Photo by Cpl. Devin Nichols

I spent four hell-raising years in a Marine infantry battalion at Camp Pendleton, California. As a 26-year-old lieutenant, I would roll out of the battalion command post with 10 Humvees, 50 Marines, and enough water, chow, and gasoline to satisfy any green-faced grunt. After a few days of dropping high explosive mortars and racing across dark mountain roads, we’d return to garrison dirty, exhausted, and all too willing to broadcast our “just got out of the field” swagger. At that moment in my life, I had the perfect job because it matched my strengths (endurance and tactics) and almost entirely bypassed my weaknesses (administration and logistics).

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