Rachel Kinnas

If I’m being honest, my success isn’t something I’ve built alone—it’s something that’s been shaped by the people around me.

My husband has been at the center of that. We met in Iraq, fell in love in the middle of a war zone, and have now been married nearly 19 years. He retired from active duty in 2020, but his steady presence, perspective, and belief in me have never wavered.

My mother also changed the trajectory of my life. She insisted I go to college before joining the Army, which led me to commission as an officer. That decision gave me the opportunity to lead early, to make decisions, and to carry the weight of those decisions with purpose.

And then there’s the Army—the soldiers, NCOs, and officers I’ve served alongside. The military gives you something rare: a family forged through shared hardship and trust. These are the people you can call at any hour, from anywhere in the world, and they show up.

At the end of the day, my success comes down to family—both the one I was born into and the one I built in uniform.

Early in my career, everything was about momentum—moving fast, performing, and putting the mission first.

But the best advice I ever received challenged that mindset.

A senior leader once told me, “At the end of your life, it won’t be the Army standing beside you—it will be your family.” That stayed with me.

Over time, the Army itself has evolved from “mission first” to “people first,” and that shift reflects something deeply true: people are what make the mission possible. Not just those in uniform—but the families, the support systems, the ones who carry the weight alongside you.

Learning to hold both—to pursue excellence while protecting what matters most—has been one of the most important lessons of my career.

You can have a meaningful career, a strong family, and a full life—but it requires intention, resilience, and grace with yourself. A former boss of mine, my "coach," told me success is built on four things: grit, timing, luck, and skill.  

Grit is the foundation—you don’t have to be the best, you just have to refuse to quit. Timing plays a larger role than we like to admit, especially in a profession where you don’t always control your path. Lady luck matters, too. I’ve been fortunate to find myself in the right places at the right time --where I felt my contributions truly mattered-- at critical moments during my career. And then there’s skill—the part you earn. It comes from showing up, doing the work, and continuing to refine your craft over time.

When I reflect on my career, it’s never been just one of those things—it’s the combination of all four, working together.

Space and missile defense are among the most rapidly evolving areas in today’s military landscape. We are operating in an environment defined by constraint—limited budgets, capped end-strength, and increasing global demand. At the same time, the Department of Defense is undergoing a major transformation, pushing toward greater speed, agility, and lethality with fewer resources.

My role sits at the intersection of that complexity.

As a force manager, I help translate emerging requirements into real, operational capabilities—defining what we need, how it integrates into the force, and when it must be delivered. That process involves navigating evolving systems, aligning concepts of operation, and ensuring we are prepared for threats that are advancing at an unprecedented pace.

The challenge is clear: we know what’s needed—more personnel, more advanced systems, stronger integration—but we must build it within a no-growth environment.

Which means success depends on our ability to think differently, move faster, and clearly communicate the “why” behind what we’re building. Because if we can’t effectively tell that story, we can’t secure the resources to make it real.

Trust, honor, and courage guide everything I do.

During a three-year assignment in Okinawa, Japan, I developed a deeper understanding of honor—not just as a personal value, but as something that is reflected outwardly in how others experience you.

Honor isn’t situational. It’s not something you turn on when it’s convenient. It’s something you carry consistently—in how you lead, how you treat others, and how you show up when things are difficult.

It means honoring your commitments, your team, your family, and your country—even when it’s hard.

At its core, honor is about integrity in motion.

And in many ways, that same philosophy carries into everything I build beyond the uniform—creating things that are meant to last, to carry meaning, and to become part of someone else’s story.