As the final week of ceremonies, goodbyes, relocations, and transitions came to a close, I found myself sitting with a lot of emotions—some expected, some not. I wanted to share a few of those reflections as I step into this next chapter.
Transitions are never easy.
Especially when it means letting go of a career that you’ve poured your life into.
Even though I’ve spent the past year preparing—mentally, emotionally, and through side projects like writing and podcasting—I still wasn’t ready for the full weight of it. Not really.
That moment came as I passed the Brigade colors to the commander for the last time.
The weight of the colors… and the moment… nearly dropped me to my knees.
I read my final speech, but I couldn’t feel the words. It was as if I were watching myself from the outside, going through the motions while feeling strangely numb.
Then I sat down with my family. And that’s when it hit me.
I wasn’t Ranger Mike anymore. I wasn’t CSM Burke.
I was just… Mike.
And I’ll be honest—part of me wanted to cry. I felt like I’d lost something, unsure of who I was without the uniform, the title, and the identity that had shaped my adult life.
Then I looked at my wife.
Without saying a word, she stood up and wrapped me in a hug. In that embrace, I felt understood in a way I didn’t have to explain.
And in that moment, I realized something powerful:
Being “Regular Mike” is not a downgrade. It’s a beginning.
As Regular Mike, I get to be the father I always wanted to be—the one who’s present at dinner, not dialing in from deployment.
I get to be a husband who isn’t asking his family to move every few years, but instead learning how to support her dreams for once.
I get to pour more of myself into writing, podcasting, and growing platforms like Always in Pursuit and Legends of the 75th—efforts that help preserve the stories, leadership lessons, and legacy of those who still wear the scroll.
But maybe most of all—I get to let go of something I didn’t even know I was still carrying:
The weight of combat. The uncertainty of deployment. The burden of never fully being home.
After 25 years, it’s surreal to let that go.
And yes, letting go is hard.
But it’s also freeing.
As we stood there hugging—longer than protocol probably allowed—I felt everyone waiting for the ceremony to continue. But I also knew something they didn’t: The most important part had already begun.
Because Regular Mike? He’s ready.
He doesn’t know exactly what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time… he’s excited to find out.