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Yesterday was a great day.
After working with a gentleman for about six months—almost exactly the amount of time since my wife passed—we received notification that the VA had granted him a 60% disability rating.
For him, this was a giant win.
He served two tours in the Marine Corps and is a Desert Shield/Desert Storm veteran. One period of his service unfortunately ended with a bad conduct discharge after some things happened while he was young and going through a divorce. But he also had an honorable period of service, and that mattered.
He had tried three times before to receive VA disability compensation. He had worked with VSOs, but from what I could see, nobody had really looked deeply enough at his entire military history or separated the different periods of his service to determine what conditions could legitimately be connected to his honorable service.
He was referred to me by a retired Navy captain who had known him since they were Junior ROTC kids. Now, decades later, this Marine had served his country, lived with the consequences of that service, battled cancer and other medical problems, and still had never received the benefits he had earned.
So we went to work.
I used the same process I use with everyone: slow down, build the timeline, look at where they served, what they did, what happened to them, what they were exposed to, and what conditions followed them home. Then claim what the evidence supports.
Yesterday, he got his answer: 60%.
That means meaningful tax-free monthly compensation and access to additional VA benefits that can make a real difference in his life.
And I have to tell you, this one felt particularly good.
The last six months have also been some of the hardest months of my own life. I am learning how to live after losing my wife. I don’t think you ever really “recover” from something like that. You learn how to carry it. You find reasons to get up, reasons to keep moving, and hopefully reasons to continue being useful to somebody else.
Yesterday was one of those reasons.
Helping this Marine finally receive recognition for conditions connected to his service reminded me why I continue doing this work.
I hope someone reading this who has been putting off filing a VA disability claim—or who filed before and gave up—will reconsider.
I often describe VA disability compensation simply as workers’ compensation for service members. If military service injured you, made you sick, or caused a condition that continues affecting you today, there is no shame in asking the government to honor that obligation.
You don’t have to exaggerate anything.
You don’t have to claim something that isn’t true.
You just have to do the work, document your story, and advocate for yourself.
Sometimes you may need someone beside you to help you do it.
Yesterday reminded me how thankful I am that, at this point in my own life, I get to be that person for somebody else.
Is This What Healing Feels Like?
Lately, I’ve been asking myself questions that don’t seem to have answers for.
Does everything eventually become routine?
Does everything that is new eventually become old?
They call it the “daily grind” for a reason, don’t they?
When does something lose its luster?
And perhaps the harder question…when do we?
The past year has changed me in ways I never expected. Losing my wife after watching her fight with every ounce of strength she had, trying to raise my daughter, helping fellow veterans navigate a system that often overwhelms them, trying to build a business with purpose—it has all been meaningful. Yet, at times, it has also been exhausting.
People sometimes tell me how strong I am.
The truth is, strength isn’t the absence of questions. Sometimes it’s simply continuing to put one foot in front of the other while carrying them.
Why do I struggle to feel purpose on some days when I know my work changes lives?
Why does my soul sometimes feel quiet instead of alive?
It isn’t that I lack free will. Every day I choose to move forward.
It isn’t that I cannot love. If anything, loving deeply has become both my greatest gift and my greatest source of pain.
So what is it?
Is my tank full—but filled with sand instead of water? Have years of responsibility, military service, loss, caregiving, and simply surviving filled every available space until joy has difficulty finding room?
Or is it something simpler? Is my brain still healing from grief? Are the chemicals that shape emotion simply trying to find their balance again?
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is this: purpose doesn’t seem to be something we find once and keep forever. It fades. It changes. It asks us to search for it again and again.
When I help a veteran receive benefits they earned decades ago, I see purpose.
When I teach someone how to navigate the VA system so they can eventually do it themselves, I see purpose.
When my daughter smiles, I see purpose.
But even purpose doesn’t erase grief. It simply gives grief somewhere meaningful to stand.
Maybe that is what healing really is.
Not waking up one morning and feeling whole again.
Not forgetting the people we’ve lost.
Not pretending life is the same.
Maybe healing is learning that even when life loses some of its shine, it still has value. That even when our soul feels quiet, it is still there. That even when we don’t have all the answers, we can still choose kindness, service, and love.
I don’t know if everything eventually becomes ordinary.
I do know that the people we help, the lives we touch, and the love we give never truly lose their value.
Perhaps that’s enough for today.
Tomorrow, I’ll ask the questions again.
And I’ll keep walking anyway.
Embracing Passion Over Paychecks: A Personal Reflection on Life’s Journey
Over the last few months, I’ve found myself stepping into a role I hadn’t fully anticipated. As the VP for federal sales for a small group of companies that have been serving in transportation, warehousing, and logistics for over a century, I’ve been reflecting on what this decision has meant for me. In sharing these reflections, I hope to offer some insights to others, whether in their professional or personal lives—because, in truth, I no longer see a difference between the two.
It’s worth mentioning that calling this a “decision” seems almost inaccurate. It wasn’t something I fell into by accident, nor was it a clear-cut plan. Instead, I see it as the culmination of a philosophy I’ve only recently embraced: follow your passion, not the money. I’ve come across numerous interviews and stories from people who seem truly content with their lives. A common thread ties them together—don’t chase the paycheck, chase what you love. “You reap what you sow,” after all. I think I’m finally living by that belief.
Looking back, I never imagined I’d be in this position. All I wanted was to help an old friend from 35 years ago with his business. I reached out to him regularly, offering help, driven by a desire to see him succeed. Eventually, he said, “Alright, Lou, I’ll go with you.” I didn’t do it for money; in fact, I would have done it for free. Helping the business grow—and more importantly, helping the people within it—was fulfilling in a way I hadn’t expected.
Of course, most of us need money to survive. But the question that lingered for me was: how much do we really need? I realized that contentment isn’t as tightly tied to finances as I once believed. It was the sense of accomplishment—knowing that something my friend had struggled with for years was finally within reach. We succeeded in months, and from that moment, I was asked to do more. I did, and I loved every minute of it.
For someone who hasn’t been a big risk-taker, the move to working entirely on commission was a leap of faith. I had to trust in myself, in my ability to succeed, and in the joy I found in the work. It felt new, refreshing—even exhilarating. It reminded me of my younger years when I served as an officer and truly loved what I was doing for my country. That feeling of purpose and fulfillment has returned.
I sometimes wonder why I didn’t take this path sooner. But at the same time, I’m grateful that I found it now. I’m not sure where this journey will lead, but what I do know is that embracing this new direction has left me feeling more at peace—with my decisions, with myself, and with my life.
In the end, that’s all we can hope for: to find joy in the work we do and contentment in the life we live. I’m grateful for the path I’m on, and I hope others find their own passions, too—because once you do, everything else seems to fall into place.
