One Choice. Two Futures.
What an 18-year-old’s decision to take (or skip) the GED meant for his Navy career—and the life that followed.
When Oli submitted his enlistment paperwork, he thought the hard part was over.
He was 18, sharp as hell—dry wit, naturally skeptical, the kind of kid who could poke holes in your logic or land a snappy one liner that always brought a reaction. He had moved around a lot as a kid, never staying in one place too long. School didn’t always stick as he liked being social and active, but wasn't fully engaged with the curriculum. Life hadn’t always been stable. But the Navy? That felt like a chance to be a part of something big.
So when the call came from his Navy Enlisted Classifier—the person who helps finalize the job placements and training paths—Oli figured it was routine. It wasn’t.
"You scored in the top 10% on your ASVAB," the NEC told him. "But you don’t have a GED or diploma. That’s a problem. Without it, you’re starting at E-1, no bonus, limited job access. If you can get your GED before your ship date—six weeks from now—we can unlock a $40,000 bonus, E-3 rank, and way more options."
That hit hard. Forty thousand dollars. Basically a year and a half of pay, just for finishing a few tests. And it wasn’t just the money, it meant he could join the nuclear program, and wouldn't start at the bottom of the ranks.
But the GED? That meant paperwork. It meant scheduling four tests—Science, Social Studies, Language Arts, and Math—and passing all of them in less than a month and a half. And likely tracking down his principal. He honestly didn't even know where to start. It meant focus. Discipline. And follow-through.
Oli had a decision to make. One choice. Two futures.
What Stood in His Way
Oli didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. He did what a lot of 18-year-olds do when something feels both important and overwhelming—he stalled.
Getting the GED meant tracking down paperwork from a high school he barely remembered leaving. It meant figuring out how to register for four separate exams, each with their own prep. And most immediately—it meant getting on the schedule of a principal who canceled their first meeting last minute and took four days to return a message. Not a great start.
While he was waiting, family started chiming in. His dad. His uncle. Even his grandparents—who usually stayed out of these things—were texting encouragement. Everyone could see what was in front of him. He just wasn’t sure he could.
Then his NEC set up a call.
“Just hear him out,” the recruiter said. “This guy was in your shoes. Smart. Didn’t get the GED. Says he still thinks about it.”
They talked for twenty minutes. The man’s voice was low, matter-of-fact.
“When I joined the Navy, I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was walking in as just another guy taking orders instead of walking in as a leader. Basically, the higher your rank, the fewer people bossing you around, and the more people looking up to you.”
He didn’t pull punches.
“You scored in the top 10%—you’re not some dropout. Don’t let a test be the thing that holds you back. Now that I'm on the other side, I know your Navy officers already have a red flag next to your name saying: ‘Very smart based on ASVAB, but couldn’t follow through and complete his GED.’”
Oli was quiet. But he was listening.
“I know, 'Who am I to tell you how to live your life.' But I wish I had someone saying this to me when I was in your shoes years ago. This isn't even about school. It’s about saying, ‘Yeah, I finished what I started—and now I’m coming in stronger than anyone expected.’”
“And when it comes to the money you'll get... it’s a game changer. That kind of bonus isn’t common—most people in the Navy never see anything close to $40K. You’re literally walking away from what most of your friends would kill for—just because of one test.”
That conversation stuck with him.
The Turning Point
It was late June 2025. Oli had just over a month before he shipped out in early August.
He sat with the decision like it was a stone in his pocket—never heavy enough to force his hand, but always there. Every time he thought about buying the car he always wanted, about walking into boot camp a few ranks higher, about proving to himself that he could finish something—he felt the weight of it.
And every time he put it off, the clock kept ticking.
The way forward had become clear. But clarity isn’t the same as certainty. Now it came down to this: would he step up and do it? Or would he take his chances and figure it out later?
This is where the story splits.
No GED Path
Oli chose not to chase the GED.
He had reasons, and they felt valid in the moment. He had tried to meet with his high school principal to get the paperwork signed, but the meeting was canceled last minute. Days passed with no response, and it felt like just another barrier he didn’t have the energy to fight through. The testing sign-up process looked like a mess. It felt overwhelming, and the idea of figuring it out solo was exhausting. Deep down, maybe he just wasn’t ready to bet on himself.
He boarded the bus in August as an E-1. No bonus. No advanced placement. No leverage.
From the start, the difference was clear. Others with GEDs or diplomas moved straight into briefings or were slotted for advanced training. Oli got mess duty and deck watch. No one was cruel, but the tone was unmistakable—new guy, bottom rank, prove yourself.
Some petty officers noticed his sharp mind and his way with people. He wasn’t average. He cracked jokes at the right time. Took his job seriously. Didn’t complain. One Boatswain’s Mate pulled him aside and started teaching him ship maintenance—real stuff. And that felt good. It gave him something to hold onto.
Still, he could feel what he’d left behind. Every time someone got pulled into nuclear screening or fast-tracked for cyber, he thought back to that GED. That missed chance.
His backup plan had always been to try for electrical technician. It was still on the table—but without the GED, he wasn’t top of the list. It would take longer. And he knew it.
Year 1: Oli spent his first year doing general duties—cleaning, watch shifts, and basic labor. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady. He earned about $24,000 in base pay, plus housing and food allowance. There were no technical schools or training pipelines ahead. Not yet. Just repetition, early mornings, and slow recognition.
Year 3: By his third year, Oli had reached E-3 or E-4—enough rank to mentor younger sailors, but still stuck in support roles. Every time he submitted a request for additional training, it was either denied or pushed down the list. Around this time, he finally got slotted into the electrician’s mate pipeline. It was hands-on work, and a win in its own right. But he knew the only reason it had taken this long was the missing GED. Meanwhile, he started watching old shipmates take on leadership roles or enroll in certification programs he wasn’t eligible for. The ceiling was becoming visible.
Year 5: By year five, Oli might have been promoted to E-4 or even E-5. He was respected for his work ethic and the way he showed up for his team, but everyone knew he’d started at the bottom. He never got the $40,000 enlistment bonus. Financially, he was stable—but always a few steps behind his peers. And that decision back in June 2025? It still surfaced from time to time. A quiet 'what if' that never fully went away.
He’s proud of his service. He’s grown. But he wonders—what if I had just taken the shot?
GED Path
In the path where he earned his GED, Oli made the call.
The veteran’s voice kept echoing in his head. So did his dad’s text. And his grandma’s voice on the phone saying, “You’re closer than you think, honey. Just finish the thing.”
So he did.
With just four weeks left until his ship date, Oli sat down with his grandparents and made a plan. One test per week: Science, Social Studies, Language Arts, Math. They mapped it out on the calendar. They helped him register. They even offered to drive him to the test sites and cook his favorite dinner every time he passed one.
The hardest part wasn’t the tests—it was getting started. The principal made the paperwork frustrating. The sign-ups were clunky. But once he passed the first test, momentum took over. By the end of July, all four tests were done. Passed. Done. GED in hand.
He boarded the bus in August with a bonus on the way, a higher rank, and a private sense of pride that didn’t need to be spoken. He’d finished what he started.
Year 1: Oli started as an E-3, and it showed. Fewer people bossing him around. More room to learn instead of proving himself. He was placed on a path toward the Navy’s elite Nuclear Tech program. His high ASVAB score, now paired with his GED, made him a prime candidate. The $40,000 bonus hit his account in chunks—enough to buy a used Mustang outright. He probably should’ve saved more of it. But that car made it feel real.
Year 3: By his third year, Oli was E-5. He had graduated from Nuclear Power School and was now leading a small unit. The pace was intense, but so was the pride. He was earning bonuses, saving money, and eyeing a VA loan for his first home. He kept in touch with a few shipmates from boot camp—some were still in entry-level roles. The difference was starting to show.
Year 5: At 23, Oli was E-6. Respected. Skilled. And on a path that gave him options: stay in and rise through the ranks, or go civilian and earn six figures as a reactor tech or power specialist. He hadn’t just built a Navy career—he’d built a launchpad.
He still thought about that summer back in 2025. Not with regret—but with gratitude.
Ten Years Later
Oli’s 28 now.
In the path where he earned his GED, he’s a senior technician in the civilian energy sector, making six figures with the confidence of someone who earned his way there early. He has options—stay in, move up, or pivot to something new. His service earned him that. So did the GED. That decision back in June 2025 opened doors and proved something to himself: when it counted, he showed up.
In the other version, he’s still proud of his time in the Navy. Still respected. Still the guy others turn to when things go sideways. But he knows he started from behind. That first choice—passing up the GED—echoed louder than he expected. It didn’t break him. But it boxed him in. It made things slower. Harder. He’s caught up in some ways. But not all.
Both versions of Oli serve with pride. But only one walks through doors the other never got to open. One choice. Two futures.