Adjusting to the rhythm of student life wasn’t easy. The New School, with its radical energy and intellectual debates, was a far cry from the rigid structure of the military. Conversations about imperialism, activism, and global politics were everywhere, but Timothy often found himself in an unusual position—both aligned with and outside of them.

“I’d make a comment about something going on in the world and say, ‘You know y’all, we just have to push through. I’d know because I’m a veteran,’” he says, laughing. “And their reaction was, ‘Shut up! Did you say veteran?!’”

For many of his classmates, the military was an abstract, ideological enemy—an institution to critique, not an experience to live through. But for Timothy, it was both.

“So many of the students were so-called anti-imperialist, and my experience was different than theirs,” he says. “I wasn’t theorizing about the military—I had been in it. That didn’t mean I agreed with everything, but it meant I understood it in a way they didn’t.”

But even with these differences, Timothy has found his space. He’s in a work-study program—because, as he says, “you can use all the money you can get in New York.” He’s made connections. He’s thriving.

And yet, some of his biggest transformations didn’t happen in a classroom.

If the Pentagon made power feel tangible, Japan made possibilities feel endless.

“Japan changed my life,” he says. “It helped me see masculinity differently through Japanese fashion and tradition.”

The experience was more than just cultural—it was personal.

“My mom was stationed in Japan when she had me,” he continues. “So being stationed there myself was a full-circle moment. It was my first time being out of The States.”

The exposure shifted something in him. Growing up in Baltimore, he had a specific view of masculinity, one shaped by American norms. But Japan—through its fashion, its aesthetics, its traditions—offered a different model. One that wasn’t rigid. One that allowed room for softness, for exploration.

Timothy is still finding his footing, but that’s part of the beauty of this chapter. He’s been in rooms where history was written. He’s shaped narratives for institutions that hold enormous power. Now, he’s writing a different kind of story—his own.

“As far as the military, it helped me be more well-rounded,” he reflects. “I met people of different backgrounds I wasn’t exposed to before. I met my first Filipino person in the military, which sounds crazy, but I’m from an all-Black neighborhood in Baltimore. That’s one example of how it exposed me to diversity.”

And now, at The New School, he’s continuing that exposure—but on his terms. He’s stepping into spaces that challenge him, that push him, that remind him he can be all of who he is.

“The Navy teaches you: ship, shipmate, self,” he says. “And while I was on my mental health journey, I discovered that might not be the most productive for anybody. Because if the people who are taking care of the ship aren’t taking care of themselves, the ship is never going to get taken care of.”

Maybe that’s the lesson he’s carrying forward. That you can’t pour into something without pouring into yourself first. That institutions will take what they need, but you have to know when to reclaim your own story.

And for Timothy Hale, that story is just getting started.