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.