There are seasons in military life—some calm, some predictable, and others filled with nothing but uncertainty. Like most careers, military life ebbs and flows, but our tides are often a little more extreme.
Our family has been fortunate to stay in North Carolina for ten years. While I won’t pretend I love it here—truth be told, I don’t—but it’s allowed me to give my kids something many military families only dream of: stability.
That stability has allowed my kids to experience something close to a “normal” childhood. Sure, we’ve switched houses a few times—mostly chasing better school districts and opportunities—but for the most part, their friend groups have remained the same. To me, that’s priceless.
This morning, I woke up early, weighed down by the kind of questions that only show up when a new season is looming. I needed clarity—and I needed it from Mike. Catching him first thing in the morning is usually my best shot. He’s one of those people, the kind who actually wants to talk before coffee. Me? Not so much. But today, the questions were loud enough to drag me out of bed before I could talk myself out of it.
Mike and I are entering what I call “the season of the unknown.”
In military life, this season is one of the hardest. Unlike others, it doesn’t pass quickly. It’s not days, weeks, or even a month—it can stretch on for what feels like forever. It’s a waiting game filled with endless possibilities, which makes it nearly impossible to plan for what’s next.
In just a few months, we’ll face another major decision—one that will determine the fate of our entire family. Mike is preparing for what’s known as “the market.” Think of it as the military’s version of job hunting—a process where soldiers interview for their next position. Sounds straightforward, right?
It’s not. It’s anything but.
The last time Mike entered the market, it nearly wrecked us—not just emotionally, but physically. When he couldn’t secure a position back in North Carolina, the Army rerouted him to Fort Knox, Kentucky—a place none of us wanted to call home. The result? Nearly two years of living apart, half of which he spent deployed to Poland. That separation stretched our family thin and pushed our marriage to its limits. So yes, I’m more than a little apprehensive this time around.
For those unfamiliar, let me paint the picture: the “market” is basically a good ol’ boy system, built on favoritism, backdoor deals, and who-you-know politics—basically, which buddy can slide you into that prime position. Those not playing by the rules usually snag the best spots first, often way before the market even officially opens. (Technically, the hunt begins in October, but let’s be real: most of the good positions are already gone by then.) That leaves fewer real options for everyone else. And if you play by the rules of the market? You risk falling to the “needs of the Army,” which could land you… anywhere.
And this is where the uncertainty really starts to settle in.
So, what’s next?
How do you plan a life based on so much uncertainty? Every two years, we face this same season, and it never gets easier.
Over the years, I’ve learned the only thing I can do is plan. I draft plan A, plan B, and plan C. I plan for the possibility of a move, the possibility of staying in North Carolina, and the wild-card option that always seems to show up when I least expect it. (Because let’s be honest, things always go sideways in this life.)
I like to blame my obsessive planning on never being able to control anything. I don’t like being caught off guard, so if I can at least sketch out a rough game plan for every possible scenario, it gives me a fake sense of peace. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with me, but after years of navigating a world this unpredictable, you learn to cope however you can.
At the end of the day, no amount of planning can fully prepare you for the twists and turns of military life. I cannot control where Mike will go or how long we’ll be apart, but I can control how I show up—for him, for our family, for us. I support his worries, and he talks me off the planning cliff. Together, we navigate the uncertainty, holding onto each other even in the season of the unknown.