Ripples of Legacy in Iwakuni, Japan
There are moments in life that quietly rearrange the way you see the world. They do not always come with fanfare. Sometimes they happen in the middle of a routine day, and sometimes they arrive wrapped in tradition, ceremony, and history. Returning to Iwakuni with Nelli as the guests of honor for the 250th Marine Corps Birthday Ball with VMGR-152 was one of those moments for us. It felt like stepping into a chapter we thought had already been written, only to find out that the story was still unfolding.
From the moment we arrived, something about the air felt familiar. Iwakuni was where so much of our young life together took shape. It was where friendships were built out of shared hardship, humor, and long hours. It was where we learned what it means to serve with people who become closer than colleagues. Coming back for such a milestone, surrounded by Marines who now carry the torch, was an experience filled with gratitude and awe.
Walking back into the squadron spaces felt like opening a time capsule that had been locked away for years. Faces had changed, rank insignia had changed, the tempo of operations had changed, but the heartbeat of the unit was exactly the same. There is something about a strong culture that outlasts individuals. When the foundation is built well, it carries on. VMGR-152 has always had that kind of strength.
The theme that anchored my speech that night was the Sumo motto, Ichi Go Ni. Literally translated as a phonetic representation of “152” it has merged with a similar meaning of one time, one meeting. A reminder that each moment stands alone, unable to be repeated. I first heard that phrase almost two decades ago, and even then it had a quiet gravity to it. This time, standing on a stage with Nelli at my side, the weight of those words felt different. They no longer felt like an interesting motto. They felt like a truth I had lived, often without realizing it.
The trip itself was filled with these reminders. As Nelli and I visited historic sites across Japan, the theme followed us. Shrines. Temples. Gardens that have stood for millennia. Every one of them reinforced the idea that time keeps moving whether we slow down or not. Each place carried stories of people who lived long before us, people who shaped their worlds through small choices, consistent care, and simple presence. Legacy, when you strip it all the way down, is nothing more than actions that ripple outward far beyond the moment in which they occur.
That idea took on a life of its own when we stepped back into the Sumo community. I was prepared to feel nostalgia, but I was not prepared for the emotional punch that came from seeing Marines who were once my young new joins now standing tall in positions of significant responsibility. Some of them were the same individuals I had guided through their first real struggles. Some had once been unsure of their place. Now they were seasoned, confident leaders shaping the next generation.
There is something beautiful about watching people grow into themselves. It is one thing to believe in someone. It is another to return years later and see that belief fully realized. That hits differently. It reminds you that the daily work of leadership, the patient investment, the conversations you pour into others, and the steady hand you offer all have a way of echoing long after you move on. You never fully know what grows from the seeds you plant. Most of the time you never see the outcome. This was the rare moment where those outcomes stood right in front of me.
This homecoming also forced me to slow down and acknowledge my own milestones. There are only a few moments that sit at the very top of my life. Marrying my beautiful wife Nelli, becoming a father to our three wonderful children, and serving a career that shaped me in every possible way stand among them. This night in Iwakuni now stands proudly with those moments. Not because of the title or the ceremony, but because of what it represented. It was a reminder that the work we do, the people we invest in, and the relationships we nurture have a life beyond us.
As Nelli and I stood at that ball, we felt both the weight and the privilege of being there. LtCol Joshua Mallow and his wife Abby, along with Sergeant Major Lee Ancona and his wife Monse, welcomed us with a level of warmth that can only come from genuine respect and shared experience. They treated us not as visitors but as members of the Sumo family returning home. That kind of hospitality cannot be manufactured. It is built on trust, continuity, and care.
Throughout our time in Japan, the idea of legacy kept resurfacing. It showed up in the Marines who now lead with confidence. It showed up in the friendships that had held strong despite years and distance. It showed up in quiet moments when Nelli and I looked around and realized how far we had come since our early days here. Life tends to move fast, and sometimes you forget how many chapters you have lived until you revisit one of them.
The beauty of Ichi Go Ni is that it forces you to realize just how precious each moment really is. Every experience stands alone. Every meeting stands alone. Even the ones that feel familiar will never happen in the exact same way. That idea carries both a sense of urgency and a sense of gratitude. It teaches you to be present, to appreciate people as they are in this moment in time, and to recognize that the smallest interaction can shape the trajectory of someone else’s life.
Leadership is often talked about in terms of strategy, influence, or vision. All of those things matter, but at its core, leadership is an act of stewardship. You are entrusted with people. You are entrusted with moments. You are trusted to lead in a way that builds others rather than diminishes them. When you take that responsibility seriously, the impact tends to show itself years later, and usually in ways you never expected.
Returning to Iwakuni through this lens felt like watching the results of a long experiment reveal themselves. Not a scientific experiment, but a human one. The investment of time, attention, and care has a way of coming back in the form of people who stand taller, serve harder, and lead with more confidence because someone once believed in them. Those ripples of legacy are what make the work of leadership meaningful. They are what make the long nights, difficult conversations, and personal sacrifices worth it.
This trip reminded me that influence is often quiet. It rarely feels heroic in the moment. Most of the time it looks like a simple conversation at the right time. Or a small piece of guidance that unlocks someone’s confidence. Or a patient response when frustration would have been easier. Those small moments of Everyday Diplomacy accumulate. They turn into something far bigger than the moment itself.
As we travel home, I realized something else. The meaning of Ichi Go Ni is not only tied to honoring a moment. It is tied to honoring the people who stand within the moment. Every leader, every Marine, every family member, every mentor, every friend becomes part of a story that cannot be replicated. The bond formed in those interactions is unique. Sometimes it takes years before you understand just how powerful those connections really were.
The night of the 250th Birthday Ball was more than a ceremony. It was a reunion with the past, a celebration of the present, and a glimpse into the future. It reaffirmed something I have always believed. Every business, every team, every organization, is a people business. The systems matter. The processes matter. The metrics matter. But at the center of it all, people remain the constant. The better we treat them, the better the mission becomes.
As I stood on that stage, looking out at Marines who are now shaping the next generation, I felt a profound sense of gratitude. For the life I have lived. For the career that shaped me. For the woman who has walked beside me every step of the way. And for the chance to come full circle in a way few people ever get to experience.
Ichi Go Ni. One time, one meeting. This moment will never happen again, yet it will stay with us forever. And for that, Nelli and I are deeply grateful.
