The Final Post or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the VSP

PREFACE

I never intended this blog to lie dormant for over a month, but that's what happened.  Naturally.  Organically.  Kind of like a volcano.

I guess I just needed to vent about the Air Force and my Voluntary Separation Pay (VSP) before I turned into Mount St. Helens or worse.

Yea, kinda like that.

In hindsight, I wonder if I subconsciously needed to use a blog as a means of exorcising my demons?  Maybe, but what's it really matter now?  I'm over it.

All I know is that this blog has come to the end of its useful life.  There is nothing left to worry about or cling to here.

Thanks VSP.

But before I go, how about one more rant?

Yea, I know, but I couldn't resist.

Enjoy.

TOTO, I'VE GOT A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN ALABAMA ANYMORE.

I seriously thought I was in Alabama this morning.  Here's why:

(1)  I drove an hour outside the city (Houston versus Montgomery) to the town of Huntsville (TX not AL) where I found really friendly people and an outdoorsy vibe.

(2)  I discovered a local state park with an entire system of dummy-proof running trails.  I know they're dummy proof because I (the dummy) didn't get lost!

(3)  I ran the first five miles in an utter rage over a stupid Facebook post about someone's interpretation of leadership.  This correlates to my anger over Squadron Officer School, which is located in Alabama.

I thought I was getting over the whole Air Force leadership thing, but this individual and his poorly disguised attempts at self-flattery vis-à-vis stating his becoming a commander and taking Air Command and Staff College courses pushed me over the edge.

The nature of the post was a request for assistance with further developing his paper on emotional intelligence (EQ) versus cognitive intelligence (IQ) as the discussion pertains to Air Force leadership.

I nearly had a meltdown.

Video:  Seriously.

Why?  WHY?!  I'll tell you why:  This may be one of the most tired, trite, overdeveloped, misunderstood, and pointless topics in the realm of leadership.  IMHO, of course.

It just seems like the Air Force can't let this idea go.  We talk about it as undergrads, lieutenants, and captains.  But now as commanders?  Really?!  You're a major!  If you think there is some magical recipe for EQ versus IQ (not to mention systems intelligence or spiritual intelligence or a whole host of other measures) in a single human, then there is nothing I can say or do to convince you otherwise.

This is why (and I am borrowing here) I can thank the VSP for allowing me to see that there was at least one event per day that confirmed my decision to leave the Air Force.  This one just had a 26-day delay on it.

But instead of ragging on this guy anymore than I already have, I am going to offer 10 ways to improve the argument.  Take 'em for what they're worth.

(A)  You can't change the amount of EQ or IQ that you have.  Thus, why not offer an argument about neuroscience or brain chemistry and nature versus nurture?  Additionally, why are leaders so bad at realizing their strengths and leveraging those?  We try way too hard to improve our weaknesses, when in fact, many of our perceived shortfalls are hardwired and can be used for good if we only stopped trying to change everything else all the time.

(B)  Figure out how both EQ and IQ types are necessary in taking the Air Force from a vertical organization to a flat organization.  The drawdown is making it more important than ever to operate as teams across different silos.  What's that ratio?

(C)  The Air Force is leaner than ever.  So regardless of your particular EQ and IQ makeup, how do you recommend commanders optimize personnel retention as it relates to the appropriate mix of EQ, IQ, and SQ leaders for the future?  One of the charges of commanding is to grow your replacements, right?

(D)  Discuss how the EQ-heavy/IQ-lite and EQ-lite/IQ-heavy commanders learn to see 'their' troops as customers.  Understanding that the customer isn't always right, couldn't we still argue that no two individuals are the same and therefore require different incentive structures?  HINT:  Not everyone wants to be you or shares your idea of success or your stance on praise.  How do you bridge the EQ-IQ divide?  Why not let the technically savvy remain in those jobs versus forcing them into management roles they despise (i.e. simply using EQ folks to fill EQ roles and using IQ folks to fill IQ roles)?  Duh, right?

(E)  Talk about the unnecessary internal conflict that most leaders feel when trying to shift their particular ratio of EQ and IQ (c.f. A, above).  Again, accept who you are and fashion your management style in this way.  Consistency is king and much better than vacillating between different people's opinions of you.

(F)  There are more than just two categories of people.  How do EQ and IQ leaders see the breakdown of their units?  HINT:  The entire spectrum of commander types would do well to flip the 90-10 convention on its head or create some sort of different breakdown like 10-80-10 (i.e. stop spending 90% of your time on 10% of your bad apples).

(G)  Regardless of your brain chemistry and cognitive intelligence, talk about learning to listen to the guys, learning to learn from the guys, and learning to love the guys (c.f. D, above).  Always know your why.  HINT:  The guys.

(H)  Talk about how both EQ and IQ leaders need to become Picasso (i.e. steal and implement what works instead of always reinventing the wheel).

(I)  Explain how each type should assume the best in their people and stop controlling and monitoring.  Both EQ and IQ commanders would do well to set clear expectations, back off, and then be dazzled with how their guys meet or exceed expectations.  In other words, how do both types stop managing and start leading.

(J)  Be authentic.  If you are a cheerleader, then be a cheerleader.  If you are a technical nerd, then be a technical nerd.  Own it.  Otherwise you run the risk of losing your star performers because of your own poor example.  In the end you have to recognize and embrace your particular intelligence ratio and simply surround yourself with 'smart' people.

CONCLUSION

Now, if you'll excuse me...my 64-oz growler and I have a date at the bar.  Seriously.

We Left the Lights On: C-A-N-C-E-R

Ten points is all you get for using "cancer" in a game of Scrabble.

Well I think that's pretty crappy.  Not that cancer should be worth more, that's not really how the game works, but ten lousy points for confronting certain pain and sickness and possibly death?

I realize that cancer treatment has come a very, very long way over the years.  For instance, I have an uncle who is doing incredibly well following treatment and a best friend's father who is in remission.  Just a few years ago I'm sure both types had lower probabilities for successful outcomes and almost a certain guarantee of maximum discomfort before death.

Sometimes, however, I think cancer gets a bad rep because folks believe cancer is associated with poor behavior (i.e. smokers brought it on themselves, etc.) and they deserve their sickness.  Perhaps the magnitude of cancer gets swept aside because of people like Lance Armstrong who beat cancer, but ultimately end up being assholes and cheats and liars and frauds.

Regardless, I think cancer is still a pretty big deal.  This was especially so last summer when I had a bunch of weird moles and bumps appear on my stomach and face.

Now I know that I don't take the greatest care of myself and that I have some bad habits, but I was shocked when the on-base psuedo-practioner-of-medicine that the Air Force lovingly calls a "doctor" referred me to an off-base dermatologist.

Of course my mind cross referenced everything I'd ever "learned" on Grey's Anatomy and I was certain that I was going to die like Izzie Stephens since she found a weird mole on her back that ended up being brain cancer and then she had hallucinations and... 

Yea, I know that thought process is idiotic, but when it takes 90 days to get seen off base you have a teeny tiny amount of time to go all hypochondriac on TRICARE.

Link:  I know I'm an idiot, but come on!

I was reminded of all these feelings this past week when I volunteered at the animal shelter and interacted with a cancer-ridden Rottweiler named Sheba.  This is a really rotten situation as I pointed out to my mom with the use of a blunt, formulaic equation:

Black Dog + Full-body Cancer + Aggressive Breed = Certain Death

I know the vets are trying to treat it, but the little girl is only two and it's not like the shelter is swimming in donations.  

I pushed all of this aside, however, and just focused on having the best walk I could based on her energy levels.

She seemed really good.  She took two nuclear-certified poops (from the chemo) and walked 0.5 miles taking in the sunshine.

And that's when I started to recount my own experience.

Simply, I waited three months to be seen only to have the derm extract some worrisome bumps from my face, which meant I had to wait a few more weeks for the results.

The waiting was the worst followed closely by the big black stitches on my upper lip.

Of course I went back to work after the initial procedure (what else was I going to do besides watch more Grey's and write my own eulogy?) and tried to focus on my projects.  Sadly, only my guys and the civilian leads noticed my inability to speak clearly (numbing) and the stitches.  They showed genuine concern and wanted to know how everything worked out.

Then there was tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum.  They had no idea anything was wrong despite the fact that I had to make repeated requests to miss work for these appointments.  After three years in their organization, nothing.

Now I didn't expect them to give me time off to mope around or to show any true concern, but a feigned amount of indifference would've been nice.  I mean I was one of three other officers in the organization at that point.  A simple, "Let us know if you need anything" would've been sufficient.

But I guess that's what happens when you're busy talking about barbecue and your lawn and other douchebaggery.

Whatever.

Oh, and it ended up being a case of overactive sweat glands.  "Grody," the nurse said as she opened my results like we were at the Emmys.

Fine by me, I thought, fine by me.

We Left the Lights On: Opportunity or Opportunity Cost?

I've mentioned it before, but when I returned from my last deployment (Spring 2013) I was thrust back into the very depot world that I tried to escape.

No amount of bellyaching or applications to overseas assignments or networking or incessant calls to AFPC could save me.

Notes:  This goes back to my "document everything" mantra; regardless, AFPC was ZERO help...shocking, I know.

Notes:  These are from before I left.  I love my take on the situation and my desire for an "exit strategy" (as if the depot was akin to Iraq) and my telling the bosses to "phone a friend".  Jesus, I was desperate!

So I pouted and moped around during my two weeks of reconstitution.  NOTE:  My attitude was further diminished throughout these 14 days as I tried frantically to complete my master's degree capstone before heading back to the gulag.  Um, I mean depot.

When the time came to return I did my best to stay positive and try to figure out what I was supposed to be doing since when I left I still had three-ish jobs and no real clue as to what depot maintenance was really all about.

Notes:  Ranging from my time as the Flight Test Commander, the assistant Deputy Group Commander, and the long-promised gig in F-22s

Looking back, I have to laugh at the heading to my notes:  Notes from the Underground.

I'll just get it out of the way now.  I am a nerd.  And I love Dostoyevsky.  Love.  Seriously.

His work, Notes from the Underground, is a series of ramblings from a retired civil servant who is both depressed and cynical with the current state of affairs in Russia.  The man is unknown to the reader and certainly mad or on the verge of madness.

I find this funny in retrospect because I suppose I felt the same way.  Mad.

I couldn't believe half the crap I saw and, inevitably, facilitated in the depot.  I mean it wasn't all bad, but there were certainly times when I just shook with anger or fear or both.

Notes:  Concerns from the Underground

It took me another nine months of complaining to land an interview with the group commander on the active-duty side of the base, which is really sick.  I was begging to work 12- to 14-hour shifts.  Mad, I say.  MAD!

I eventually escaped, but the damage was done.  I was done.  I dropped my paperwork and decided to choose myself.  Mad?  Not anymore.

In hindsight, maybe I should've titled my notes after Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, which charts a single 24-hours in a gulag work camp.

Stay with me here.

I'm not trying to be cynical or overly dramatic, but Jeff Bridges ("The Dude") is right on when he quotes Solzhenitsyn and explains that we need both dark and light and perfection and imperfection to experience the fullness of life.

I now realize that I needed this experience.  I needed the dark (of the depot) to see the light (on the outside of the Air Force).  I needed some finches so I could be a swan...

...or a peacock.

But seriously, the above sums up my life right now.

At the end of the day I am thankful and grateful for my final depot experience.  Not only were the F-22 guys the best group of civilians in the entire Air Force Materiel Command, but they allowed me to see that being there wasn't at the cost of anything else, but for everything else.

We Left the Lights On: The Insubordinate Captain

So, funny story.

I was once told that in order to be a more well-rounded officer and candidate for a prestigious annual award I needed to volunteer with humans.

This came from not one, but two, full-bird colonels who I lovingly referred to as Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Screenshot:  Colonel Sanders was a better leader than these two...and he wasn't even a real colonel!

NOTE:  These are the same two masterminds that worked out a way to stay at Hill AFB longer than they were supposed to so they could be the very best of friends and talk about barbecue all day long.  But that's a whole nother story.

Anyways, the entire exchange took place when they asked me to write my own annual award package in less than 24 hours.  I didn't deserve the award and refused on those grounds.  When they started to ask why I felt I didn't deserve the accolades I explained that I hadn't really done a great job at work and felt like it wouldn't be setting the right example.  They went on to ask if I had taken any educational courses or been involved with community activities to which I replied that I had already completed my graduate degree, volunteered regularly at the animal shelter, took certification courses, followed HBR and MIT courses online (pre-Coursera), read books off the CSAF Reading List, and...

They stopped me and said, "Well if you want to win these awards you need to volunteer with humans."

Right.  In the next 24 hours I need to get to the hospital and save some lives, correct?

"This is precisely why you will never win at higher levels," they said.

Right.  Because winning awards is what it's all about.  They explained that it was whether I liked it or not.

So I eventually kowtowed and wrote a crappy award package and got called insubordinate because I had a backbone and didn't want to self promote myself (???).

I was so perfect I was insubordinate.  BWAHAHAHAHAHAH, cracks me up just thinking about it.

But you want to know what really chaps my ass?  The assumption that volunteering with animals was somehow less important or meaningful than volunteering with humans.

You want to know why I volunteer with animals?  Because people are assholes.  Serious assholes.

I did BBBS, coached soccer for 10- to 12-year-old boys, built homes for H4H, cleaned houses at a Bob Hope Village, read at elementary schools, fed folks at the mission, fed the homeless in a soup kitchen, and on and on.  And you know what?  Everyone was an asshole.

The parents, the kids, the homeless, the widows, etc.  I know I may not be the best soccer coach or big sister or onion chopper, but I try to do my best and I try to give a little of my time to people.  Not everyone was a thankless mooch, but would you continue to build houses for people that drive better cars than you and always show up with their hair and nails done up real nice?  Nope, didn't think so.

I don't think dogs are people or anything, but they do complete a family and they can offer more than a jerk can to those in need.  They love unconditionally and that is something hard to find in a human soul.

Regardless, I am going to keep caring for the less fortunate (even if they travel on all fours).

Cheers!

<3.

5 Reasons You Should Surf the Internet during TAP

DISCLAIMER:  This is from the perspective of a mid-level, career-oriented woman who did not have the luxury of a full retirement, becoming a full-time dependent, or going back to school.  I wanted and needed to find a job and found the Transition Assistance Program (TAP) at Hill Air Force Base useless.  Here's why:

1.  TAP at Hill was designed for the service member with over 20 years of experience (retirees entitled to benefits, etc.) and those service members with less than two years (force-shaped, or otherwise, with possible criminal records).  The class should be broken up into three shorter courses that better suit the different categories of transitioning military members (e.g. entry-level, mid-level, executive, etc.) so as to be more in line with the civilian world.

2.  The TAP counselors give you all of the information they plan to cover electronically during pre-counseling and on the first day.  The course simply holds your hand as you experience the numbing effects of death by PowerPoint.

Screenshot:  Why am I listening to you read to me?

Screenshot:  Seriously, you added nothing of value.

3.  There are such things as dumb questions.  I hate to break this to you, but your very specific question about your very specific situation should wait to be asked in-between the numbing PowerPoint presentations.

4.  Don't take notes.  They will only infuriate you since you have to Google everything later anyways because you're not staying in Utah or applying to USAJOBS.gov.

Screenshot:  I really tried to follow along...this was the sum total of my efforts over five days.

5.  TAP should not be your wake-up call that your resume stinks or you need more schooling for your next career.  If you need a job and waited to start the process until you went to TAP, then you really need to be surfing the Internet for temporary work, certification courses, housing, etc.  The saying holds true even as you're leaving Active Duty:  no one takes care of you like you.  So take the 40 hours allotted for this class and get professional help online or via email.  Build online profiles.  Do something.  Anything.  Don't just sit there and worry.  Worry does you no good.  Do the work.

NOTE:  I did provide this feedback throughout the course, but would be foolish to believe that anyone took action.

Other Tips:

1.  Do not fight with the "career counselor" who has known nothing but government service when he tells you to wear a sundress for interviews.

2.  Do not tell that same "career counselor" to stop repeatedly harassing the pretty blonde lieutenant in front of you during the class.

3.  Do not argue with the other "career counselor" who tells you LinkedIn.com is worthless and will never land you a job.

4.  Make sure you charge ALL of your Internet-surfing devices.  Better yet, bring the cables...you're going to need them.

5.  Network with the other people in your class.  Chances are that they are all anxious like you and are looking for insider information on what works or doesn't work.  SHARE SHARE SHARE your experiences to date.

The "I Love Me Wall"

QUICK NOTE:  Another WSJ-inspired blog post with a look back to Major Mercurial.

This morning I skimmed through some front-page articles looking for anything on energy exploration/exploitation in developing countries (check), the disaster that is Iraq (check), and the sad fate of Ukraine (check).  

As usual the ol' WSJ didn't disappoint and even threw in a little bonus article (just for me!) in the A-HED column:  "In Washington, the 'Me Wall' Still Trumps the Selfie".

Oh la la, I thought, what do we have here?!

The article discussed how many politicians and aides still prefer office walls adorned with photos of their greatest triumphs and meetings as opposed to selfies on that other kind of wall (who would even dare suggest that our Congressmen use Facebook?!  Oh the gall!).

What I enjoyed most about this article, however, was realizing just how much farther Air Force leaders take the 'Me Wall' concept.

Said the average Air Force officer, "And you should too!"

Our esteemed leaders don't just have photos.  No way!  They have mini-aircraft and tiny tail flashes and ginormous swords and shit.  Just copious amounts of SHIT all over the place.

Some even bring their wives in to arrange the plastic hunks of grey and blue throughout their office so that each piece is strategically visible while the commander hands out LORs and LOCs to the unit.  A real feat I might add.

These walls always struck me as odd.  Maybe because the first "I Love Me Wall" was Major M's and it was overwhelming.  Everything was level and nothing had dust and it spanned almost twenty years of service.  There were many a lecture that I missed because I was too busy trying to figure out the lame inside jokes on each of the placards.  SERIOUSLY!

So what did I do when I began to accrue my own piles of stuff?

I put all my crap in a box and moved the box around.  I still haven't unpacked it and I probably never will.

Photo:  The "I Hate Myself" Box

What are the contents of the box you ask?  Well, I threw most of the quarterly awards and annual awards in the garbage and kept only the items that really meant something to me:  a paperweight from a great Senior, a wrench from the guys, a Paddington Bear from England, a Lochness Monster from Scotland (it's real, ok?), two tail flashes, and some Mighty Ocho stuff (because it's just cool).

So what's on my walls?  Not my degrees, that's for sure.

Photo:  A mighty rooster from France drinking beer.  Entirely normal.

Photo:  A collage from a great friend!

Photo:  A stolen, I mean otherwise acquired, trail sign from UT.

Photo:  A memory board.

Of course I'll put my dad's painting up when I'm truly settled along with all my framed family photos, but this is all I need for now or ever in an office-like environment.

And I don't hate myself (although, ironically, I am reading Love Yourself Like Your Life Depends On It by Kamal Ravikant), I just don't see the need to have silly crap all over the place.

DISCLAIMER:  Don't remove everything from your walls because of this post; just know that everyone thinks you're a douche.

Thanks Bill!

We Left the Lights On: The *

So I might as well get it over with; the reckoning.

I broached the subject last evening and now just want to be rid of the memory.

I had every intention of labeling this post "The Bully" or "Mean Mister M----" or something similar, but upon further reflection this man does not even merit the time necessary for a witty title.  No, no.  Simply put he is an *.

NOTE:  I am borrowing from Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions here with the use of an asterisk to convey the very nature of this man (i.e. he's just an asshole).

Screenshot:  Still makes me laugh; I never did finish this book though...

While I could tell you the stories that surround this man, I'd prefer to take a different approach since (1) you wouldn't believe me anyway and (2) he's not worth the time or effort or energy.

Instead, I'll use a sneaky little trick I learned from a Chief for revealing who is a dirtbag to review boards via a seemingly good performance report.

- Arrogant; thinks he is the best at everything to include public speaking, being an EMT (even though that was 25 years ago), leading, writing, running marathons, woodworking, planning, coordinating, directing, being interesting, preparing for anything, drawing on dry erase boards, PowerPoint, storytelling, single-handedly saving the Pentagon on 9/11, bombing Iraq without being a pilot, etc.
- Sinister; a total snake in the grass!  Watch your back since he's always angling for advancement via tours, presentations, and briefings to the boss
- Self-absorbed; frequently reminds everyone that he could have been a one-star general, but took one for the team and allowed his wife to pursue her dream of teaching as a PhD at the U; additionally, devotes time to attend his two daughters' swimming meets...wouldn't want to sit next to him in the bleachers!!!
- Hated; his pontifications and long sermons are unparalleled; once held senior captains and majors captive for 75-minute lecture on preparing for an inspection and what aircraft maintenance is really about (him, duh)
- Oblivious; perfect AF leader...has no idea how anyone really feels about him and the lack of disrespect they harbor when he is around
- Loathed; should be careful around offsite activities with butter knives since you can't ever trust those depot guys when they've been trapped for hours listening to a know-it-all
- Egotistic; never mind your opinion, this guy has it on lockdown!  Did I mention that he single-handedly saved the country not once, but twice?

All joking aside, what I really wanted to put for E was empty.  I feel sorry for the guy who has to bully a first lieutenant and put down all of his coworkers.  It must be incredibly lonely being so smart and well-educated and successful.

The worst part?  I bet he could be a really great guy if he was willing to stomach a huge piece of humble pie.  I think Jim Collins' was right in Good to Great when he makes the distinction between professional will and personal humility.  There needs to be a balance if you are going to be an effective leader.

I want to end with Tao verse 68, though, since it seems entirely appropriate for the topic at hand:

Photo:  What's a little Tao without some birch trees?!

Photo:  I just hope I never turn out to be like this guy.

Cheers!

Helpless in the Depot

If you'd have asked me to lambast my former bosses and supervisors two months ago I would've been all over it like a fat kid on cake.  Seriously.

Truth:  There is a fat kid trapped inside of me.

I was bitter and angry and still questioning my reasons for leaving Active Duty while simultaneously telling myself that it was on my own terms and had been a long time coming.

There was an element of truth to that, but it's ridiculous to think that my plethora of bad leadership experiences didn't at least marginally contribute to my decision to leave.

I did my best to keep things in perspective and I tried to believe the advice of my coworkers when they said, "You can learn as much from the good ones as you can the bad ones."

The only problem was I had very, very few good examples to draw from and am still unsure what a "good" Air Force officer looks like.  

Are they the shitscreen?  Protecting the guys?  Are they cutthroat and out for themselves?  Searching for another star?  Are they being beat down by Congress?  Going along to get along?

While this line of questioning drove me absolutely batty the last nine months or so I finally came to the realization that it just doesn't matter.  In the words of Seth Godin, "Big companies are filled with turkeys, lifers, incompetents, and political operators.  But there, among the bureaucrats, are some exceptional people."  And the slugs are going to lean on the diligent few until those people shrug.

And you know what I found out?  No one misses Dagny.  They already have another workhorse and that's okay.

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but at one point I had three jobs (Flight Test Commander, Expeditionary Depot Commander, and Assistant Deputy Group Commander) and three additional duties (Air Show Chair, Retirement Ceremony Coordinator, and Group Compliance Inspection Lead).  I'm sure I left out a few things, but I really thought that they needed me.

WRONG!

I should've known better.  I only had those jobs because I was a first lieutenant that was both unwilling and unable to say no.  I was angry that no one stood up for me and helped me say no, but looking back I now see that if I wasn't willing to say anything nobody else would be willing to say anything.

NOTE:  This was made abundantly clear to me when I accidentally overhead my immediate supervisors acknowledge my being bullied (another story entirely) and saying that someone else would say something if it got out of hand.

Anyways, this post isn't meant as some sort of pity party or self-congratulatory epiphany.  It's just finally the result of feeling like enough of an outsider to really see the forest for the trees.

I didn't do myself any favors by suffering in silence (i.e. crying in the bathroom and taking out my anger on the wrong people) and not admitting to feeling overwhelmed.  I wrongly assumed that my volunteering for deployments and different assignments was transmitting my misery loud and clear.

WRONG!

In hindsight this logic was absolutely idiotic and something I will have to bear in mind throughout my next career.

Bottom line?  No one cares about you, but you.  So you better do a good job or be willing to suffer the consequences.  Self-imposed or otherwise.

wikiHow - How to Leave the Military

Word doc:  Do not send this; just get it out of your system.

1 - When you decide to leave the military, do NOT send an angry email.  Better yet, do not send an email at all.  Make the tough phone call if you are on the road or schedule the meeting face-to-face with your supervisor.  If you are angry about a particular situation such as sequestration or a bad boss put those words down on a MS Word document instead of into a MS Outlook email.

Word doc:  Again, just get it out of your system and do NOT quote Sir Richard Branson!

2 - Make sure you are leaving on your terms and not because of a bad situation or bad leadership.  This seems obvious, but a wise GS-14 once reminded me that bad bosses are everywhere.  This same civilian also warned me that I was being called insubordinate during the same time I was applying to separate, which led me to repeat Step 1 and realize that the decision to separate was mine and mine alone.

Screenshot:  Keep it short and sweet with AFPC, they don't read this crap anyway.

3 - Accept that you will have to do everything yourself.  This includes communicating with AFPC, finance, TMO, and similar agencies as well as scheduling the pre-TAP and TAP courses.  All of this must be done while also working full time and trying to find a replacement.  I was unable to accomplish the last part and had to be both the Commander and Operations Officer the last month of Active Duty.  This was to the detriment of the unit and for that I apologize.

Screenshot:  Control what you can control...document, document, DOCUMENT

4 - Track and document everything.  I realize that most everyone knows this, but AFPC will lose everything twice as will finance and TMO and AFRC.  Simply create a transition binder or folder and carrying it around like the Holy Bible.

5 - Record all conversations so that you can remember who is supposed to do what.  You will be overwhelmed with different instructions and told that certain people do not have access to your leave or your separation profile or whatever.  Write it down or tape it.  Whatever your method, record it.

6 - Record all conversations with your immediate supervisor because he has no clue who you are or why you want to separate and they will make you laugh.  Over the course of a ten-minute conversation, we spent two-minutes talking about barbecue and I was actually tasked to email him that I had secured his steak 'rub'.  Never once did he ask what I plan on doing when I got out or what new career I wanted to pursue.  He also asked about the voluntary pay amount as well as the number in my year group getting force shaped.  His previous source had been the AF Times.

Screenshot:  In true wiki fashion (anime photo)...smile!

7 - Try to enjoy the process.  It is the last time you will have to deal with that particular headache!

We Left the Lights On: Lady Gaga

Oh come on now, you know you were guilty of it.

The year?  2009.

The setting?  Any dial on your car radio.

The act?  Singing loudly and proudly to Lady Gaga's Paparazzi or Telephone or whatever.

Don't lie to me.  I know it happened.

Photo:  Oh, nothing like the MTV Music Awards (or a deployment) to bring out the best in a performer.

As is often the case with anamnesis (yea, how do you like that word?!  BAM!), I saw Lady Gaga on the TV the other day promoting her collaboration with Tony Bennett and I was immediately transported back to a different place and time.

Video clip:  Not sure why, but this does not bother me at all.

Unfortunately, my particular memory sequence quickly went from the hilarity of parody videos of guys dancing to Gaga in the desert to an incredibly difficult situation I encountered back at Lakenheath.

Video clip:  Why does everyone dance in the desert?  Still better than Gangnam Style IMHO.

I was still in Accessories Flight (LOL, that word still makes me think of jewelry and not FOHEs) and was working in the Fuels Shop when Major Mercurial called to say that he wanted to see the Senior and I in his office immediately.  We assumed that we were going to be fired, again, and joked that if we actually were fired this time that he would hand out basketballs at the gym while I handed out towels.  Seemed like a good plan.

When we got to the office, however, Major M was pretty upset and was talking to some Americans in suits who were standing in the waiting area.  This was strange considering we were overseas and on a pretty secure installation.  That's when they flashed their badges:  FBI.

They informed my Senior and I that one of our fuels troops had his kids illegally in the UK and that their mother wanted them home and was going to press charges and everything else unless they were on a plane tomorrow.  Now I was no legal expert and I had no idea what had happened in their relationship to bring them to the point of fighting over a three-year-old and a one-year-old, but I knew enough not to push the issue with the FBI.  My Senior and I agreed that the best thing we could do was to offer support for our troop throughout the process.

The FBI explained that in order to get the kids back to the US, however, two members of the unit had to take the kids to Heathrow and give them to an FBI handler for their flight to DC.  One unit member had to be a female and the other a male with no ties to the individual or his kids.  So if you know anything about the demographics of maintenance that female, by default, was me and the male was his immediate supervisor (BTW, an amazing Master Sergeant that continues to do great things).

We coordinated a time to get the kids the following day and the FBI left.  The fuels troop was about as cooperative as one could be in that situation.  I had no idea what to do when he wouldn't stop hugging them so I just figured we would speed to the airport to make up lost time.  I also loaded them up with Capri Suns and Scooby snacks for the plane ride (because who doesn't love a kid jacked up on sugar during an eight-hour flight?!).  I was also of zero assistance getting them through security because they wouldn't stop hugging me or my Master Sergeant.  Pretty much an epic fail on my part, but the situation still breaks my heart when I think about it.

Regardless, it was a very quiet two-hour ride back to Lakenheath.  That's when Lady Gaga came on the radio.

Maybe I beebopped my head or started an unconscious shoulder dance, but my Master Sergeant took it to the next level and started belting it out:

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

PAPA - PAPARAZZI

And just for a moment everything was okay and it was just funny and we were laughing and shouting and singing and we were human and their was no hierarchy or kids on planes or broken families.

There was Lady Gaga.

Of course I cried when I got home and hoped I never had to do anything like that ever again, but out of all the bad stuff always comes something good and that's what I'll try to remember going forward.

Cheers!