Before my unit deployed to Iraq we went through a few months of training in preparation of what we may encounter here.

One of our exercises was driving through Iraq, possible scenarios, and how the “riders” mount and dismount a humvee if a convoy is stopped. During these sessions I vied for the position of driver. This was mainly because a driver didn’t leave the vehicle and that appealed to me.

Driving a humvee isn’t like driving any normal vehicle. You can slam the gas pedal to the floor and the heavy, metal monolith lurches gallantly into an acceleration that takes five miles to get to cruising speed. Of course, once you get it going, it tends to follow Newton’s law, “An object in motion stays in motion.”

I took our training sessions very seriously. With Adam, my husband, already over in Iraq relaying stories back to me, I wanted to make sure I was as ready for the real thing. During one of our driving trips, I was the lead vehicle. So far I had successfully maneuvered through incoming fire, wayward villagers and whatever else the trainers had thrown at us.

One of our last tests was through a village. I had slowed down as there were civilian actors (playing Iraqis) walking back and forth across the streets. Suddenly we were receiving fire and so I kicked up the speed. Strate-gically, a civilian vehicle up ahead backed out in my path, and I slammed on my brakes.

I had many other roads I could have taken to avoid the vehicle, but I seemed to be trapped inside the thinking box. Stopping was a disastrous choice. Smoke grenades were thrown at us, more fire was volleyed our way and simulators exploded everywhere.

Game over, Cassie. Except, in my mind, this wasn’t a game. I had single handedly massacred my unit, the way I saw it. The smoke filling into the vehicle and blocking my vision paralyzed me, my imagination working in overdrive. Suddenly our vehicle lurched in tandem with a swell of smoke and an explosion.

“What was that?” I gasped out. I had to calm my mind and remind myself this was just training and there weren’t actual IEDs lying about the roads. Later I learned the vehicle behind me, in an attempt to move in front of me, had rolled into me when the smoke flooded the driver’s vision.

The madness was halted, and I was informed in no uncertain terms that I had just killed everyone. I felt like a “World’s Worst Soldier” sign should be worn around my neck like the scarlet letter.

Failure is part of life, but if the situation had been real, my failure would mean numerous dead people. I accept failure in others, but in the past I have been merciless when it came to my own failures.

But when I ashamedly told Adam of my driving demise, he didn’t say, “You should have known; you should have done better; why didn’t you think to do Y or Z instead of X?” That’s what I had been asking myself all day as I cursed myself for being an incompetent fool. No, all he said to me was that that was the whole point of training. Then he asked me what I had learned!

What I had learned was a sensible lesson, but it has been applicable numerous times over. Never stop and always look for an alternate path. Failure should not mean death of ambitions, but rather, the birth of a new idea.