Either you fail or you quit. Now choose.

The walls were white. That dirty white, so typical of military buildings. A familiar smell that I couldn't identify hung in the air. Dust, mold, something of the sort.

In front of me, a table, brown, old, and in poor condition. A video camera, with that insistent and irritating red light, and its military operator, I don't remember the rank. Seated at the table, a Major from the Air Force Psychology Center. Someone feared by all of us: it was up to him to make the final decision on whether we would continue to pursue our dream or not.

In front of him were two sheets of paper.

"Sit down, Mr. Nunes."

It was Wednesday. The day was sunny. A cold breeze, so typical of that area, blew in from the sea. I was at Air Base No. 1, near Sintra, in the midst of flight adaption training for the Pilot Officer course. The adaption training lasts for a week and is designed to test the candidate's ability to adapt to military life, stress, pressure, and of course, flight physiology: we would be conducting various flights in the old DHC-1 Chipmunk. With me, fifteen other candidates. Many of them would become my course mates and also my great friends. But at that time, I didn't know it yet.

I had applied to the Air Force two years earlier. At that time, as a result of a low score on a national high school exam – the result of my teenage stupidity – I would abandon that competition for the Air Force Academy on the last day of flight adaptation training. Later, I would apply again, but during the admission phase – and listening to the advice of some friends – I would change my application from PILAV (Academy Pilot Officer) to PIL (Pilot Officer on a contract basis). And here I was. Uncomfortable, sitting at that old table.

"So, Mr. Nunes... we have a problem here."

Those words hit me like a lightning bolt. I remember well the instant fear that ran down my spine. Nothing good would come from there.

"You have two options," he said as he slid the two sheets of paper in front of me. "Either you fail or you quit. Now choose."

I, perplexed, couldn't utter a syllable. It had only been two days; I hadn't "screwed up" anything, I thought. I hadn't even flown yet, so I definitely didn't mess up there. I didn't understand why this situation had arisen.

"Listen. Did you not hear what I said? Your path ends here, either you fail or you quit. Now choose."

"But... Major, did I do something wrong?"

"Well. Read the papers and choose. Sign and go on with your life, I don't have time for this."

At that time – and probably now too – there was a significant difference between the two options. If a candidate quit, they could apply again in the next competition. If they failed, it was different: since the candidate had been deemed unfit for the position, they had to endure a long waiting period before applying again. In my case, at twenty years old, that meant ending the dream. Quitting seemed, at first glance, the best solution.

"Major, I apologize, but can you tell me what I did wrong?"

"Are you deaf? Choose. Either fail or quit. I don't have time for this..."

This "semi-friendly" argument lasted maybe fifteen minutes. Or twenty. Or five. I don't know. My nervousness probably influenced my perception of time. I started responding more heatedly, until, resigned and clearly fed up, I said:

"Fail me. Fail! I won't quit. I won't leave willingly. This is my dream. Now fail me!"

He extended his hand.

"Congratulations. Welcome to the Portuguese Air Force."

I must have been without a reaction for a good thirty seconds.

There, in that moment, at twenty years old, I learned one of the greatest lessons of my life. No. I lived it: never give up.

Never.

Years later, I became friends with that Major, then a Lieutenant Colonel. And he remembered the episode well. I learned then that, given my course changes while applying before, they weren't sure of my will and resilience to become an Air Force pilot. I had already accomplished the flight adaptation training two years earlier. If, on that day, in that room, I had said "I quit," that's exactly what would have happened. I would have walked out that door and gone home. And I would have certainly jeopardized my chances of becoming a military pilot.

The Air Force doesn't seek supermen. It seeks men and women who possess resilience. Without that trait, it's guaranteed that a candidate will never survive the countless deprivations, demands, stress, and pressures of a military pilot training course or the operational life of one.

Even today, I carry with me the feeling I lived within those four damn walls. And that feeling, for me, became sacred.

No matter how difficult the situation. No matter how complicated the solution may seem. No matter how messed up a guy is... never give up.

One can fail. But one should never give up.