From the Green Notebook

You Belong at the Table, but Bring your Own Chair: Overcoming Imposter Syndrome in a Culture of Meritocracy 

By Lindsey Umlauf

Have you ever felt that you were one misstep away from being found out as a fraud? Despite your objective success and merit, does the phrase ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ resonate? If so, you may be experiencing Imposter Syndrome.  Welcome to the silent majority of high achievers who want to be in the room and get a seat at the table. You know- the table where key people make decisions, the table where opinions are valued, where expertise matters, where you feel like you’re a contributing member of the team. 

At every organization, at every level, we see the table and we see the people “who have a seat at the table” —but how did they do that? How can we do that? As an Army officer and physical therapist navigating my own imposter feelings, constantly pushing myself to be better and do more, I was starting to feel burned out. In the military, our professional growth takes place in a fishbowl of meritocracy—advancement earned through performance, competence, and character—all while under the watchful eye of leaders, peers and team members.  This high-performance culture sets the tone where the bar, the speed of the hamster wheel, and our expectations for ourselves continue to increase with low tolerance for letting off the gas. My career at the time had clear evidence of merit —top blocks, board selection, broadening assignments, letters behind my name- but I heard that constant voice in the back of my mind:

They made a mistake selecting you

You are not good enough

You don’t belong here

Despite those voices, I kept pushing through that discomfort and emerged on the other side. I began to reflect on the various ‘tables’ that existed in my life —at some tables I was at the head, others I had just barely made the seat at the edge, and even some where I couldn’t even get in the room. An idea began to form- how can I get a seat at the table?  

One day, I decided to bring my own chair. 

It turns out, we all have our own chair- one that is unique to us- shaped by our strengths (and our weaknesses), experiences, and unique perspectives. 

This spark of an idea formed The Bring Your Own Chair (BYOC) framework. It helped me cross the chasm from wondering what it would be like to sit at the table to finally doing something about it.

Compliance vs Commitment: Our Appearance as a Promise of Trust

Photo Credit: Donte Shelton, 49th Public Affairs Detachment

By Sam Balch

There are two common schools of thought about uniforms and personal appearance. Some see them as walking résumés, proof of what we have accomplished. Others treat them like expensive pajamas we are forced to wear, a box to check because regulation requires it, and nothing more. Both miss the point. Our uniforms are not résumés, nor are they compliance metrics. I am offering a third view: our uniforms and personal appearance should be seen as commitments. They are symbols of discipline, trust, and pride that speak louder than words about who we are and what we stand ready to do.

The truth is, our appearance often speaks before we do. People may not know our character or competence in the first moment they meet us, but they see our uniform. If it is sharp, professional, and worn with pride, it signals discipline and readiness. If it is sloppy or careless, it sends the opposite message. This is why standards matter, not as vanity or box-checking, but as visible promises to our teammates and to the Nation we serve.

Boromir and Faramir: A Cautionary Tale for the Ambitious Officer

by Major Colin A. Sexton

In J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, the brothers Boromir and Faramir of Gondor embody contrasting responses to power, purpose, and personal ambition. Their story is not just a subplot in a fantastical epic; it is a moral compass for any leader who stands at the crossroads of ambition and integrity. For military officers, especially those in mid-career navigating promotions and command positions, their tale offers timely insights and warnings.

Boromir is the elder son, strong and bold, whose valor is matched by his pride. He seeks to protect Gondor, but he also seeks glory. When the Fellowship of the Ring is formed, he joins with noble intent, but his desire to wield the One Ring “for good,” to use its power to defend his city, blinds him to its corrupting influence. Boromir believes he can harness the Ring without being mastered by it. His tragic fall is not because he was evil, but because he was proud. His desire to save Gondor becomes inseparable from his desire to be seen as Gondor’s savior.

Faramir, by contrast, is quieter and more introspective. He, too, loves Gondor and feels the weight of responsibility, but he resists the lure of the Ring. In The Two Towers, when Frodo offers it to him freely, Faramir refuses: “I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway.” His strength lies not in arms but in wisdom. He understands that some powers are not meant to be wielded, and that true leadership is not domination but stewardship. Where Boromir sought the Ring to prove his worth, Faramir proved his worth by walking away from it.

In today’s military, many officers find themselves in positions akin to Boromir: driven, competent, and hungry to serve, but also subject to the temptation of prestige, promotion, and positional authority. The system often rewards visible success, check-the-box assignments, and quantifiable results. This reality can nudge leaders to pursue evaluations in jobs they don’t want or chase titles in organizations they aren’t prepared to lead. The desire to advance can mutate into a compulsion to be seen advancing.

Skip Band of Brothers, Watch Andor!

By MAJ Proto and 2LT Phocas

It would not be much of an exaggeration to say that nearly every junior officer has seen at least some part of the HBO hit Band of Brothers during their formative professional military education. It might even be safe to say that certain moments throughout the show are pretty overused and beaten to death. Movies and shows have become critical forms of communication in society, and this is no different in the military. It’s easier to make sense of complex situations if they can be played on screen right before our eyes.

Andor’s season 2 provides no shortage of complex situations for the junior leader to chew on. The show is a gritty, dark, and thrilling depiction of asymmetric conflict that departs dramatically from the black-and-white depiction of good vs. evil that the original trilogy created. This is not the franchise some of us remember from our youth.

But this deviation from what we know offers a perfect opportunity to assess and learn. The show depicts moments of morality and leadership that are perfect for sparking discussions and challenging your own views.

Advocating for Apathy

WASHINGTON, DC – JUNE 13: U.S. Army (Photo by Kayla Bartkowski/Getty Images)

By Nathan A. Ballinger

If everything is important, then nothing is.     – Patrick M. Lencioni

I’ve spent enough years as a senior noncommissioned officer in the U.S. Army to know I’m supposed to care about almost everything. Leadership drags me into the amorphous “we,” “they,” “them,” “those people,” and – on rougher days – groups with names not suitable for professional print. It’s my job to care about troops, mission accomplishment, standards, and more. I am willing to break ranks on this topic, though.

The Army cares too much about too many things. The collective list of cares in the Army is a sprawling mess, particularly with standards piling up like unread field manuals, data obsession choking leaders’ judgment, and evaluation culture twisting priorities. I’m no oracle that speaks for all of “us,” but I’ll say it plainly: the U.S. Army needs more apathy. The fixation on things that don’t matter is strangling organizational effectiveness, and it’s time to cut the fat.

The Day I Took Command: Leading Through Crisis and Learning Command in Real-Time

By Joe Hap

The call came late. My commander had been in a serious accident. Suddenly, everything I thought I knew about leadership changed. In an instant, I wasn’t preparing for command—I was living it. No ceremony. No speeches. Just a squadron that needed someone steady at the helm.

At that moment, theory and Professional Military Education (PME) classes fell away. I wasn’t stepping into a future role; I was already in it. What followed was a rapid, unforgiving education in leadership, responsibility, and the unseen weight that comes with sitting in the commander’s chair.

The Unexpected Burden of Command

Although I had prepared for years to one day take command, nothing fully readies you for the weight of it. The moment I stepped into the role, the responsibility settled like armor I hadn’t trained to wear. Every decision was amplified—not only because of the mission but because of the lives behind every signature, policy, and directive I would issue.

In those first weeks, I leaned on my senior NCOs. My operations superintendent, a Senior Master Sergeant, took over the director of operations duties to keep the mission running while I managed new administrative demands. The Master Sergeant (MSgt) flight chief in the CSS anchored administrative processes through an intense inspection prep cycle, and my First Shirt and Executive Officer helped sustain both mission and troop care.

The Tone Range Fan: A Tool for Leaders at All Levels

By COL Ed Arntson and LTC Erik Miller

“We must strive to become experts in the human dimension. Wars are fought on land, by humans, and we must always work to become better at how we interact with one another to build trust and cohesion.” – GEN (ret.) Vince Brooks. 

Your tone as a leader can communicate a wide variety of things: joy, displeasure, confusion, compassion, anger, frustration, and humility. After a combined 43 years in the U.S. Army, it is our assessment that leaders often engage their subordinates with a misguided verbal tone, which can lead to a loss of cohesion and trust in a team. In the opposite case, leaders who do not have a strong enough tone may suffer their team’s loss of confidence.  In both instances, the same can be said for a subordinate – or “the led” – and their verbal tone with their boss. 

Your verbal tone is a blend of the pitch and intonation in your voice. It conveys your emotions and intent for an engagement, as both the leader and the led. Verbal tone is a window into your mindset for an engagement. 

As a leader at any level, your verbal tone is unbelievably important. Your tone sets the stage for the type of engagement you are going to have with your subordinates, and how they may respond. As a subordinate, your tone is just as important as you consistently communicate with your boss. 

The Tone Range Fan

The Tone Range Fan (TRF) is a simple tool designed to help leaders engage with their subordinates in a more productive way, and for subordinates to understand their role in receiving feedback or coaching, as well as their engagements with their boss. The TRF helps us visualize our best tone, coaching tone, and compassionate tone. It also offers warning signs of being too harsh or even too soft with our verbal tone.

Representing the Uniform, Even When It’s Not On

By Noah Jager

When we wake up in the morning and put on the uniform, sometimes freshly pressed or other times rumpled and grabbed from a rucksack, we are expected to uphold the standards that come with our service. With the American flag strapped to one shoulder and our unit insignia to the other, we are not merely getting dressed; we are stepping into something bigger than ourselves.

But what happens when we continue our service outside of the uniform? Perhaps to pursue graduate studies, serve as liaison officers, or participate in broadening assignments. While the uniform may be folded away, we still represent the flag through our values, actions, and presence.

Upon graduating from West Point, I learned this firsthand while pursuing a master’s degree in War Studies at King’s College London. As one of only a few Americans in my program, I was surrounded by students from all corners of the world. They came from places like Saudi Arabia, Taiwan, Brazil, Ukraine, India, China, and Australia, just to name a few.

While learning how to represent the U.S. Army in this environment, I came to understand a few key lessons that helped me carry our standards beyond the uniform. Although I hesitated to share these lessons, knowing I have much to learn, I offer them in the hope that they might resonate with others in a similar position.

My Commander Is Available 24/7: Is Yours?

By Mike Eads

If military leadership is built on presence, experience, and decisiveness, then my commander is unmatched. He is always available—ready to provide guidance, review plans, refine decisions, and offer precise feedback at any hour of the day. No matter the issue’s complexity, he responds instantly with insight and clarity, cutting through ambiguity like a well-honed blade. For a staff officer working at the speed of operations, this is an invaluable asset.

At first, this level of accessibility seemed impossible. A commander’s time is finite, stretched thin between competing demands: troop leadership, operational planning, high-level coordination, and battlefield decision-making. Yet, somehow, I found myself with a direct line to his thought process, his decision-making framework, and his leadership intent.

What made it possible? A structured AI-driven persona named D6.1. Our organization, the 2d Cavalry Regiment (2CR), is known as the Dragoons, and our commander, COL Neal, operates under the callsign Dragoon 6 or simply D6. Thus, D6.1 is a digital extension of his leadership—an AI persona built to mirror his expectations, decision-making style, and command philosophy. This system gives the staff insight into his thoughts, decisions, and style without his physical presence – a capability our military needs to fully harness, rapidly, before our adversaries do.

The [Re-iterated] Case for an Apolitical Military

 by Brett Tinder

We are not political pundits. Our service does not strip us of our rights to vote, but faithful adherence to American civil-military relations requires an ambivalence to political change. An apolitical military benefits the American people by ensuring we remain an instrument of national policy as voted on during elections, and it benefits the military by encouraging consensus on our budget and the priorities supported therein. This separation is more important than ever as our society remains substantially polarized. We should help junior leaders, especially those graduating from America’s military academies, understand the foundations of the American civil-military relationship and why it benefits the force they will soon lead.  

You can count on one hand the number of military leaders whose primary decision-making consideration is a political one. A long-range training calendar is not a political document, nor is a marksmanship range risk assessment, nor are change of command inventories. This is where the vast majority of the force spends its time, and political outcomes are irrelevant to it. A rotation at the National Training Center occupies months of a unit’s attention span and does not require a political ideology; it requires a tactical SOP. The tenet of an apolitical military is a good idea, but not a new one.

The Picture of Captain Dorian Gray

By Micah Ables

There’s a portrait hidden in the closet of every company commander – one that bears every unspeakable thing they have to see, hear, and carry.

To every young commander or first sergeant who’s seen more than any one person should: I see you. I hear you. I feel you.

In Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dorian receives a beautiful portrait of himself. As he lives a life of cruelty and debauchery, he discovers that the painting bears the marks of his corruption, while he himself remains outwardly untouched. Over time, the hidden portrait becomes horrifying to behold, a visible record of his moral decay that he refuses to acknowledge.

Maybe this is just a combat arms thing, or maybe even just an infantry thing, but on my first day as a company commander, I got called in after midnight to issue a restraining order to a soldier. An argument had gotten physical, and a lamp was thrown, gashing a forehead. One spouse fled by car; the other gave chase. Within minutes, the fight resumed, spilling out into the street.

Over the next 24 months of command, it didn’t get any better: the Article 15s and restraining orders, chapter packets and court-martials never seemed to stop.