Two weekends ago was the best birthday I’ve ever had. I spent it with my son at a rock festival in Orlando—something I never could have anticipated when I left the Army for my family in 2009.

In 2009, I left the Army to find my way home. It took years to get there. I felt it deep in my gut—even as leaders and family urged me to stay for a host of reasons: I was “good at it,” and we were in a recession.

Both were true. But being good at something isn’t a good enough reason to stay. And headwinds shouldn’t stop us from moving forward.

Regardless, that rationality wasn’t as clear and consistent as the pulse in my gut telling me to go home.

God gave us a gut for a reason. It’s not to be ignored, it’s to be explored. Even when the path was unclear, “home” was my objective, but it sounded like a radio station out of range. You could make out the song, but not the melody. Too much static. It’s complicated.

Home is a place, a feeling, a person, a team, a culture—and more. It’s where you truly feel like yourself. Not the version you’re “good at,” but who you actually are at your core. Deep down, where your gut speaks, and our true self lies.

Thomas Merton drew a distinction between the “false self” and the “true self” in the 1960s.

The false self operates in personas (persona means mask in Greek). It tells us things like, “you didn’t earn this,” and makes us question whether we’re truly known or liked. It buries the true self under defense mechanisms and work identities.

It tells us that what we do matters more than who we are.

My true self wanted so deeply to come home. My false self told me I wasn’t worthy of it.

And even though I didn't have many reference points to show me the way, my instincts were to reject the notion of worthlessness and seek what is (truly) all of our birthrights: belonging, love, and home. That’s how truth works. It doesn’t go away—it keeps pressing from within. But it doesn’t always clear the static. To turn that “still small voice” up, we have to engage our minds to tune in to it.

Gut instinct is only the starting point. Our intellect helps us test it, process it, and act on it.

For our “true self” to emerge, we may need to clear a path, and we may also need to let go of some things that are holding us back. I had to take off far more than just my uniform. I had to peel back the layers of the “false self” that kept me from picking up the home signal. The closer I got, the clearer the melody became. And the melody drew me closer. Close enough to hear home.

My birthday was a few weeks ago. After trips to Dallas and Chicago—and with San Diego ahead—I flew to Orlando as Jaden’s guest at a rock festival.

I wanted to be home with Kel. But my instincts told me to go. She agreed.

You see, a major challenge on my journey home was the strained relationship I had created with my son, Jaden. The gift of a son is something I had always prayed for. But when God gave him to us, I was too bound up in my own bullshit to see him clearly—buried under the defense mechanisms of the false self. As I said, it’s complicated. And it was a long time ago.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Faith, contrition, and repentance do.

We’ve healed together over the past 17 years. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t a fairy tale. It’s the real, tough “false self” killing work of renewal and reconciliation that allows your “true self” to settle in and kindly dismiss the former.

So when your adult son gifts you a concert ticket and a weekend together, you take the trip. No matter the cost.

You go home to your family, wherever they are.