One Woman’s Lived History from the Second Wave
I’m interrupting the distant past for a glimpse of the more immediate past, the 50th Anniversary of Service Women at the Academies, and specifically the USNA Women’s celebration in Annapolis.
More than 800 women and men, spanning five decades, gathered to mark this milestone. What unfolded over four days was the result of more than a year of effort, a true labor of commitment and care. There were speakers and panels, a memorial, a gala, a live auction, shared meals, countless conversations, and so much more.
In many ways, it felt like something ancient, not a fleeting toast, but a sustained act of honoring. Not hours, but days devoted to celebration.
Most of us are accustomed to compressing meaning into a few brief hours, a dinner, a speech, a quick gathering between obligations. But this was different. This was a milestone that refused to be rushed.
And yet, the question lingers:
Why celebrate at all?
Why celebrate when the world around us feels chaotic and out of control? Why celebrate something that, at times, feels diminished or discounted within the institutions we served and sacrificed for? Why celebrate when our lives are already full, crowded with responsibilities, concerns, and competing demands?
Because celebration is an act of remembering. And remembering is an act of resistance and resilience.
We celebrate because memory fades without intention. Because stories untold become stories lost. Because what is not honored risks being erased, not just by others, but by ourselves.
We celebrate because the act of celebration helps us rise.
In celebration, we declare, both to others and to ourselves, what we value most. We name what mattered, what still matters, and what must continue to matter.
During this 50th Anniversary of women at the United States Naval Academy, we were not only honoring the presence of women at the Academy. We were honoring something larger:
The courage to step into spaces not built for us.
The endurance required to stay.
The quiet, daily acts of persistence that rarely make headlines but change institutions over time.
We were honoring the women who came before us, those who broke ground when the cost was high and the welcome uncertain.
We were honoring those who stood beside us, shared the burden, and built community where none existed.
And we were honoring those who will come after us, who will inherit both the progress made and the work still unfinished.
Celebration does not deny difficulty. During the memorial service, seventy-seven women’s names were read, each followed by the tolling of a bell, one for every class that has known the loss of one of its own. Families sat among us, hearing their loved ones’ names spoken aloud with care, carried into the room and held there in shared remembrance.
And still, we celebrated.
Not because we ignore loss, nor because we are unaware of how progress can stall, or even slip backward, but because celebration anchors us in the fullness of what has been. It holds both the weight of sacrifice and the evidence of change, reminding us that neither exists without the other.
It reminds us that we are part of a longer story, one that stretches both behind us and ahead.
And perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that we are not alone.
In a time that can feel fragmented and uncertain, gathering intentionally and meaningfully is its own form of strength.
So why celebrate?
Because celebration is how we remember.
Because remembering is how we rise.
And rising together is how we continue.