Nine business days into this new job, and just one more day before I begin a three-week training exercise with a brand-new team in a different country. Needless to say, the stress is present: I’m against the clock in getting spun up, understanding the mission, and building quick bonds with people I barely know.
But there’s a phrase I keep hearing that stuck with me this week, and I need to unpack it. So bear with me as I word vomit.
When you pin on the mighty rank of Major, all sorts of unsolicited advice gets hurled your way:
Your network is your greatest ally. Make friends, not enemies.
You’re no longer the action officer—you manage the action officer.
You are now responsible for making the system work. The true sign of success is when the system keeps running after you’re gone.
It’s that third point that’s been grinding my gears.
Because here’s the thing: without people, what are systems?
“Are you getting what you want from what you do?” One of my colleagues asked that to his students and protégés; it’s a powerful question that has stuck with me. Because military service is an enormous commitment, it is important to ask why we chose to serve in the first place and why we continue to serve. Those reasons might change over time, or might need to change as we mature and progress through our careers and personal lives.
I grew up as a military dependent. The Army has been a constant presence in my life, which informed my decision to join. I first joined the military for three reasons: it was a family business, it was a way to pay for college, and it was an opportunity for adventure. I was excited to become an Army officer but did not join with a clear ending in mind.
As a brand new officer, I reported to my first unit with a romanticized vision of being in the “real Army.” Luckily, I was given a platoon to lead once I arrived. I had a lot of energy and ambitious ideas I wanted to implement. Unfortunately, my ideas were quickly crushed by reality.
My first unit was understrength and exhausted after a 15-month deployment. Between appointments, taskings, unit reset requirements, and discipline problems, I had relatively few Soldiers available to lead and train any given day. I was especially surprised by the amount of Soldier misconduct across the formation–my ROTC instruction did not prepare me for the extent that Soldiers can get into trouble!
I did not enjoy the long hours and extended field time during the ramp-up toward my first deployment. However, one thing that kept me motivated was forming new relationships and working with people. My first deployment showed you can go to the worst places in the world, but can have a good experience if you go with the right people. Unfortunately, my good experiences were soon outweighed by bad ones.
Frustrations mounted as one deployment turned into three, and I was exposed to some toxic leaders along the way. Many of my peers were so resentful that they left the Army, perhaps earlier than planned. After enduring multiple unpleasant leaders, back-to-back deployments, and a challenging experience in company command, I also considered separating from the military.
Why I Joined the Air Force: A Family Legacy of Flying
“You should serve as long as you can,” an old boss advised me while I contemplated my future. As I considered his advice, I reflected on why I entered the Air Force in the first place. Initially, my motivation to serve was quite simple: I wanted to fly. But my decision to serve had been informed by key individuals who shaped my life over multiple years. It was not until ten years ago, when I was in the Pentagon for the first time, that I finally had time to reflect on my own military service and realize that stories of the servicemembers around me—not solely my dream of being a pilot—encouraged me to continue my service.
One of those key individuals was my Grandpa. He recently passed away at 99 years old, a World War II Army Air Corps veteran who, in his last five years, shared his military service story whenever he got the chance. He was intent on showing pride in serving by wearing an old Army Air Corps service cover, displaying his old ribbons on his button-down shirt, and having his great-grandkids perform flag duty at his veteran son’s 50th wedding anniversary.
My Grandpa’s two sons served and four of his grandchildren currently serve or have served. While my Grandpa only served for two years, those two years clearly had a profound impact on him. The intensity of that service, those that he served with, the impact his Generation achieved for our nation, and the overall purpose of serving must be the reasons that it still gripped him later in life. Even after World War II, he was interested in ensuring that the next generation did not forget about this period in our nation’s history. My Grandpa eventually became a school principal. Recently, one of his former students told me that he would bring in old war footage to show his class. My own father would watch war movies with me too, inspired by his own service. Growing up with exposure to these stories undoubtedly planted a seed that led to my own military service.
My family’s roots in the Air Force helped inspire my pilot ambitions. I attended my Uncle’s Air Force Academy graduation in 1984 when I was only six years old, where I was introduced to the Thunderbirds, Corvettes, and Presidents—Ronald Reagan gave the graduation speech. It also helped that my dad was stationed at Clark Air Base, Philippines—I associated his military service with adventure, living overseas, and helping those less fortunate. I remember my parents telling me about the weekend they spent volunteering with the base dental office in a rural part of the Philippines where they provided care to those that did not have access or resources for dental health.
Why I Stayed: The People and Family Support
My own service has been a journey and an evolution that has lasted over 26 years. There have been frustrating moments, especially when the Air Force’s vision doesn’t align with what I most want to be doing. In reality, the “hurry up and wait” moments have been blessings in disguise. They provided time and space to grow, learn, and reflect, preparing me to do the things that I really wanted to be doing at the right time. I am not the most patient person, but I now appreciate the additional time to mature before taking on the next challenging job. For example, I served as an aide-de-camp for almost two years, nearly one full year longer than most officers in that position, but that extra year solidified leadership lessons from my boss that I carry with me to this day.
Helping others achieve their dreams or making the environment around me better has by far provided the most enjoyment. A few examples include highlighting Airmen dorm issues, creating a high performing team while serving as a squadron commander, advocating for individuals facing medical challenges, and safely continuing the mission during COVID. Bringing the mobile USO bus to Sheppard Air Force Base to help with morale was pretty cool, too.
At times, I continued to serve for the same reasons my Grandpa served; at other decision points, I continued to serve because I had a family to support and I simultaneously found my military work fulfilling. Lastly, I found my fellow colleagues to be fascinating people to serve alongside. The same boss who encouraged me to serve used to say, “I came into the Air Force to fly, but stayed for the people.” This rings true for me, too.
In 2008 when I arrived at 30th AG, Replacement Battalion, I was handed the IET Soldier’s Handbook (TRADOC Pamphlet 600-4). For the next 16 weeks, I carried this dry read about the Army Values, Warrior Ethos, and using the ever-coveted Eagle Cash Card.
I was primed for inspiration, but that Handbook didn’t.
I had already raised my right hand and got on a bus to Fort Benning, GA. I knew that I wanted to serve in the best Army in the world. What I didn’t know was the legacy that had come before me and how those stories shaped the Army ethic.
That has changed with the publication of FM 1:The Army: A Primer to Our Profession of Arms. It is doctrine that is meant to be read cover to cover, filled with stories of heroism, leadership, and our obligations as United States Army Soldiers. It is a quick 74 pages (including intentional blanks) that gets to the heart of who we are as a profession: warriors, professionals, and leaders.
More than that, it is a primer to converse with junior members of the force. It is an introduction to tell our Army stories and to professionally develop our subordinates. FM 1 reflects the increasingly challenging times in which we live and opens the door to honest and frank conversation about our unique culture.
Outsourcing your writing to AI is tantalizing because of its sudden ubiquity. Despite the convenience, there’s a hidden cost when you transfer your agency as a writer. It robs you of crucial cognitive development.
Composing your own thoughts is powerful – even in the age of AI – because writing shapes you as an independent and adaptive thinker. As military professionals, developing our thinking remains indispensable.
AI is transforming our society, reshaping industries from healthcare to higher education and bringing to life futuristic forms of social interaction. Some claim that large language models like ChatGPT, Claude, and Copilot are fundamentally changing how we learn. Though not tech-savvy, even I am leaning more on generative AI tools as handy virtual assistants.
Likewise, the tidal wave of AI is crashing into our profession of arms. Many units now use AI to create more realistic and challenging training and wargames. Others are experimenting with AI-powered tools for battlefield analysis and support to mission command systems. Adversaries are developing AI tools for military use.
In short, AI is everywhere – and it is compelling us to reexamine, well, everything. Retaining our agency in writing is a helpful way to make sense of a world suddenly co-inhabited by AI, while simultaneously learning how to leverage the technology responsibly.
As an Infantry Lieutenant, your time as a Platoon Leader (PL) is the peak of your first four years in the Army. You will train for it, stress over it, and only begin to appreciate it once you are out of the seat and begin to wish for “the good old days.” Unfortunately, most units can only guarantee 6-10 months of PL time. For those who excel at the position, your unit may offer you the chance to work as a staff Officer, Company Executive Officer, or “specialty” Platoon Leader (leading one of the Battalion’s Scout, Mortar, Distribution, or Medical Platoons). I was a Mortar Platoon Leader.
Most leaders recommend the Executive Officer (XO) slot because being an XO gives you more exposure to the administrative and logistical functions that run a Company. Consequently, XO positions prepare you for your time as a Commander. Taking a specialty Platoon is more enjoyable, but the professional benefit is less obvious. As a specialty Platoon Leader, your fundamental responsibilities do not change from your last PL job, but you must learn a completely new set of tactics and mission requirements.
When I learned I would become my Battalion’s Mortar PL, I was excited for the opportunity to continue being a PL in a more challenging capacity. I knew nothing about mortars, how to employ them, or how to process fire missions. I also knew that, as a specialty Platoon Leader, I would take on a much greater responsibility. Your new position as a specialty Platoon Leader will challenge you, but you will learn how to quickly acquire a new skillset, how to build mutual trust with your subordinates, and how to involve yourself in planning as a Junior Officer.
Photo courtesy of Jay Ireland, who also keeps ALL of his notebooks!
by David J. Vowell
A few years ago, I worked in the operations center (S3) of the Air Traffic Control organization in the Aviation Center of Excellence in Fort Novosel, AL. This organization manages 21 air traffic control facilities at Fort Novosel and covers 32,000 square miles of airspace. My boss at the time had amassed a collection of notebooks from his entire career. I had asked him on more than one occasion why he kept them–he always said that he might need the information later. I didn’t understand his answer, however, because I never saw him use his notes. It didn’t seem to be an effective way to remember things. Now, years later, I finally understand. My notebooks have become as important to me as his were to him.
Every time I would in-process into a new unit, I visited the Company supply room to ask for the “standard green notebook.” Though I did not treasure my notebooks as I do now, I carried one with me because I never wanted to be the leader without one. Many of us have sat in a briefing and had the instructor or leader say, “If you’re not writing this down, you are wrong.” That statement is usually followed by nervous looks and the ominous tearing of paper as leaders shared notebooks and pens.
We’ve all been asked numerous times: Why did you join? The answer early in my career was “to pay off my college debt.” There may have been other reasons—the challenge, love for country, and a meaningful career. But, initially, the most critical factor was not romantic. It was money.
As I progressed through the first few years of my career as a junior enlisted Soldier and NCO, I realized that I might decide to do this longer than my initial three-year contract. The camaraderie built overseas in a combat zone reminded me of my experience as an athlete and teammate, a familiar component of my upbringing. I had found the perfect profession–or so I thought.
Around year three, I began experiencing chronic back pain, but I remained determined to make the Army a career. I was committed. So I pushed through the pain, leveraged my college degree, and commissioned via Officer Candidate School (OCS) three and a half years after enlisting. I was a high performer, but chronically stressed and in pain. Although I loved my job, I felt I was nearing the brink of what I could handle. As a new lieutenant in a combat arms unit, the pressure was on. Then, a moment came that should have broken me.
September 16th, 2016.
It was an ordinary day—until I received the call that rocked my world to its foundation. My wife was sobbing over the phone. I knew it was bad, but I was too shaken to guess what it might be. An accident? A death in the family? Did something happen to our dog?
Worse. “There’s no heartbeat,” she said.
Our unborn daughter, Juliana Diane, passed away at 39 and a half weeks and was stillborn the following day. Our entire world flipped on its head in a matter of minutes. We were numb. Sick. Angry. Sad. It was the deepest pain I had ever experienced. As I held our daughter in my arms in the hospital just outside of Fort Drum, New York, I was dead inside. I was in a hole I didn’t think I’d ever be able to climb out of. And my wife was down there with me.
As I sat in my high school algebra class, the principal’s voice came over the loudspeaker.
“A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center,” he announced.
I thought to myself, That’s odd; why are they telling us about a random plane crash?
But moments later, the principal stated that a second plane had crashed into the Twin Towers. I sat frozen in my chair, stunned at what I had just heard. Something significant was unfolding. As I listened to the principal’s reports, the events of that day catalyzed my desire to join the military and defend my country.
Why I Joined: Patriotism and Selfless Service
Patriotism and service underpinned my decision to join the United States Army, and remain the core reasons why I continue to serve.
Selfless service was one of my family’s core values. My father served as an enlisted Airman in the United States Air Force Reserve. He was away at least one weekend a month, two weeks in the summer, and was activated during Operations Desert Storm and Enduring Freedom. Our family was proud of his commitment to our country and community, even though it was challenging to have him gone. Dad was the neighborly type who never shied away from helping others–shoveling driveways, roofing, and building decks. No job was too big or small, especially if it meant helping others. I was often the unwilling assistant on these projects, but these experiences taught me the value of selfless service. I always felt I would go into the military or serve in some capacity, just like Dad. But September 11th was the day when that feeling turned into a calling. Nevertheless, like most others, I experienced many instances when getting out of the military was an option I seriously considered.
One such decision point was when I was a Captain with about four years of service. My wife, Stacey, and I sought stability, especially as we started our family. After a whirlwind of initial entry training, a deployment to Afghanistan, and coming back to a rigorous equipment reset, fielding, and training cycle, we weren’t sure this high-tempo lifestyle was for us. The following is the list of factors, in no particular order, that my family and I considered when deciding to stay in or exit the service.
“Until I get too old or too ugly; Uncle Sam will tell me when to leave.” That’s what I tell people when they ask me how long I plan to stay in the Army. To an extent, my tongue-in-cheek saying is heartfelt. I enjoy Soldiering. While some days are better than others, nothing else offers the same sense of comradeship or fulfillment that I get out of serving with and leading Soldiers. I joined the Army because I was raised with the belief that everyone should serve our country in some capacity. For me, that service paid for my college education, introduced me to my wife, and enabled me to live abroad and do things that I’d never dream of doing on the civilian side. That same service has come at a cost, though–largely in terms of my family life.
While I’ve enjoyed my service, it has not always been exactly what I wanted and it’s often stressed my relationships with those I love. My wife is also a Soldier and despite being married since 2018, we’ve lived under the same roof for less than half of that time. The MACP (Married Army Couples Program) has ensured that we are generally close to each other, but that doesn’t ease the burden of high op-tempo combat arms units, especially with children in the mix. Similarly, my career aspirations are often counter to my wife’s, and vice versa. We are both adventurers, which inevitably leads to time apart to gain professional experiences.
When it came to deciding, ‘should I stay or should I go,’ the ultimate question to answer for me was whether my service would prevent my wife from realizing her own ambitions. A foundational part of our relationship involves us both enabling the other to excel–a core value that unfortunately, typically requires choosing between time apart and inhibiting the other’s career. While my wife joined the Army out of a similar sense of service, the strains of the Army on our family time, particularly after the birth of our children, weighs heavily on her. While being away from my boys and my wife is of no joy to me, it does not burden me in the same way that it does her.
Three years ago, with palms sweating, I walked into my senior rater’s office for a counseling session. I told him, “I don’t want battalion command and plan to retire at the first opportunity.” It took months to gather the courage to say those words. I anticipated reactions such as, “You are quitting on the team,” and “You owe the Army for the time and money invested in you.” Instead, my senior rater showed empathy and asked how he could help align my family, personal, and professional goals throughout the remainder of my career. This alignment is allowing me to stay at my current assignment and position for what will be over six years by the time I retire in 2026.
As a 16-year-old, I watched the 9/11 attacks unfold in my high school auditorium. That day and the following months solidified my path to the military: enlisting in the Army Reserve, and later receiving a commission as an Active Duty officer. The idea of serving a larger purpose, having adventures unlike any other profession, and escaping the frigid Minnesota winters appealed to me. Two decades later, with a growing family, the adventure I sought transformed into uncertainty.
My relationship with the U.S. Army did not degrade over a single incident. Instead, multiple cracks formed over the years, such as lost comrades and two wars with ill-defined end states. The largest crack developed in 2019 when I found out via email I was “hand-selected” to serve a year-long tour in Afghanistan. I had deployed before, but this time felt different. I had a family, and the uncertainty mounted. Leaving my wife and 7-month-old son at the Kansas City airport was one of the hardest moments of my life. Each day in Afghanistan, I felt like a failure as a father for the lost time in my son’s life–something I worked through post-deployment with the help of a therapist.
