Xenophilia

We stand at the edge of a great precipice, said someone of some importance at some key moment in history. I think.

Today it became official. The last month or two was merely a stay of execution, merely a spot of breathing room before the final word should come down.

I met with my flight doc today. He is drawing up the paperwork that will recommend my disqualification from flying; he expects to complete it today and get it signed by the head of flight medicine office tomorrow. Thence it goes off to San Antonio, to some agency there (it sounded a lot like he was saying “half-wits,” which I rather doubt), who will review the record and make a final determination. He expects this determination to be made within a matter of weeks (in other words, almost certainly while I am in fact on vacation trying NOT to think about it). More follows the jump.

He spoke of the matter as if it were merely a formality, that I should not concern myself with the prospect of the board’s rejecting his recommendation. Thus it is true in all likelihood that I have had my last flight in the Air Force. (Aw shucks, I didn’t squirted with shaving cream on my fini flight. I’m brokenhearted, really.)
The full force of this has yet to sink in, or else it has sunk in and just has made absolutely no impact on me (I think the former the more likely). Not that I expect to be much bothered by it all. This is the road I knew I was heading down in March when I went to head-shrinkers in the first place. I’ve closed so many chapters in my life with less fanfare that I suppose I’ve grown rather numb to the whole idea.

It’s sort a shame, I’ll grant, because in one sense the physical flying itself was not what got me down in the first place. It’s the Air Force. It’s the military; the lifestyle, the lack of options, the degree of control (almost total) that one has to give up to other authorities (who could give two shits about you) in order to be here and do this job. Flying threw this matter into high relief in some sense, because of the TDY rate flyers are subjected to (no comments about Army/Marine deployment rates, because I’m not in the fucking Army and this is why), but it wasn’t flying itself that was the problem. It was more a case of, you put up with a lot of shit to fly—more than to do other jobs in the AF—and while I don’t dislike flying I find that flying is not at all so great that I’m willing to put up with everything that goes along with it.

So, here comes disqualification. And now we start to ask questions about what that really means. Retraining into another career field against my will? I wouldn’t put it past them. Walking papers and a recommendation not to let the door hit me on the way out? Probably not. The doc went so far as to say that this simply wouldn’t happen, but then he seemed to be trying to reassure me of something I might be scared of, when in fact there are several scarier options.

Most likely seems to be a discussion about what other career field I’d like to volunteer to go into. Obviously JAG is my main choice, and I know the window for applications is opening again in January. I plan to speak of nothing else; there MAY be other career fields I’d be WILLING to do, though none that attract me particularly. What I want is a chance to be normal again, and the only way I get that is to get out entirely. Still, this is also the least secure and snuggly option of them all, since while I’ve been planning mentally to be jobless, I’ve done little if any financial planning for that eventuality.

So whenever the friendly people come to talk to me about what else I’d like to do for the AF, I will mention JAG, and I will not mention anything else. Any career field they try to put me in, I’ll just apply for JAG anyway, so why waste the money on retraining? Then again, why waste the money on retraining me to be a JAG, when I’m already probably qualified to do any number of less interesting jobs.

The only officer shortages right now are in Security Forces and Acquisitions. Neither of these requires intensive retraining, at least not at the outset (SF obviously would in the longer-term). I certainly won’t be volunteering for either of these. There’s a retention problem in Acquisitions because there’s a real contest between Acquisitions and watching paint dry for excitement and job fulfillment—although if you rise high enough in the career field there are numerous options for skimming off the top, or better yet getting a job with Boeing and skimming off the top there. So no, I don’t think I’ll volunteer for acquisitions. And I can think of few jobs anywhere in the entire world to which I am less well suited than being a Security Forces officer.

The Air Force Times last week ran an article about the AF needing to eliminate 4000 officer positions by the beginning of the 2007 fiscal year (in October ‘06). I expect this topic to come up in my situation. If I knew my chances at getting a JAG slot I’d feel a lot better about how to handle the potential of walking away. If it comes down to getting out or getting non-vol’d to security forces, I’ll take my walking papers and not look back. But that may be a fanciful setup.

About a month ago, my psychologist made me sit down and write out what I thought at the time were the most likely possible paths for the near future—not get DQ’d, get DQ’d and go to JAG, get DQ’d and get retrained into something else, or get sent packing. The exercise was worthwhile because, while I didn’t learn anything new, I did at least force all available options onto one side of a single sheet of paper. When the gaping maw of possibility is starting to freak you out, making that maw look smaller can be incredibly helpful.

I’ve not learned much else new since then, except that the first of the four options seems much less likely. But even that isn’t much. All options seem awfully open-ended, even written down like that, and though now it looks like it’s only a matter of weeks before the formal disqualification happens, there’s still no way of knowing what I’ll be doing next year, or whether next year is the soonest I’d be doing it. Active prayer is the only thing that prevents all this from keeping me awake at night.

So that’s a glimpse into the mind of Smitty. Scary place.