TL;DR: I drew two diagrams in my notebook at a café in Montgomery, Alabama - the place where this life of service began. One has arrows pointing out. The other has arrows pointing in. This week put me at the center of both. A ceremony humbled me to my emotional core. I am walking a line. Most days, that is enough. 

On Walking the Line 

TSN 26.24

Hiya 

I had my notebook open before the food arrived. 

Dinner at an outdoor café in Montgomery, Alabama. The place where my life alongside military colleagues started to sprint. Coming back here always feels like something. Like being handed a photograph of myself from a long time ago and recognizing the face...

There is something about sitting at the beginning of a thing, years into the thing. 

In a Moleskine that I'm about to hit the end of, I drew two ovals. 

On the left, I see the arrows point outward from the center. My energy, moving out. Scanning for what I might be able to see. The honest part is that in any given moment, I am probably ignoring somewhere between ten and ninety percent of what I could pay attention to. Looking, yes. But not seeing everything. 

On the right, the arrows point inward. Everything arriving. Most of it without warning. An email. A sideways glance. A story I did not know was coming. 

For the record... there are a LOT more lines with arrows at the ends...

I sat at that table, at the end of my meal, looking out at the street. And quietly aware of what was already on its way. 

On Friday, I attended a promotion ceremony for a leader I only got to work with for a year. She's already on to her next "O-6 thing!" Sitting there, I looked left and right, trying to recognize myself in others, knowing that no two of us are the same.

The room was a mixture of every walk of my military and civilian life. A microcosm, I kept thinking. A small, living cross-section of the ecosystem we call "our America." People who have given everything sitting alongside people who are still deciding what they have to give. 

I have never worn a uniform. I have never deployed. I have never been asked to give what the people in that room have given. 

I was invited anyway. 

The senior leader - my boss and my mentor - who gave his remarks humbled me to my emotional core. Not just because of what he said about the mission. Because of how completely he oriented toward us… his people. I am aware, more than I know how to put into words, of how fortunate I am to spend this part of my life in rooms where leaders lead that way. Throughout that ceremony, I reflected on another mentor; the one who taught me her mantras:

"To Serve is to Live" &

"Leadership is about how to be, not what to do."

The picture below was taken on this day, 10 years ago... 14 Jun 2016 in NYC!

There is a line I keep finding myself walking: 

On one side: not doing enough. On the other: doing what I can.

The line between them is not a fixed place. It moves. I have to find it again every single day. 

What keeps me looking for it is this. I know this time of my life is a gift. The access. The invitation. The rooms I get to stand in. I want to feel worthy of the gift while I am holding it. 

That is not guilt. It is something closer to commitment. It is what I reach for when the line gets hard to find. 

I want the people around me to know I am doing everything I can with what I have right now. And in the moment that I know more, I will do more. 

Tomorrow I walk into a room of senior leaders. For the 4th time this year, I will stand and deliver. Once again, this one is dedicated to Ernie...to James...to Nancy... to SO many people who've made living this dream possible.

Tomorrow, I will share my mind and heart with command team leaders who carry the weight of both the mission and the people. I will walk a line in that room too. Between cheering them on and expecting them to meet me where I see their potential already growing.

Not advocacy, then agency. 

Both, at the same time. 

I drew a third thing in my notebook while I finished my dinner. I don't have a picture of it here... I'll keep it for myself. It's a flag.

A signal … so that people know what I stand for, what they can bring to me when they are looking. Not a demand. More like an open hand. An invite. 

I'll keep raising it. 

Montgomery. The notebook. Two ovals. The place where this journey started to sprint, reminding me of how far I've come, and that the finish line is still out there. 

I am at the center, looking out. 

I am paying attention to what is on its way. 

Much love from The South, 

JW

PS: For those of you who asked, I'm going to share an update on my mom and sister. We're almost a year since the brain hemorrhage, and thanks to SO many of our family and friends, they're getting the resources and help that they need. Felice sent me this photo today...

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