Read the full transcript of Michael Wang’s compelling talk titled “Crossing the Chasm of Life” at TEDxUofW, May 16, 2025.
Listen to the audio version here:
The Amputated Spirit
Michael Wang: In the film Scent of a Woman, Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade was a blind, decorated Vietnam combat veteran who was planning his own suicide before finding purpose again in helping a young man. “There is nothing like the sight of an amputated spirit. There is no prosthetic for that.”
In life, regardless of age, profession, circumstances, we’ve all felt that amputated spirit at some point. The feeling of being lost, helpless, paralyzed by the uncertainty that lies ahead. Perhaps it is about figuring out the next steps after college graduation. You see a lot of college students here. Maybe it is trying to move on after a long-term relationship had ended. Or perhaps it is that moment where you have to make a career change, where you have to change your uniform, so to speak.
Regardless, we all come to the realization that we have somehow hit an invisible dead end. At times it could be so severe that it feels like you’ve reached rock bottom with nowhere else to go. My rock bottom was when I took off that uniform for the last time. More than 15 years ago after fighting at the height of the war in Afghanistan.
Today I’m going to be sharing with all of you things I’ve never spoken about to my family, friends, or colleagues. And let me tell you, it is absolutely terrifying. However, I wanted to take a stand here today in this circle. I want to let you know that on the other side of that dead end lies the breakthrough. A self-rediscovery in finding your purpose again and your identity again that will elevate yourself to the next level of your future self.
Four Steps to Cross the Chasm
However, in order to do that requires resonance.
It requires a deep understanding of oneself, introspection. And by sharing my story with you here today for the first time, I hope that it will also help you cross the chasms of life in your own journey. I’ve discovered four steps that perhaps can help you.
Step number one: recognize the moment. Step number two: allow yourself to be vulnerable and to keep an open mind. Step three: realize there’s no convention. There are no rules. Step four: jump in. Embrace that moment when it comes. Hold on to it in order to let go of your angst, regret, and hopelessness.
For the first time, I’ll be speaking about my journey right here with all of you. However, let me first take you back to the desert.
Meeting Iza in the Desert
After three days of intense fighting in eastern Afghanistan, my team of Green Berets and I were tasked with establishing communications with a village. As we approached the village, the main road was so bombed out that it actually reminded us of the surface of the moon.
From there, in the distance, a figure emerged from the dust. It was a figure of a female wearing a hijab. With ample caution, I signaled her to approach. With each step closer, the tension built. It was very rare for a female to be alone, nonetheless approaching a group of American soldiers.
She approached us slowly and with purpose until she was close enough for me to see her piercing green eyes contrasting against the red of her hijab. There were no words. My finger was ever so close to the trigger should this go south. What felt like an eternity of silence was broken by a voice of a young girl, no older than 15 or 16.
“As-Salaam-Alaikum, Amerikai.” I responded, “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, Bali-Bali, Amerikai.” Through my limited Farsi, I discovered that she was the only person left from the village. Through tears, she described losing her entire family to the Taliban. I learned that her name was Iza, Arabic for purpose.
As I conversed with her, her gaze kept focusing on a mission patch that was on my shoulder. She pointed towards it and she said, “My dream is to become a nurse.” I was confounded by this statement because you have to remember this is a country where young women could be beaten for being in public without male supervision, could be imprisoned for wanting to learn how to read and write. So this 15-year-old girl telling me her dream really compelled me and confounded me.
I ripped that mission patch off my shoulder and I wrote my information in the back of it. Breaking a lot of protocols, by the way. But I really felt compelled to do it because it was the first human interaction, human connection that I felt with the Afghani people. And I took that mission patch and I gave it to her. She grabbed it, held on tight to it, and she let out a resolute “alhamdulillah, inshallah” – praise be God, God willing.
After I gave Iza some water and food from my ration, the two of us sat down next to a burned-out T-72 tank from when the Russians invaded Afghanistan decades ago. Here we were, a young man from Massapequa, New York, and a girl from Khost Province, Afghanistan, bonding in the graveyard of empires. I’ll never forget how surreal and deeply human that felt.
Rock Bottom
Years later, I was back stateside. For me, the war was over, even though the fighting raged on for 10 additional years. I was living at home with my parents, living in the basement. There was no resemblance of any kind of career path. I was working in a mosquito-infested junkyard.
For me, I was haunted by many of the same questions that plagued combat veterans after war. Did we lose a lot of lives all for nothing? Did we make a difference? Did I make a difference? I discovered very quickly that the silence after combat was far more deafening than the battlefield. I also realized that a life without purpose was far worse than being in war.
The Letter That Changed Everything
One day, after another soul-crushing shift sifting through car parts, I came home and there was a letter waiting for me on the table. It had a lot of stamps on it, so I assumed it came from far away. As I opened the envelope, a photo fell to the floor facing down.
As I bent down to grab the photo, what I saw was an image of a young woman with piercing green eyes wearing a hijab in a professional nurse’s uniform. It was Iza. She had written to me with the information that I left her to tell me that she successfully went on to immigrate to the UK to become a nurse and fulfill her dream.
Equally as important, included in the envelope, was the mission patch that I had left her. This played a critical part during her immigration process because she was able to show this patch with my information in the back as proof of her support during the war effort.
I stood there and I looked at the photo for what seemed like hours. With tears streaming down my face, I recognized the courage that it took for her to overcome her incredible challenges in order to make her dream come true. But that focus and determination also contrasted sharply against the total disarray that I called life at that point.
A Mother’s Wisdom
It was at that moment that my mom saw me. She walked over and she put her arm around me the only way that a mother could. She said, “You know what I remember? When you were a little boy, you never walked a straight path. I used to walk behind you just to make sure you’re okay. But if there was a ledge, you would try to balance on it. If there was a puddle, you would jump in it. And God forbid if there was a tree, you would definitely climb it.” She said, “You never acted as if there was a perfectly good paved road right in front of you.” I was a crazy kid as you can see.
As she saw the photo, she told me, “Mike, don’t waste this moment. Do not waste this moment. If that little girl can find the courage and the determination to overcome the impossible, then you, the big bad green beret, could certainly find purpose again by channeling all of that pain and numbness.”
That was the moment. The resonance of that moment shattered my misery. It allowed me to recognize that my purpose actually was in the war after all. And my worth as an individual wasn’t defined by a disastrous war. And even more important than that, that photo of Iza gave me an idea. Perhaps it was time for me to shed my old uniform and to put on that of a new one. And this time, as a professional nurse, just like Iza.
Applying the Four Steps
So the four steps. Step one: I recognized the moment, the photo in my hand. Step two: allowing myself to be vulnerable enough to listen to someone who truly cared about me. Step three: realizing, okay, we might have to get a little unconventional. I might have to get used to carrying around a stethoscope as opposed to a rifle. And also to go from a soldier to a traditionally predominantly female occupation such as nursing. Step four: jump in.
And jumped in I did. I became a certified nursing assistant, going from a special forces officer to a CNA. And that was jarring. And I had my doubts. But I loved it. I loved it. I cherished the moments where I was able to make a difference in people who couldn’t help themselves. I also loved hearing the stories and sharing my story with veterans from the Korean War, Vietnam, Desert Storm, to be able to take care of those who could not take care of themselves. And that gave me the conviction to realize that my civilian path of service was in healthcare and in nursing.
I went on to go to Columbia’s BSN program, eventually getting my master’s and doctorate in nursing practice. I loved my time at the bedside. It opened a whole new world for me that allowed me to exercise the passion and the purpose I once had on the teams. But I always felt like there was something more. I felt the need to break out of this prison I built for myself by keeping all of this inside. I wanted to share my story with the bigger world.
Finding Your Future Self
So, right here, right now, on this stage, this is my future self in the making. I’ve made the commitment to all of you to share my story in hopes of helping you perhaps cross your own chasms in life. And also realizing that your journey, your story, the power of it lies within your ability to turn those into ideas that’s perhaps worth sharing. And also, vulnerability. Vulnerability, as terrifying as it is, that is when human connection begins.
And that list that I told you about: recognizing the moment, vulnerability, unconventional, jumping in. Well, they’re not just a list. They’re echoes of Iza’s courage in the desert. They’re a lifeline in the form of a letter that came from across the world. They’re the words and wisdom of a mother who reminded you of your true purpose. And to realize that choices and your purpose may be found in some of the most unlikely of places.
So, when you’re on that edge, realize there’s no straight path. Listen to that resonance. Jump in, because on the other side of that leap of faith, well, that’s where your future self awaits. Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you.
