10/21/2026
How Much Is Enough?
This is a question I constantly ask myself.
As many of you know, I read a lot about history and study military figures, their leadership styles, and their experiences throughout different conflicts. One thing always seems to be a common theme with these guys, especially those in special operations: they always have the attitude of one more deployment.
Guys who truly love being in the action always want one more rotation.
I recently did an interview with a badass truck guy who has over 30 years on the job. Something stood out to me throughout that entire conversation: even after all those years, this guy still genuinely loves the job. We give everything to the fire service, sometimes even to the detriment of our own families and health.
This is no different from what we see in the military. High divorce rates, missing out on time with their kids, and ignoring injuries or putting off physical recovery just to stay on the job. There are so many of us in today’s fire service who are the exact same way.
With the nature of our job, we miss birthdays, Christmas, and other special events with our families almost by default. Eventually, it becomes second nature.
Guys who truly love this job will push past fatigue or injury because they don’t want to let their department down or feel like they’re screwing their brothers over.
As many of you know, I spent over a decade working two full-time Fire/EMS jobs. Mostly for the money, but it also doubled my experience. Looking back, it’s no different from that military guy who keeps volunteering to go back on deployment, even when he just got home.
We want the fires. We want the action. We want to be in the s**t.
But how much is enough?
This is a question I’ve asked myself repeatedly over the last two or three years as I find myself becoming the old guy in the room. Not always in terms of age, but definitely in terms of time spent in a fire station.
This fall marked 18 years since I went to fire academy. I began my career 17 years ago, and for more than 10 of those years, I averaged at least 96 hours a week in a station.
Some guys will look at you and say you act like you’ve been doing this for 100 years. But when you start adding up all the time spent away from home, making fires, and running an endless number of EMS calls, you realize that while it might not have been 100 years, it sure damn close to 30.
Too bad the state of Texas doesn’t let you double-dip on service time. Because I damn sure have the W-2s and check stubs to prove it.
Even with all that time, I still want more.
Until very recently, I still found myself keeping my Active911 notifications turned on for both jobs, 24/7. When I saw those fires come out, I’d read the call notes and wish I were there.
Always wanting one more fire. Always wanting to be there.
I know a s**tload of you understand this feeling. I’ve said in the past that I believe most first responders are addicts. Maybe not to drugs or alcohol, but definitely to the job. This is a clear example of why I believe that.
If you’re monitoring radio traffic or reading dispatch notes on your days off, my friend, that’s what makes you an addict.
I’m not talking s**t. I’ve always been that guy, too.
I mean, damn, I may have finally stopped monitoring Active911, but now my entire side business consists of burn buildings and fire trucks.
This job gets inside you. It’s in your blood, it’s in your tears, and it finds its way into your family and your marriage.
There’s a special place in heaven for the wives of firefighters. Especially mine.
It can’t be easy being married to a hard-ass Texan who was raised by the oilfield, cowboys, and firefighters.
And still, the question keeps coming back:
How much is enough?
I start looking at the statistics I’ve tried to keep throughout my career. when my ego kicks in, I have no problem telling people that I’ve got more nozzle time than most guys will get in an entire career, even if I quit today.
What most people don’t realize is what that experience has cost me. For the most part, that cost has been paid by my family.
We talk about sacrifice as if it’s just another catchphrase or buzzword, often in the same way we talk about brotherhood. However, sacrifice isn’t just the possibility of becoming a line-of-duty death statistic. More often, it’s the sacrifice of something far more valuable to me these days: time.
From the time I was 18 years old until I was 36,
I never said no.
I didn’t say no to making fires. I didn’t say no to overtime. I never said no.
I jokingly tell guys now that I don’t work overtime anymore. I work the bare minimum at my part-time job, one day a month, just to stay on the roster. that’s finally my way of answering the question I’ve been asking myself for years:
How much is enough?
It’s a double-edged sword to be able to say you’ve got more nozzle time than damn near anyone else you meet.
One side of that blade represents experience and abilities that far surpass what many others will accumulate. The other side represents the realization that if you quit today, the fires will still keep coming.
Those military guys who completed 20-plus deployments to the Middle East are now openly talking about exactly what I’m describing. They’ve been talking about it for years. They thought, One more deployment and it’ll be over. One more deployment and we’ll finish the job.
In my mind, it’s always been one more fire.
I just want to make one more fire.
I’ve carried that attitude of constantly needing to earn it ever since fire academy. I remember guys going out and getting firefighter tattoos after graduation. I didn’t.
I told myself I wanted to earn that firefighter tattoo by making my first fire. That fire came, and then I told myself I’d get it when I got my first grab. That day came, and then I told myself I’d get it when I landed my first career position. That day came, and then I told myself I’d get it when I got off probation.
That day came, too. Years have gone by, and I still don’t feel like I’ve earned it.
Because it has never been enough.
What I hope each of you takes away from this is an understanding that it will probably never feel like enough. And at some point, you’re going to have to reconcile that within your own mind.
There will always be another fire.
On your last day walking out of that fire station, the 911 calls will continue. The tones will drop. The trucks will roll. Somebody else will take your seat, and the job will keep moving forward.
The job will never be done.
Our responsibility is to do the best we possibly can for whatever amount of time we have in this profession, and hopefully do it without sacrificing the things we can never get back.
This job is fun. I love it, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But sometimes, you have to step back and be honest with yourself. You have to look at the years you’ve put in, the experiences you’ve gained, the people you’ve helped, and the people who’ve stood beside you through it all.
You have to recognize what you’ve given to the job and what you’ve taken away from the people who matter most. Because there will always be another opportunity to work. Another shift to pick up. Another fire to make. Another deployment to volunteer for.
The question isn’t whether there will be another one.
The question is whether you’re willing to keep giving up what matters most to chase it.
So, I’ll ask you the same question I keep asking myself:
How much is enough?
This is not AI,
Heath
https://www.thirdalarmcowboys.com/fire-department-articles
Third Alarm Cowboys LLC
