knew people who did not make it home. Others think about how easily circumstances could have been different. Military service creates an understanding of mortality that often stays with a person forever. Memorial Day brings those thoughts closer to the surface.
It should.
We should feel the weight of it.
That does not mean people cannot gather with family or enjoy the day. Life continuing is part of what those who died were protecting. But somewhere amid the cookouts, gatherings, and long weekend traditions, there should also be a moment of silence and honest remembrance.
A moment to think about the cost of war.
A moment to think about the young lives lost across generations.
A moment to remember that freedom is not an abstract phrase. For many families, it came with unbearable personal loss.
I also believe Memorial Day should challenge us to think more carefully about how casually nations sometimes enter conflicts. Honoring the dead should include respecting the gravity of sending human beings into war in the first place. Remembering sacrifice means understanding that these losses were not symbols. They were people.
Today, I am not asking anyone to thank me for my service.
Instead, I ask people to remember those who gave everything and never had the chance to come home.
That is what Memorial Day is for.