5 Lessons I Learned from 21+ Years in the Air Force

6 months ago I retired from the Air Force after 21+ years of service. If you add 5 years of Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) in college and graduate school, that’s over 26 years.

How do you sum up an experience that spans most of your adult life, and much of your pre-adult life?

How do you pay tribute to every moment that shaped who you are today? (Wait, that one is easy: by BEING who you are today.)

There are more stories and lessons learned than I can possibly share in one place and one time, so I’ve collected some representative ones that served me well – and helped me serve well. They aren’t numbered because I can’t presume to rank order their importance, either backward or forward.

Why did I join the Air Force to begin with? Good question. With a dream to become an astronaut, I went to Space Camp in 6^th grade and loved it so much I went to the follow-on Space Academy and every level of the associated Aviation Challenge, attending one or two camps every year through the summer before my senior year in high school. (Huge thank you to my parents for supporting my dreams and prioritizing my education!)

Aviation Challenge was a more military-themed camp where we flew jet simulators, did escape and evasion exercises, practiced leadership and teambuilding, and more. When we completed the highest level of Aviation Challenge, we asked our counselors what was next. “The Air Force,” they said.

Here I am, almost three decades later.

It might seem weird to the casual observer. I’m a lover, not a fighter, and I believe wholeheartedly in world peace. The aspects of the military I’ve always loved most are the profound leadership and teambuilding experiences, the camaraderie and sense of kinship with fellow servicemembers, and being part of something bigger than myself. In its highest expression, the Air Force is dedicated to the core values of integrity, service, and excellence, which have always been an integral part of who I am. So while I don’t agree with every part of the mission, I’m deeply grateful for my experience in the Air Force and for the opportunity to serve during the time that I did.

With that, let’s dive into the lessons.

Trust the Universe

“You learned that in the military?” Sure did. Not in those words at the time, but in essence. The words came later.

I’ve shared a lot about the pivotal moment in my life when the astronaut door slammed in my face, and I won’t repeat it all here. (For more on that, check out my blog post, The Gift in Shattered Dreams) In retrospect, I recognized the higher purpose that was calling me. I learned that the universe had bigger plans for me. While the astronaut rejection tends to be the go-to illuminating life experience I share, my Air Force career actually started with the same core lesson.

Right out of college, I fought hard against my first Air Force assignment.

I’m really glad I lost.

I was assigned to the Air Force Research Laboratory (AFRL) at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, New Mexico. AFRL had two directorates at Kirtland: Space Vehicles and Directed Energy. They assigned me to Directed Energy. With an aerospace master’s degree and a lifelong desire to become an astronaut, I didn’t understand why they didn’t put me in Space Vehicles.

AFRL had a unique interviewing process for assignments, where you interview in each of the different branches in the directorate to see where you’d be the best fit. I convinced them to let me interview in both directorates.

When I interviewed at the Starfire Optical Range (SOR), part of the Directed Energy Directorate that did research in lasers and adaptive optics, I received an incredible welcome. The senior technical advisor at the site personally drove me up the hill to see the telescopes and optics tables. He told me how interested they were in having me work there.

I was honored, but also scared. I had an impressive resume, but I’d never even taken an optics class. I wasn’t sure what they saw in me.  I wasn’t sure I could live up to their expectations.

When I mentioned my lack of experience in the group interview, one of the majors told me that I could work hands-on in an area where I didn’t have experience (with them) or manage projects in an area where I did have experience (with Space Vehicles). As tempting as that sounded, I still hesitated.

I defaulted to the comfortable familiar over the stretchy unknown and chose Space Vehicles. Thankfully, the powers that be overrode my fear-based decision and assigned me to the SOR anyway.

It turned out to be the best possible assignment, and I loved it. It gave me life-long friends and amazing experiences, and it set me up for a phenomenal career. It didn’t take long for me to write a thank you note to the colonel who had made the final decision on my placement. And the senior technical advisor who drove me up the hill? 16 years later he wrote the foreword to my book.

As much as I fought against that first assignment in the Directed Energy Directorate, I’ve realized over the years that my Air Force career – and really my life – has always been about “directed energy.”

Energy is at the core of all my work in the world. It’s at the core of who I am, straight down to my initials, MCC – or as I like to write them, mc² (the E in E=mc² stands for Energy 😊).

Energy is everything...and how you direct it will shape the course of your life.

Everyone but me knew that Directed Energy was my path at the time. They obviously weren’t thinking about the more esoteric interpretation of it, but finding meaning in everything is how I roll.

Sometimes the universe works its magic through the people who hold your feet to the fire to become who you were born to be. Even when you’re afraid and you don’t know who that really is…yet.

When life doesn’t make sense in the moment, trust that it makes sense in the grand scheme of things. It may take a few years to understand how all the pieces fit, or it may take decades, or maybe you’ll never really understand. The leap of faith is trusting that the universe always has your back, and that every experience is working for your highest good and putting you on the path of your highest purpose.

Take Risks

This was a major theme of ROTC boot camp (called “Field Training”) the summer between my sophomore and junior years in college, and it’s stayed with me ever since. I’m not sure why my Field Training Officer focused on me for the risk-taking lesson – he must have noticed my cautious/perfectionist tendencies – but he hammered home the importance of taking risks and routinely asked me, “Corley, what do we learn at Field Training?”

“To take risks, sir!”

I’ve called on that lesson over and over throughout my life. Sometimes I forget, like that moment when I was afraid of my first assignment. When I have remembered, over the years it’s looked like:

• Finding a blacksmith in the Santa Cruz mountains to teach me how to forge when no one on the faculty in my shop class at Stanford knew how, but we had a forge and I wanted to use it

• As the ROTC cadet wing commander, designing and implementing the first-ever weekend retreat for our cadet leadership team to bond with each other and plan the semester ahead

• Resolving to run a marathon on all seven continents shortly before lining up at the start of my first one

• Saying yes to playing the marimba (a xylophone-like instrument) with the brass band at the Naval Postgraduate School for my PhD graduation ceremony, when I’d only ever played the piano and never played with a band or orchestra (that’s what happens when you call up the band director and ask them to play the Star Wars throne room music instead of Pomp and Circumstance at graduation because you heard them do it once but they haven’t done it since – they ask you to join them)

• Being the first to volunteer to spar with the kendo sensei even when it felt intimidating – and then being celebrated for having the courage, because such opportunities are a gift and you do yourself a disservice by passing them up out of fear

• Reaching out to a senior leader for mentorship after reading her bio in preparation for her visit with my boss, and taking her up on her invitation to a week-long retreat at a horse ranch in Montana – an experience that proved to be life-changing in many ways

• Jumping at the chance to create mini customized personal/professional development sessions for my team before having any formal facilitator training, just passion

• When the time came, separating from active duty without a solid plan for what was next; trusting that I was leaping into something expansive and purposeful even though I didn’t know what it was

• Creating the book and (later) the wisdom card deck that came straight from my soul instead of the ones I was trying too hard to force with my mind

• Taking action over and over in the entrepreneurship journey even when it felt squirmy and uncomfortable putting myself out there in a way I never had before (even when it was fun and exciting, I took for granted how often I charged forth and did the thing until several people reflected to me how much courage that took… and then I remembered my Field Training Officer and how ingrained his lesson had become)

Taking risks isn’t about being reckless. It's about cultivating creativity and courage. It’s about building the courage to try things when they haven’t been tried before (or even if they have), and even when you’re afraid. It’s about thinking outside the box, challenging the status quo, focusing on the real objective, and asking what else is possible. It’s about learning to trust yourself.

Sometimes my risk-taking resulted in tough lessons. I could say I wish I’d done some things differently, and yet I don’t, because I wouldn’t have learned what I did. I wouldn’t have ended up exactly here, writing to you about what I’ve learned and hoping it will inspire you in some small or big way.

I don’t believe in mistakes or failure. Everything is simply information that you can use or ignore. Every experience has brought you to this moment and made you who you are. Or rather, made you more aware of who you already are.

You Have Time to Pause

I was surprised to learn this in the military, but I did.

In my last active-duty assignment, I was the deputy squadron commander for an operations support squadron. To learn about the mission and requirements of the operations side of the house, I went through the site’s Mission Director training. Mission Directors were responsible for 24/7 operations of satellite networks and their ground systems. The job required deep technical knowledge, decision-making skills, presence, patience, and the ability to know who to ask for assistance when needed. It carried a lot of responsibility and was one of those jobs that you hoped would be boring because that would mean everything was working as expected. But when things broke or global events happened, you were at the center of a crisis and needed to keep a cool head.

In my training, I’ll never forget how my fellow officers drilled it in that no matter what, even in an emergency when you feel pressure to act immediately, even if the station commander is calling, you have a few seconds to pause, breathe, and collect yourself. It may not sound like much, but it’s an eternity when you’re in that moment, and the precious few seconds you take to center yourself can make a world of difference in the long run.

When I went on to develop and facilitate mindfulness courses as a reservist in the years to come, I used that lesson to illustrate the power of a pause to calm the nervous system and create space for new options and choices to emerge.

I learned the power of the pause in a different way a few months later. I had signed up for a 3-day 7 Habits of Highly Effective People workshop, but as the time approached, I almost cancelled. I had all the same excuses my future students (or non-students) would have: I was too busy, I had too much on my plate, the never-ending to-do list was calling, and I didn’t think I had time to take three days away from the office.

The other deputy squadron commander at the site was also signed up, and he convinced me to go.

Thank goodness.

The workshop changed my life. The whole thing was impactful, but two epiphanies stand out. I’ve written about both of them before (can you tell I’ve done a lot of processing over the years?!).

The first was a moment in the class where they shared the Stephen Covey quote, “It’s incredibly easy to work harder and harder at climbing the ladder of success only to discover it’s leaning against the wrong wall.” That hit home for me, and you can read more about it here.

The second epiphany came through an exercise in mission-writing. Read more about that in Invitation #3 of my blog post, 7 Invitations to Dream Bigger.

The upshot of both: My ladder at the time was leaning against the wrong wall, and my mission was as big as the universe and was no longer aligned with what I was doing.

That workshop was one of the catalysts that led to my leaving active duty, joining the reserve, and exploring what else was possible.

In the reserve, I taught the 7 Habits workshop many times, and I always shared how it had changed my life. I was privileged to watch it change others’ lives right in front of my eyes.

When I heard people’s “I’m too busy” objections for any class, I sympathized because I’d been there myself. I also knew that it was precisely because they were “too busy” that they could profoundly benefit from being in the class. I’d learned that the pause revolutionizes your life and your experience of time everywhere else.

You have time to pause and breathe.

If you want to live your most epic life, you don’t have time not to.

Love Yourself

Another surprising one, right?

As far back as ROTC, we were told that even with good leaders and people who cared, no one would care about our careers as much as we did, so we should take care of ourselves. That didn’t mean being cutthroat or only looking out for number one, it meant very practical things like: keep a copy of all your records in case the personnel center loses them.

The compilation of all your performance reports, feedback sessions, awards and decorations, certificates, training reports, fitness reports, official letters, etc., has a name. It’s called the “I Love Me File.” And the wall in your office or home where you hang your diplomas, certificates, and going-away frames from previous assignments – where everyone wrote amazing things about you – is called the “I Love Me Wall.”

While the terms are often used jokingly and not intended to spark deep self-reflection, they speak to the importance of loving and honoring yourself, celebrating your progress and how far you’ve come, and savoring what you’ve accomplished and who you are.

Something I consider an extension of the loving yourself principle is a lesson I learned when I first started as the aide-de-camp to a general. As an aide, my life revolved around the general and her complex schedule. The colonel who led my general’s support team said the most important thing to remember was, “Don’t dwell.” There was just too much going on to wallow in self-pity or beat yourself up if you made a mistake. You had to pick yourself up, learn from it, and keep going.

This was a big practice for me, as the perfectionist in me at the time struggled with letting go of perceived mistakes and the real or imagined judgments of others.

I had a great opportunity to practice this on what would become an infamous trip to Scotland with my general and four other senior leaders.

After a work trip to England, the six of us took leave to spend a couple of days in Edinburgh. I had done all the logistical planning. I had our train tickets, gathered everyone at the station, and then very confidently led everyone onto the wrong train.

It was the right platform and approximately the right time, and I was sure it was the right train. As we boarded, we discovered that people were sitting in our assigned seats. We (by “we” I mean “I”) gently asked them to move. They did so politely, but looked at us a little strangely. Here come the crazy Americans with their luggage, when everyone else on the train is traveling light and mostly working on laptops. They suggested that perhaps we might be on the wrong train?

They were right. Somehow we’d boarded a commuter train instead of the long-distance one. This was before smartphones, so our new friends generously consulted their laptops and helped us find an alternate route to Edinburgh, which involved us getting off at a tiny station called Northallerton and waiting for hours for the next train to arrive.

We had one little box of cookies (or should I say “biscuits”) between the six of us, and there was absolutely nothing and no one at the station but the lonely platform. I was mortified by this time, but my companions were really good sports about it. We laughed and had some great bonding conversations during the long wait, with only occasional doubts as to whether we’d ever see a train again.

We did eventually catch a train and make it to Edinburgh. With our original plans in shambles, our cab driver directed us to his favorite restaurant, which ended up being an absolute gem that we never would have found otherwise.

At my going-away ceremony for that assignment the next year, my fellow travelers presented me with a map they'd all signed. Across the top it read, "I 💗 Northallerton.”

Sometimes the moments when you think you’ve screwed up create priceless memories.

So don’t take yourself too seriously. Love yourself generously and celebrate your progress. Don’t dwell, forgive yourself for whatever you perceive as “messing up,” and trust that this, too, is working for your highest good.

Who You Are Is Your Greatest Achievement and Contribution

I think I’ve always had an intuitive awareness of this one, but it really solidified early in my Air Force journey. Ironically, I didn’t consciously remember that I knew this so early until years later.

In 2020, a few years after I’d separated from active duty and started my coaching journey, I found some notes to myself that I’d written near the end of my first assignment and tucked into a leadership book from my MBA program at the University of New Mexico. At that time I’d been preparing to interview with the sponsors of the PhD program I’d applied to. I knew they were going to ask me what my proudest accomplishment was, and I’d been contemplating it.

I wrote, “Can I say my proudest accomplishment is who I am today? I mean, there are a LOT of things I’m proud of – college career, getting an MBA at night while staying at the top of the Lt-Capt category at work, managing to take care of a horse, playing soccer, etc.”

Those were all things I’d done, but it was the being that was already standing out to me. “Everyone respects me and treats me as one of the gang, even though I’m significantly younger, a girl, and have much less experience.” I wrote about how people saw in me the same energy and spark they saw in one of their favorite teammates from years past, and that the senior optics guru actually talked to me when he barely gave other lieutenants the time of day. He even taught me how to realign the optics in the small telescope on our high-altitude balloon payload so I could do it each time we recovered it after a test flight. I wrote in my notes how excited I was that he watched me for about 10 minutes and, satisfied that I didn’t need supervision, left me alone to do it myself.

When asked about my proudest accomplishment in the interview, I owned it. I said something like, “Being the only lieutenant the optics guy talks to,” and went on to explain that it was about who I was rather than any one thing I’d done.

Whether it was that or something else, it worked. I went on to the PhD program for my next assignment.

In 2020 when I found my notes about that experience, I had to laugh and shake my head a bit. I’d gone through all this coaching, training, reflection, and processing, only to discover something I’d already known.

Obviously that wasn’t the only meaningful nugget to come out of the coaching journey, but it was eye-opening to realize my conscious mind had forgotten being consciously aware of something so profound.

And then I found another gem.

In the ROTC leadership class I took after completing Field Training in 2001, we were asked to record ourselves answering a series of questions aloud. I found my cassette tape while going through some treasured mementos and gave it a listen.

I was blown away by what I heard myself sharing. “Oh wow, I knew that back then?!”

One of the questions was, “What do you feel is your greatest contributing asset to the Air Force as a future officer?” You can probably guess that my 21-year-old self said, “Who I am.”

As I wondered in my 2007 notes if I could say “who I am” as my answer in the PhD interview, I must have already forgotten that I’d known and said it before.

Isn’t that often the way? The soul’s knowing can be obscured so easily by years of expectation, performance, daily grind, and doing-ness. And yet, that too is part of the process. Life is a spiral, constantly revealing new levels of learning and new opportunities to remember and truly embody what you’ve always known.

So whether this is your first time hearing it or an echo of what you’ve always known, trust that who you are is your greatest achievement and contribution.

In other words, relax. You have nothing to prove. You are here to make a difference not by what you do, but by being YOU. And don’t worry if you don’t know what that means. Trust that you’re already doing it, because you’re already being it.

Final Thoughts

While these might sound like internally-focused lessons, the thread that weaves through each lesson and every part of my Air Force journey is people. I’ve written about the power of relationships before (check out my blog post, Connection Makes the World Go Round), and it’s the people who have always mattered to me more than any particular line of work. As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to make a difference to the people in my world. As I look back on my time in the Air Force, I see the faces and footprints of so many people who made a difference to me, and so many moments when I was privileged to make a difference to others.

Indulge me in one more (brief) set of stories.

Just shy of four months into my aide-de-camp job with the general, I got fired. (No, it wasn’t because of the train incident, and I wasn’t really fired. 😉) My general’s newly appointed boss, the director of our organization and a civilian, was looking for her first executive officer. She told my general, “Find me someone like Melissa.” The third time she said it over the next few days, my general said, “Why don’t you just take Melissa?” She did.

One of my favorite memories from our next 14 months together was a visit to the SOR – coming full circle back to the place I’d fought against but that became my first Air Force home and family. While the visit was about my director, not me, I was welcomed like a celebrity. I knew and hugged practically every person we met, in every room and down every hallway. My director noticed. When we met the next person, who happened to be a dear friend I think of as my big brother, the director stuck out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m a friend of Melissa’s.” 😊

You know you’ve made an impact when people want to work with you because they’ve seen who you are. You know it when people are overjoyed to see you again years after you’ve moved on.

You know you’ve made an impact when someone tells you your smile in the hallway made their day. You know it when your team lights up at seeing the pizza you brought at 11pm after class because you knew they were still at work. You know it when you get an invitation to go sailing in Belize because someone cancelled at the last minute and you’re the person the group thinks of to fill the gap when they wonder who they can sit on a sailboat with for a week and not want to kill. You know it when a struggling soul comes to you for career advice and you champion their dreams and encourage them to follow their heart. You know it when someone asks you to preside at their promotion ceremony or their retirement ceremony. You know it when someone tells you they experience life in a completely different way because of you.

Thank you to everyone who walked with me, ran with me, inspired me, or felt inspired by me over the last 26+ years. It’s been a true honor serving with you. 🫡

A small selection of photos from across the years. My Air Force career was most definitely a team sport; I’m sharing solo photos here to respect the privacy of family and friends.