Jim relates his story with the kind of humility and matter-of-fact realism that suggest no time for self-pity. “I was the happiest person you’d ever want to meet, completely satisfied with everything. A gorgeous wife, four beautiful boys and now another baby on the way. With such responsibility, how am I going to take care of them? What am I going to do with my life? But people have suffered far more than me for sure, and I still have some time left on this earth to do something. It wasn’t my time to go, but my time to grow, and my own suffering gave me so much. I often feel that it was definitely supposed to happen.”

Jim has always been and remains a strongly spiritual person, now layered with an utter lack of ego. With intense emotion in his voice, he relates, “I was confronted with a choice, to live or die, and I knew immediately that I had to pull the ejection handle. The reason guys often don’t pull it is pride, that they think there are ways they can get themselves out of a particular situation, not that they want to die. Thinking their skills are good enough to get out of a particular situation and they wait too long. I almost did that. I almost became a statistic.”

Jim continues to learn from the experience in ways that he could never have anticipated. He sees things from a different place now, a perspective he previously neither wanted to recognize nor ever asked for. He would have been happy to continue going in the same direction, but has forced himself to deal with a radically different life with the same determination displayed during military training.

The positives abound. “I became much more compassionate toward other people. Prior to the accident, I was so driven and didn’t feel as though I suffered a day in my life. I had lost my father to pancreatic cancer, but pressed on. I went to war, but pressed on. Yet this… this actually broke me down. When dealing with the constant pain, both physical and emotional, I had to dig through and find that spiritual strength to continue, which really helped lead me to a much wider, more sympathetic outlook. I can now understand that not everyone is like me, and I’m able to step back and recognizes differences. Before, I didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to be a professional athlete or a fighter pilot. It was lead, follow or get out of my way.”

Researching a speech led Jim to a YouTube clip of Martin Luther King’s famous speech, to the march on Washington, DC, and to signs in the background to march for this or that cause. In an epiphany, he realized that he ejected on March 4th, that he needed to march forth in another direction, that he was not going to be a pilot anymore. He fully grasped the irony, both in his life and hometown. “Look at Detroit. People have to march forth in a new direction. The jobs are gone. Those people are being forced, just like I was, to seek a new way. This carries a tremendous message.”

Jim started coaching high school varsity soccer and realized that with the exception of a couple of kids, they were lacking in character development compared to the students he was teaching to fly. He attributed this to age, maturity level and commitment to the sport. Prospective pilots, on the other hand, were totally committed, mature and focused. A clear need existed for a leadership program in high school sports, a period in their lives that young people are particularly receptive. In contrast, by the time a marine officer hits the fleet, he has had 935 hours of dedicated leadership training within over 2500 hours in 38 weeks of overall training, even before starting to train in a military occupational specialty.

Armed with this awareness, Jim sought out Harry Cohen, a doctor of psychology and a man whom his father had mentored. He told Jim that if he was anything like his father (which he is), he did not want a job. He wanted a passion and needed to be an entrepreneur, which Jim already knew in his heart. Harry’s advice was to find something he could do that would help people, that he would have fun doing, and that would make money. After intensive thought, research and determination, Jim designed a leadership system to create exceptional achievers, and SALTE—Student Athlete Leader Training and Education—was born.

He began giving leadership briefs to student athletes that consisted of knowledge combined with true stories to cement key points. From there he built more and more briefs, concepts and materials, and started to consult with other fighter pilots, professional athletes, coaches, trainers, psychologists and educators to make the best program he could. At the same time, he did not want it to be completely military. Being a former college athlete and fighter pilot, he realized similarities in training, but the military takes it to an entirely different level given the more dangerous terrain and the acceptance of extreme risk to accomplish missions.

SALTE’s training programs, with a strong character-development component, are adaptable and can be used in virtually any situation. “I’ve been very impressed with a number of our students, who likely have relatively strict parents and are held accountable. Those who don’t perform as well are not generally held to such a standard. The future leaders who have caught my attention have strong parenting backgrounds. I take a longer-term view so that youth have the means to get through not only tomorrow but the rest of their lives.”

Their seminars are about fun, participation and inclusion, and ultimately to internalize its lessons, to be able to teach its takeaways to others. The follow-up aspect is crucial in measuring the program’s effectiveness. Jim and the others seek to know how students specifically use all of the learned information. When he started talking to educators and psychologists, they stressed the need for clear documentation, which can then be directly utilized in refining and enhancing student engagement and success.

SALTE’s trainers and coaches are life mentors as well. At its heart, the organization exists for life skills, not for teaching kids how to block, kick or throw, but more about how to perform better when in those positions as a student, athlete and leader. SALTE’s curriculum stresses leadership, teambuilding, mental edge and goal achievement, skills transferable to any aspect of life. Jim grew up as an athlete, and the leadership and natural teambuilding of the marine corps and officer-candidate training made him a much stronger and more driven person, skills that he would love to have obtained in high school himself.

Today, Jim spends almost all of his time developing SALTE’s programs, promoting them and working with clients who include athletes of all levels, pilots, young people seeking military futures and anyone trying to better themselves. His passion is helping people achieve their dreams and getting there with uncompromising character. He does not tolerate lying, cheating or stealing to get what they want. This means no steroids, cheating on tests or having others do the work. No hazing or bullying. Nothing that suggests any kind of compromise or lack of integrity.

While the idea for such an organization came to him beforehand, Jim had several job offers and may well not have actually committed to SALTE had the accident not occurred. Here is a man who leads by example, along the way embracing a new life both rewarding and far-reaching in ways that he could never have imagined.

But what of the less obvious of these behaviors? What of the aspects of daily life that are not generally seen, overtly recognized or otherwise reinforced? These can be equally important—crucial even—for lives of integrity and productivity.

Do thoughts and self-regard remain humble in the wake of praise? Is gratitude present no matter how hard the work, how deserving the reward? Is conduct that recognizes and embraces others a natural part of every day, of each interaction?

These are among the keys to lives that make a meaningful difference, not spare behaviors that offer little by way of concrete contributions. On the contrary, those aspects of life that draw little attention can be among the most gratifying.

What we do when no one is looking can be far more revealing than when the cameras are turned on, the people are watching, the actions are scrutinized. Ultimately, everything is uncovered and laid bare; how we account for ourselves can either be a source of stress or peace. Why not simply choose the latter?

The consequences are invariably rewarding.

With yet another excellent educator leading the way, Jim found himself working at his classes, simply because they interested him. “There was something about the white lab coat, the actual doing of science that just spoke to me… I’m willing to take a risk, I’ve always had this passion to be an explorer.” Suddenly, studying wasn’t work, because—for Jim—science was play: “Back to the sandbox,” he likes to say about the creative outlet of seeing a problem and searching for a solution. At the close of his freshman year, the experiment was a success, with a nearly 4.0 grade point average and no desire to abandon his studies.

Then, in his sophomore year, he almost gave it all up—everything he’d worked toward that first year of inspiration and discovery—because one teacher didn’t have that enthusiasm Jim needed to get him going.  In class, he refused to pay attention, take notes or partake in any way. “It was missing all the magic. I didn’t care about his biology and just wouldn’t play his game.” After meeting the woman who would become his wife, Jim rarely studied, barely made an effort, and in a year’s time his GPA dropped a full point. “I was thinking about quitting because at that time I wasn’t meeting such inspirational people.”

Thankfully, one more person came into Jim’s life, steering him down the path of his passion rather than letting him throw away all the work he’d already put in. Dr. Yurkiewicz taught a highly advanced, competitive comparative-animal physiology class. But with his GPA, Jim thought he could never land one of the few treasured spots in the course. But Yurkiewicz did his homework, knowing that Jim’s place at the institution was no fluke—the kid had real talent in the field—and let him in despite less than stellar grades.

Here, in the classroom of this “dynamic, inspirational” teacher, Jim finally decided that college and pursuing a career that actually interested him was worth his time and hard work. “This bastard was so demanding, but he was so cool and confident you just couldn’t dislike him. After the first exam that I hadn’t done all that well on, my competitiveness came out… this guy had something. He had this passion and was calling me out, inspiring me with what he could really do. So I said, ‘OK you SOB, I’m gonna show you I can do this.’”

And show him he did. Jim aced the rest of his undergrad courses, impressing Yurkiewicz so much that he took Jim on as his protégé, providing a spot in his summer research program. At the tail end of Jim’s undergrad experience, Yurkiewicz pulled him aside and said, “Miller, you’re PhD material.” Even though he’d made it through his education this far, his Mennonite upbringing and its accompanying naïveté became apparent when Jim responded, “What’s a PhD?”

He quickly learned. Jim attended Penn State University, where he received his doctorate in Entomology. Even in his graduate program, Jim still “refused to jump through other people’s hoops.” He says he excelled because he loved it and it turned him on, but he still refused to bend to the rules. The one 4.0 he missed was because—rather than study for an exam—he decided to play with his daughter, a toddler at the time.

And when applying for his post-doc, he sent a hand-written letter to Wendell Roleofs—the head of Jim’s top program choice, a researcher with a “fun, creative brand of science” that Jim admired—that read, “I have a strong gut feeling you and I would work well together. Find enclosed my CV.” Roleofs later said he accepted Jim because of the sheer audacity of the letter. It was Jim’s refusal to follow the expected path that got him where he is today.

As he spends his days studying the life cycle of the mosquito in an attempt to thwart the spread of malaria, or competing with his colleagues to see whose moth trap can catch the most insects, he still preaches following your passions wherever they may take you, and making up your own rules as you go. Leaning back in the chair at his desk, he shares, “My father once told me, if he could go back and do it all again, he would have forbade me to go to college.” Would Jim do it all again? He looks at the ceiling and says, “Yes. But could I do this again in today’s environment? My answer would be no. I’m only here because of other people. I am the vehicle for some creative force, but I can’t take credit for everything that passes through me.”

Click here to read part 1 of Jim’s journey, his path from Mennonite farmboy to college student

It seems to be human nature to stay with what is familiar—even if painful or counterproductive. Most of us have had the experience of staying in a job too long or hanging on to a relationship that is no longer supportive. I’ll spare you my complete litany and just share one story.

For 8½ years, I worked as a clerical employee for the FBI (yes, the Federal Bureau of Investigation). I was a stenographer and then a secretary. During my first seven years, many FBI agents told me I should go to college and become an agent. I always brushed off those suggestions.

Attempts to change my mind often included pointing out agents who messed up somehow, and saying things like, “If he can be an agent, so can you.” I believe people thought I was afraid I would not succeed in college or as an agent, and I thought that for a while, too.

At some point, though, I realized that I was comfortable with my job and identity. My parents were very proud of me, and I had many good friends in the Bureau. I could do my job without much effort, and had lots of free time after work for other pursuits. Although I had not gone to college, I had always taken pride in the fact that I was very well read. Change, and even success, would mean a whole new identity, and that scared me more than anything. I could not imagine who this new person would be.

I did eventually go to college but did not return to the FBI. Once I had let go of my identity as high-school graduate/FBI secretary, I became open to opportunities I had not been able to envision.

Many of the people who come to the Literacy Council are working through similar identity dilemmas. For many of them, negative messages have shaped how they see themselves and the world.  Even though they know their limited literacy skills are holding them back, imagining a new identity and different way of life is not so easy. They come to us with hopes of something else, but usually don’t know or can’t say what that means.

Each adult who comes to us is asked, “What is your goal?” “To read better,”  “to speak English” or “to get my GED” are common answers. If pushed, “To what end?” there is usually no answer.

Dare people even imagine getting a job in a field they love? Can they voice the dream that might be deeply buried?

It is most often the tutors who discover the yearnings of students’ hearts. They build positive relationships in which lifetimes of negative messages are replaced with affirmation and praise. Over time, the fear is replaced with trust and confidence, invariably accompanied by meaningful progress.

One of the classrooms in my junior high had an Abraham Lincoln quote framed and hung on the wall: “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

I always thought it an odd quote to have in a classroom because I did not see how I could learn anything if it was foolish to speak up. But I read that quote every day and it did a good job of keeping me from asking questions or offering answers.

I am sometimes reminded of this quote when I observe our adult literacy tutoring sessions. I think that many of our adult learners probably read the same quote—or were silenced by other means. At some point in their lives, they equated asking questions and learning with being put down or made to feel foolish, and so they kept quiet.

Many of the adults who come to the Literacy Council have huge gaps in their knowledge.  They may not know how our government works or how many states make up the United States. World geography can just be foreign to them. Even ordinary things like weights and measurements may be unfamiliar territory.

For most of us, the early school years lay the groundwork for our education and we then build on that base. Many of our students lack such a foundation and have to start at the beginning. It can be humiliating to have to acknowledge that lack of the basics. It can also look like an insurmountable task.

Yet by the time they muster the courage to seek help, these adults know they must start asking questions if they want their lives to change.

I think I would rewrite Mr. Lincoln’s admonition to something like: “Better to ask questions that may seem foolish than to remain in ignorance.”

What happens after you get laid off from that desk job, the one that was doable and steady but never all that exciting? Or perhaps you just had your fill of getting the morning coffee, going in to the office each day, fulfilling your responsibilities with efficiency if not much enthusiasm, and eagerly awaiting that lifeline and timeline du jour: 5 o’clock.

To be able to turn a static life into one of stimulation and achievement is not an easy leap, and often requires courage to live with the resulting uncertainty. But provided that health is not an issue (a circumstance never to be taken for granted, especially among the younger generation to whom death is a mere mask), why not use the layoff notice or cubicle boredom as a springboard? Why not make the jump into something that enhances, that enables a real contribution rather than the contrition that often accompanies the status quo?

Yes of course, there are many office jobs that provide creativity and camaraderie, paychecks and perks, benefits and brainstorms. By all means, go with them and make the most of the resulting opportunities that can be both plentiful and tangible.

But for those who fall within the elevator’s lower floors, take heed and hope. Press the buttons of your personal enthusiasms. Watch the double doors open and walk confidently outside.

There is kaleidoscopic life after that office job.

Directing a large-scale study with several thousand teenagers, Teri developed a scientific model to test. Going into the study, she knew that an association existed between adolescents having a positive relationship with an adult and less risk-taking in the adolescent years.

“I did several smaller studies before dissertation that found what the adult was doing was inspiring hope or future perspective—even in kids from impoverished inner-city environments,” she explains, pounding a fist lightly on her desk. “If there was an adult who said, ‘You can do it, you can get a better education, you can have a better life, you can get out of here…’—that made a clear difference in their risk behavior.”

Studying the different types of risk behavior affected by a mentor-adolescent relationship, she noticed that among those with drugs, delinquency, drinking and sex, a mentor had less affect on sexual health and sexual delay than on anything else.

“So my thinking was—looking at the model I had—if I could affect sexual behavior, I knew it was going to help everything else. So that got me going with sexual health.”

Teri attended a summer-long intensive session at the Kinsey Institute at the University of Indiana to get a post-doctoral education. Dr. Alfred Kinsey, a controversial researcher who sought to understand and explain sex in the human race, established the lesser-known Institute in 1947 as a nonprofit organization and part of Indiana University. The school now seeks to educate researchers and scholars in the fields of sexuality, gender and reproduction.

One of 12 students at the Kinsey Institute, Teri laughs as she declares her work the least controversial. “People were investigating things like sex workers and homosexuals who were morbidly obese and how they were able to have anal sex. Increasing mother-daughter communication to delay sexual initiation appeared pretty tame.”

In addition to completing the dissertation and earning her PhD, Teri aspired to conduct research in the field of open communication about sex and its effect on delaying sexual initiation in adolescents. But in the midst of a conservative administration in Washington, her work suffered.

“During the Bush and Regan administrations, it was ‘no’ until marriage. Around 2001, I co-wrote a grant going into the federal government about HIV prevention in young women. It was a summer when Bush was president, and as his staff went through grants, anything that had to do with sexual health—unless it was abstinence only—got blacklisted. They didn’t even review them.”

The loss of funding for Teri’s research was a devastating blow. Just as Dr. Kinsey never received federal funding and how Planned Parenthood has constantly been denied funding, she faced a struggle to finance her career’s work.

With careful work and much deliberation, she finally received money from private sources to fund her research. But with the economic recession affecting all facets of American life, she found it proved difficult to collect endowment for her work.

“There is a way, but in economically difficult times it can be hard.”

However, through her entire experience as a researcher, Teri learned the values of persistence and perfecting her work.

“You have to write four grants to get one. You have to rewrite this paper over and over again until someone will publish it. You have to realize it’s not a personal thing when it gets rejected. Take the criticism, try to fix it and go someplace else. When you’re doing work like this research, you must have a passion for what you’re studying.”

Carla-Mae started fencing as a senior in high school more than 50 years ago. She had taken ballet lessons at first, but found them to be too stifling for her adventurous nature. Fencing provided the outlet she needed for energetic motion and cunning strategy. “I loved to outfox my opponents.”

A few years later, Carla-Mae began to realize that her skill set was better suited to running the organizational aspects of fencing than competing in it. “I saw that my athletic ability would only take me to a certain point; I was never going to compete internationally. I realized I was more talented in writing and coordinating. So I traded the sword for the pen, as the pen is mightier than the sword.”

After several years of organizing tournaments, Carla-Mae was invited to bring her administrative prowess to the national governing body of American fencing. She was given the new position of Executive Director in the just-reorganized United States Fencing Association. The organization had previously been called the Amateur Fencing League of America; all the previous work in coordinating the sport was done by volunteers. Now the consensus was that American fencing needed to adopt a more professional air, with full-time paid staff and Carla-Mae at the helm.

There were several problems in the beginning. No one knew exactly what the new Executive Director’s role was meant to entail. People who had volunteered countless hours for the AFLA now felt that their privileged positions were in danger of being replaced by professionals. Perhaps most significant for Carla-Mae was the general ethos of the fencing community during the early 1980s: “Whatever a woman could do, a man could do infinitely better.”

In order to combat these problems and presuppositions, Carla-Mae was forced to go on the offensive. “I had to be ornery and strong to get people to pay attention to me. I was working in an all-male world and fencing was a pretty chauvinistic endeavor back then. When I started fencing, women were only allowed to fence to four points because we were so ‘delicate.’ When I took the executive director position, people were afraid that I wasn’t going to do well. I had to reassure them (and myself) by being forthright about what I was doing.”

Through interactions with her coworkers, Carla-Mae began to realize that there was an overarching theme in the way these people communicated their intentions and ideas. “We’re all fencers at heart, so we are always looking for tactical advantages with other people. We are fencing whether on the strip or off. If you can accept this concept you will do okay. People aren’t necessarily poking at you; they are just trying to see your weaknesses so they can feint or counter attack.”

Due to the hard work of volunteers professionally headed by Carla-Mae, the organization was able to make significant changes. Prior to the advent of the USFA, many of the sport’s referees had their own criteria for how to determine points or penalties; Carla-Mae oversaw workshops for the officials to make sure they all judged evenly. When she started, the general culture of the organization had been schismatically split down the center of the country with both coasts distrusting the other. Carla-Mae worked to unify the groups and develop a circuit of competitions that would give most USFA members the chance to compete close to home. The organization’s membership more than tripled in size during her time as Executive Director, from 6,500 when she began to more than 20,000 when she left.

Of all the things she has done, Carla-Mae is most gratified with the USFA’s accomplishments abroad. “Everything we did was for the athletes, to give them what they needed to perform at their very best. It was very exciting to watch Mariel Zagunis win gold at the Olympics in Athens. Watching Iris Zimmerman win the Cadet World Championships felt like the culmination of all our hard work and effort. The system we had built was working and we were finally getting the results we had been dreaming for.”

Carla-Mae retired from administrative work in 2004 and now coaches part time at Salle D’Armes Richards Fencing Club in Marietta, Georgia.

But the truth is that they have learned a great deal. They have often mastered a field involving manual labor or learned a skill as an apprentice. They usually work at something that does not require much reading or writing.

They have also developed all kinds of techniques for covering up their low literacy skills; I marvel at the ingenuity of some of their coping mechanisms.

As adults, we are all learning new things every day, whether it is from watching a TV show, reading a book or surfing the web. What we don’t do is take the time to mark our learning experiences, to say, “I have learned something today.” But I am sure that each of us can look back over the last week and name at least three things we have learned.

What we are learning on a day-to-day basis may not be life changing, but it is still learning. This kind of learning just sort of happens, in a non-structured way and without much effort on our parts.

Then there is the more formal learning—attending a workshop, taking a class or pursuing a degree. This kind of learning requires a commitment and usually some changes to our daily routines.

For the adults who come to us for help, their learning is the latter type. They have to commit to attending tutoring sessions at least twice a week for an hour and a half each time and doing homework. They have to carve out time from lives full of work and family responsibilities.

Last summer I went to Poland; upon returning I began to study Polish. I bought a computer-based language program and spent at last one-half hour a day learning Polish. I had to make some adjustments to my daily routine to fit in my lesson and did that willingly.

Two months later, I got a new puppy and had to make more adjustments to my daily schedule. I hadn’t anticipated the amount of time this puppy would take up, but quickly learned that something had to give.

My Polish lessons shifted from one-half hour every day to an hour on Saturday and Sunday; supplemented by listening to a Polish CD when driving. I am still intent on learning Polish; only my method and timetable have changed.

My experience with studying Polish has given me a new insight into how difficult it is to squeeze one more thing into my already-full days. No matter how strong my desire, I just cannot always give as much of my time or energy to Polish as I want.

For our students, the demands on their time may be new jobs or the opportunity to work extra hours. It may be new responsibilities with children or grandchildren or having to take care of a sick relative. They are in the same predicament as I am with my Polish—they want to improve their literacy skills, yet family and other obligations impinge on their time.

I am committed to learning Polish—and to being more compassionate toward our students who need to make adjustments to their timeline for improving literacy skills.

So, it turns out, I am good at one aspect of this job—training people.

Whenever someone applies to become a canvasser, they spend their first day observing one of the existing staffers. That day dictates whether or not they get hired. Their trainer pretty much gives the thumbs up or thumbs down as to whether the trainee gets invited back the next day.

Well, last week, I was assigned my very own observer for the first time. I’m the newest to canvassing in the office, so I hadn’t expected Hannah to entrust me with this important role. But hey, she makes plenty of decisions I don’t understand. So there I am, not even good at canvassing on my own—according to boss lady, at least—but I’m teaching a newbie how to do it.

Well, here’s the funny thing: I rock at training. All the confidence in my abilities that Hannah has robbed me of comes rushing back to me when I’m training. Suddenly I’m back to being really excited about the job. Somehow needing to be a good example makes me the best example: I have more energy when I’m out hitting doors, I know exactly what to say and how to say it when potential donors ask me questions, and I just develop a whole other persona—one that knows precisely how much encouragement to give, enthusiasm to ooze and advice to bestow.

It’s like… it’s like I’m acting. But it’s a role I’ve never seen the script for and yet I know all the lines. You know how they say, “Those who can’t do, teach.” I’m starting to think it’s true. Not that I believe I’m as bad at this job as my supervisor thinks, but I know I’m not great at it. But I am great at this.

OK, maybe I should clarify. My trainee who was just hired hasn’t had any time yet to prove if she’s going to be a great canvasser. So when I say I’m great at training, I’m not guaranteeing that my trainees will rock this job. What I’m saying is, I am good at making the job seem appealing to our potential employees; when I’m on my game, canvassing seems really fun and not that difficult and hanging out with the staff seems fun and… my trainees, after a day with me, hope to get hired. I consider that successful training.

That said, I sure hope my trainee becomes a solid canvasser. It would really reflect well on me, and I could use some good reflections.