Why I joined the Navy: a philosopher’s tale
I entered my first year of philosophy with nothing but questions. It seemed I had come to the right place!
I had come fresh from the experience of trying my hand at being a nun. Recently decanted from an extremely religious childhood with very little access to the outside world, I believed that being a nun would give me the greatest opportunity to do some good in the world. I packed my meagre luggage and took off for the Bronx, where I spent an interesting and illuminating couple of weeks with the Missionaries of Charity (but therein lies another tale.)
I finally resolved that I wanted to go to university and gain some perspective about life. Visiting New York, even from the semi-cloistered (or partially private) convent, had raised in me the vivid realization that there were so many people in the world. Each one had their own background and perspective on the meaning of human existence. Who was to say that I was born into the “true” one, or even the right one for me?
All I now knew was that I had… questions. I vaguely knew that philosophy was about investigating all sorts of questions. This easily decided my field of study. I fell in love with philosophy — the more I indulged wide-ranging, curious questioning, the more I was rewarded. I won scholarships which amounted to more money than I had ever seen before. I received positive feedback from mentors and peers in the field. My job would be to read and write about ideas — mine and others’. Pretty sweet gig, right?
My path to my future life seemed clear and pleasant. I traveled for my studies and shared my research at conferences around the world. I felt a sense of community across the globe as I made friends, hunkered over café tables and pubs across Europe and North America. I marveled quietly at my luck.
I looked forward to a life where I could not only indulge my scholarly tastes, but also have an opportunity to help shift the world to a better place through teaching and research. My field was political philosophy, so visions of a fairer society and of care for our shared world motivated me.
The PhD hit me like oncoming traffic. I had just completed my master’s at twenty-one, confident and smug from a smooth ride. The first couple of years of mandated seminars in my doctoral program also ran without a hiccup, but once my classes were complete, isolation sunk in. I felt entirely alone. Family problems reared their head for the final time, leading to greater isolation for me as every vestige of my community seemed to disappear.
Financially, problems were brewing. While I had managed to obtain prestigious scholarships, I did not realize that I would have been able to receive a full ride from any other university than my small liberal arts school. I remained there because I formed relationships and felt supported in my research (I was greatly supported until it got to the dissertation stage of the PhD). The financial consequences of having to pay tuition threw me into poverty as I could not pay both tuition and rent. I could not obtain full-time employment due to my studies, and part-time minimum wage employment was not cutting it either. I went into further debt — not much absolutely speaking, but always more than I could afford to pay. I felt trapped.
Finally, after some difficult years, I completed my dissertation. It sat for a year while I gratefully accepted a visiting teaching position in India. Here was the adventure and the life I was waiting for! I felt like I had made it.
I loved teaching. This experience brought home even more solidly to me just how enriching academia could be. I watched my students’ faces alight with interest when we applied a deep philosophical question to a contemporary issue in a jarring and real way. I smiled as I heard them debate what the Frankfurt School might have had to say about social media today, or what late-stage capitalism means for our world, eyes sparkling with passion.
I was privileged in my course load — I only taught two courses per semester. Fresh with feelings of responsibility and idealism, I worked to ensure each class brought the latest research and themes to my students. I wanted to make my presentation entertaining. I knew that if I could engage my students, their own motivation would carry them far. It was rewarding work.
It was also extensive work. My personal criteria meant that each lecture took considerable planning and scripting. On one hand, I read and wrote from the comfort of a faculty apartment or university library. On the other hand, my days prepping classes, checking homework, doing feedback were typically twelve hours long.
The other shoe began to fall — heavily.
On the financial side, while my wages were generous in rupees and sufficient for a good life in India, I calculated they resulted in less than the minimum wage in Canadian dollars when compared against the number of work hours I put in. There would not be enough to make a dent in my student loans, let alone lay by something for a pension or a mortgage. Moreover, with the time I was investing in the work that I loved, I had little leisure to form or maintain personal relationships. I had many rewarding professional friendships, but I had not dated in years. This started to weigh more heavily on me as I hit my 30's and began to wonder… had I confused a life’s work with having a life?
I hit my 30's and began to wonder… had I confused a life’s work with having a life?
A permanent position opened up in India. My department head asked me why I did not apply for it. I explained candidly how I was thinking to return to Canada. I appreciated my experience in India beyond measure, but I knew it was time to make some massive changes in my life.
One of my oldest and closest friends — my role model, confidant, partner in crime — had joined the Canadian Forces several years prior. I watched with admiration as I saw her skills, influence, and life grow. Her world was opening up as mine seemed to be getting smaller. She was given responsibility and rose to each occasion. She blossomed as a person while seeming to remain deeply connected with her friends and family. She was available for the people she cared about in her life. In contrast, I felt increasingly choked out of my relationships with my constant financial and time constraints, and I saw no further room for growth in my profession.
I calculated my best-case scenario (the type of lottery for which my peers and I were jostling so desperately) was to be a junior faculty member for years, working twelve-hour days for zero financial freedom.
In contrast, my friend seemed to have a professional future with endless possibility. She seemed to have the community that academia initially promised (but which I found had petered out in grad school). She seemed to have achieved her financial goals and made preparations for her future.
After some months of reflection and deliberation where I toyed around with the ideas of going back to school for a “practical” degree (anything that was not philosophy), I decided I was finished with accruing debt and made the decision to apply.
When I met with the recruiter and explained my background, he suggested joining the Navy to me. He thought it would appeal to my evident love of travel and of new experiences. As he shared about the life, I felt increasingly intrigued. What began as an intensely practical decision about my life and future began to take on an appeal of its own.
I liked the idea of humanitarian deployments and belonging to something bigger. After what my country had given me, I also felt drawn to the idea of service and purpose. In a very mundane sense, I have always adored being close to water and ocean life.
The application was a long process. There was some confusion over my file due to my foreign work experience. Bureaucratic delays meant this waiting process would turn out to be nearly two and a half years long. I started working in child education — an immensely rewarding experience that brought many lessons with it. All this while, I bided my time and hoped for the call.
A couple of weeks ago, I finally heard the good news. I called my partner at work and wept with joy.
I await this next step of my journey with great anticipation and excitement. I know there will be challenges along the way — quite different from any I have faced in my prior adventures. I am looking forward to sharing my learning along the way.
I am ready.
