Hard Pass on the Retiree Hat
I retired from the Air Force a little over three years ago. Although that doesn't seem like a long time, it feels like an entire lifetime has passed since I wore the uniform. This feeling could be attributed to the personal and professional changes my family and I have experienced over the past three years. However, I also believe it stems from the attitude I forced myself to adopt even before my last day in service. The military had been a significant part of my identity during my young adulthood. I fully embraced the culture early in my career, considering myself a patriot and a leader. While I still believe I was a patriot and a leader during my service, my perspective on the military changed dramatically during my final two years. Those last two years were marked by the COVID-19 pandemic and the surge of the Black Lives Matter movement following George Floyd's death.
As a senior leader, I began to feel increasingly disillusioned with the military. Being enlisted, my authority as a senior leader was limited to advising my commanding officers and executing their decisions. My first commanding officer as a Senior Enlisted Leader (SEL) was quite difficult to work with. An academy graduate, he believed he was smarter than everyone else and was destined to become a general. He is likely still on the fast track to achieving that goal or may have already attained that rank. However, I can confidently say he was no true leader; he focused solely on how his people could make him look good to his superiors and cared little about discipline or accountability. The woman who followed him was the complete opposite. She was intelligent, strong yet empathetic, and possessed a keen sense of reality. She reignited my trust in the military as an institution to be proud of. Unfortunately, I was then promoted to a difficult duty station that nobody wanted to be at, and higher headquarters leadership wanted to avoid dealing with.
Before arriving at what would be my final assignment, I received a call from my career field chief informing me that my commanding officer wasn’t actually selected for command; rather, he was simply the only officer available to fill the position. On top of that, the officer above him had been fired from his previous command for toxic leadership. Needless to say, it was not a great experience, and it was worsened by the challenges of COVID and the social unrest following George Floyd's death. The COVID lockdowns felt as arbitrary for the military as they did for the rest of the country. As a "senior leader," I was expected to abide by the nonsensical rules and support them. This was difficult because I took pride in always being honest and straightforward with those I led. However, the push for diversity, equity, and inclusion accelerated after George Floyd's death and profoundly affected my experience.
I recall sitting in the main conference room of our installation with my fellow senior enlisted leaders, discussing the riots happening across the country in response to George Floyd's death. It struck me as odd that we were no longer concerned about COVID, yet it was suddenly acceptable for us to sit close together in the same room again. During that meeting, we were told that if we were white (which I am), we had to acknowledge our privilege and inherent racism if we wished to be considered real leaders. I'm not exaggerating; a Chief Master Sergeant—the highest enlisted rank in the Air Force—looked at us and said those exact words. It didn't matter whether I was actually a racist or whether I had been fair to everyone under my leadership, regardless of their skin color. Being white meant I was labeled as a racist. I felt like the institution I had loved for nearly two decades had been completely turned upside down. I refused to bow to that notion and the Black Lives Matter movement as a whole. I knew who I was and who I was not, and I was not a racist. I hoped this mentality was just a symptom of the absurdity that had taken root at our installation, which no one at higher headquarters wanted to address. Unfortunately, I was mistaken.
One Sunday morning, while in the shower, I came to the decision to retire. The week before, I had learned that one of the highest-ranking individuals in my service had overruled a panel of Chiefs who had selected me for a highly competitive position because, as I was told “off the record," I “didn't look diverse enough." There was nothing I could have done to change this, as it was based on my appearance. In short, I didn’t get the job, despite being the most qualified candidate, because I was white. It left me questioning the core values I had dedicated my life to. Who cares about "Excellence in All We Do" when race becomes a factor? I was on the brink of being transferred to a base I had wanted for years, which could have led to my next steps in the service. I didn't believe in the military system and wanted to distance myself from it as soon as I could.
Retiring was the best career move I ever made. In the nine months leading up to my retirement, I learned a lot. I discovered that people I once considered friends were quick to call me crazy for wanting to retire, and even more so for not wanting to take a civilian job back on base. I was determined not to work for the military as a civilian. Unfortunately, I was constantly surrounded by negative voices telling me it was irresponsible to pursue anything other than a base job, let alone retire in the first place. Finding a job wasn’t easy, but I managed to secure one as a consultant for the Department of Health and Human Services a month before my official separation from the military.
Since retiring, I have become a journalist and syndicated political columnist, featured on various radio stations for my commentary. I also began my PhD in Law and Policy, started my first fiction book, and currently work as a policy analyst for the Department of Labor. I take great pride in having created an identity outside of being a veteran. This path isn't for everyone; it's easier to stay within the system you've known for so long, especially if you still believe in it. Civilian life can be daunting, filled with unknowns, and there’s no one to guide you on what to do or where to go—although plenty of people will offer unsolicited advice. Nevertheless, the hard work, false starts, and uncertainty have been entirely worth it. I barely remember most of the people I worked with in the military. Often, when I hear Department of Defense acronyms, I have to Google them because I can’t recall their meanings anymore. I lost my sense of identity while in uniform, but thanks to my disillusionment with the system, I have been able to rediscover who I am outside of it.
If I could give advice to my younger self in uniform, knowing what I know now, it would be the following:
1. Don’t focus on winning awards; outside of the military, they don’t matter.
2. Stop hero-worshiping your good bosses. They are just people, and most will lose touch once they retire or you leave.
3. The military is a lot like high school; many will peak during their service. Don’t be one of them.
4. Remember, it’s just a job; don’t let it define who you are.
5. Don’t stay in longer than necessary; you don’t need to stay that long.
6. You don’t have to wear a uniform or be a retiree to be a patriot or feel valuable. Never let an officer or senior enlisted person make you feel less than. Your self-worth is not determined by the medals on your uniform, the stripes on your sleeves, or the coins on your desk.
