The Unused Couch

My alarm jolted me awake at 4AM in my hotel room. My roommate and I bustled to throw our things together, dress, and head downstairs for the government-provided continental breakfast. They gave us eggs, hash-browns, and orange juice but no coffee. Once fed, we were bussed to downtown Phoenix, Arizona, which only lasted about ten or so minutes.

When we arrived, they lined us up shoulder to shoulder and gave instructions for how we would be proceeding into the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS) facility as a group. The first line of civilians filed in first, then the next, then mine, and so on. No one spoke a word. Cold air lapped at our faces as the moon beamed down on us with quiet pity. Even under my hoodie, I shivered slightly after we entered the building. Cement walls formed a hallway that led to an elevator corridor. One of the uniformed officials partitioned us into them, ten at a time. The ride up ended within twelve seconds and as soon as the doors swished open, we exited and formed new lines in front of a conveyor belt and metal detector.

A short man in a security guard's uniform calmly organized us, whisking us through the metal detector and into the facility that would be actualizing our transition into the Armed Forces.

It did not matter which branch we were joining, all of us were required to experience this one place and follow these same instructions.

I was here to ship out to Air Force Basic Military Training. I had waited an entire year for my wrist to recover from a snowboarding accident. An entire year hoping the Air Force would accept my medical documents. Ones that stated my fractured wrist had recovered fully and I could maintain an active duty status without fear of medical reprisal.

Excitement pulsed through me the entire morning. My goal of joining the United States Air Force was finally becoming reality and no longer an airless boast of mine. I did not foresee the mundane hours of waiting in long lines of people or having to sit through dry briefings about what we would be doing next. I hoped the process would be much more streamlined and greatly looked forward to reaching bootcamp.

I checked in at my branch's office, turned in my phone, received the necessary paperwork, and was informed where to report. They ran us through a few preliminary medical screening procedures. Afterwards, we were ordered to stand and wait in a hallway in elements of four on painted yellow footprints.

The dullness of passing time caught up to me as I stood there, patiently awaiting the next processing step. I smirked to myself, remembering the phrase my father and other prior service members often referred to when speaking about their military career. "Hurry up and wait." It is a universal saying that everyone going into or having come from military service knows, and if they do not, someone eventually mentions it around them.

My thoughts drifted to what this next phase of my life would look like, especially how the next seven and a half weeks would play out in basic training.

My attention focused on just how exhausted my feet and legs were. My back was clenched with tightness from standing all morning. The only time I had been offered a chance to sit was on the bus. My gaze dropped to the welcoming blue couch at my left.

Everything in me wanted to sit. I knew if I gave in, someone would bark at me and tell me to stand which would be more of a consequence than simply absorbing the pain of standing. I had seen others get hassled for sitting when they were not supposed to and I preferred to be left alone.

I stared at the couch, watching it enjoy my suffering. Out of sheer boredom, I examined it closer. I noted how clearly the gloss of the leather reflected the light, how I could still spot wipe marks made from being cleaned with something wet, and how the leather did not show a single crease of use.

My smirk broke into a full smile. I did not know how long ago the couch had been purchased and brought here, but it had not seen one user since its arrival.

Tax money purchased a couch no one was allowed to use. The thought felt so pointless yet so amusing at the same time.

Who decided this spot needed a couch? A place where thousands of aspiring military members would be obliged to stand beside with no ability to employ its comfort.

Did the person who put it there do it intentionally as a sadistic joke or is there some level of reasoning behind it? Maybe a lesson?

My Dad served in the United States Army. I was joining with the awareness that there would be many hours of needless standing and extensive stints requiring purposeful stillness. My mind was prepared for it, but maybe other's were not.

What if that was the purpose of this couch's obscure placement?

Tax dollars invested in a simple piece of off-limits furniture to serve as a learning device to ease fresh military members into their new way of life in the Profession of Arms.

I nodded, impressed by the detail concealed in such a drab environment. Instead of remaining annoyed that taxpayer money was pointlessly spent on a couch positioned to taunt my suffering, I shifted my mindset to admire the apt, subtle method of teaching discipline to those destined for bootcamp--a place that would submerge them in hours of discomfort.

This single, unused couch gifted me the most principal ideal taught at basic military training before I had even attended: Discipline.

My outlook on the day changed. Every long period of senseless patience became a test of my discipline. All it took to withstand the military's greatest initiation program was discipline and if I could merely keep myself from sitting down when I was not supposed to, basic military training (BMT) would not be as daunting as I imagined.

My intentions became intent on sharpening my military bearing. When I finally breached those bus doors and stepped onto the pavement of my training squadron in Lackland, Texas, with my new Military Training Instructors (MTIs) shouting at me, I would be the most disciplined trainee they had ever mentored. Whether I succeeded or not, I would certainly try my best.

Over the course of my stay at BMT, I exceled at the military's greatest tool for instilling discipline--drill. I even garnered the honorary privilege of serving as my flight's guide-on bearer, all the way to graduation, thanks solely to my lesson learned from an unused couch.

As you weather the storm of your own life, combat the vices of procrastination, and confront your desires to remain forever comfortable just remember that if you have goals, discipline is the only way you will achieve them. To develop a sense of discipline in your character, consistently hold yourself to a task and take personal accountability. Set up your own unusable couches and remember that comfort is the enemy of progress.

With discipline, you can aim high and finish with honor no matter what goals you set out to accomplish. So, aim high.