Command Presence

My aunt holds the highest rank a non-commissioned officer can earn in the U.S. Army, Command Sergeant Major.

She is retired now, but the posture remains.

Shoulders square. Eyes steady. Presence unmistakable.

She is not perfect. None of us are.

But she is consistent.

Through difficulty, through change, through the long grind of both military life and family life, she shows up. Again and again. The same discipline, the same focus, the same willingness to stand for something beyond herself.

I will never forget being her guest at a ceremony in Frankfurt, Germany.

The room is full of uniforms rows of soldiers standing sharp, the air alive with the quiet hum of formality. Polished boots catch the light. Flags stand at attention. Every movement is precise, deliberate.

And there she is, moving through the room with the kind of calm that comes from knowing she has earned her place. She greets people with a firm handshake, a steady gaze, and a nod that says more than words ever could. You can see the respect in their eyes as they salute her, not just for her rank, but for the years of showing up, holding the line, and leading from the front.

In Zen, they speak of "carrying water, chopping wood."

Simple acts done with full attention.

Her service is like this: steady, deliberate, never for show. Whether leading soldiers or supporting family, she meets each task as if it matters, because to her, it always does.

There is no parade for the countless unseen ways she stands for others. No medal for the moments she shoulders a burden so someone else can breathe easier. And yet, she does it again and again without fan fare, without reward.

When I think of her, I think of stone.

Not the cold kind, but the kind you build on.

The kind that holds steady when storms come, and whose strength is measured not by volume but by how much it supports without being seen.

She teaches me that strength is not noise.

That leadership is not a position.

That love can be a discipline practiced in the way you move through the world, every day.

I am proud to be her nephew.

Field Note

Perfection fades.

Consistency endures.

And some lives are measured not in their flawlessness, but in the steady line they hold through it all.