Somewhere in Instagram earlier this year, someone started a meme poking fun at the derision baby boomers show millennials and captioned it, “Ok, Boomer.” This went viral, including a trip to the New Zealand Parliament when 25-year-old lawmaker Chloe Swarbrick used the phrase to shut down a heckler.1 But such language seems only to highlight generational differences, rather than celebrate common ground. It also oversimplifies the relationship between people, distilling their interconnections to a single variable: the generation to which they belong. More important, it implies that boomers are outdated or have nothing to offer younger generations.
As a millennial, I take exception to the eye-rolling. I have realized the importance of the lessons those boomer officers were trying to teach me. Some of the wisdom was readily apparent; some would take me years to fully appreciate. Consider the lessons below an ode to boomers by a grumpy millennial.
There are a thousand ways to skin a cat. This was the favorite phrase of my first commanding officer (CO). Over time, I have found myself using this as guidance for my own subordinates. I explain that this phrase demands results but delegates execution. Depending on the audience, I may also caveat it with, “But, obviously, don’t violate procedures.”
The wisdom of this phrase is twofold: It relieves the person assigning the task from having to nail down every detail of the task, and it simultaneously allows the subordinate to creatively problem solve. The more senior I have become, the more I have realized that I do not have the time (or energy) to research every detail required to complete a task. I must trust my subordinates and, more important, not comment when they execute the task differently from how I would have done it. By holding them accountable for the results, not the execution, I have been pleasantly surprised by some folks’ ingenuity. On occasions when their execution method may not be the most efficient, I remind myself that the person completing the task is the one paying for the inefficiencies—and even learning from them.
It is what it is. Another CO often would tell me this, which until my second department head tour, would aggravate me. Initially I thought it implied that whatever event irritated me was not worth trying to change—contrary to the idea of constant process improvement. Later I realized that I had been misinterpreting his advice. He had not meant that inefficiencies or bad processes were not worth trying to improve; he was trying to explain that I could not fight every battle. I had to choose the battles I wanted to fight.
The most finite resource people have is time. My CO’s words reminded me that I had to choose how I wanted to allocate that time, not just for myself but also for the rest of my team. Especially for events that already had occurred, there was no point to fighting: It is what it is. For events or tasks that had not occurred, when the benefits would more than offset the potential energy and time investment, it was worth trying to change things. What I have gained with experience is the ability to better discriminate those battles worth fighting and those better left alone.
I hate change. One of my COs used to yell this at me every time I suggested a change in process or procedure. I used to laugh it off and tell him change was inevitable. I have since realized that maintaining the status quo sometimes can be beneficial. When we maintain the status quo, it allows us to develop algorithms and procedures for how to operate. We know what to expect and when to expect it. Change for change’s sake raises people’s anxieties. Status quo can equal stability.
That said, change can be beneficial when the potential benefits have been closely examined. Having a CO who was resistant to change did not mean he fought all change; he just demanded proof that the change was an improvement. I had to be able to defend the change I wanted to implement.
Does your chain of command know? On the surface, this advice seems obvious, but I have found it can be difficult to implement. For a millennial who may prize a flatter organization, it can be frustrating to not be able to just make a recommendation to the decision maker who can authorize the change. I find myself guilty of it—for example, when I ask a junior sailor a direct question, especially if he is the technician working a casualty, instead of using his chain of command. I need to remember that organizational hierarchy exists for a reason. Each level acts as a gatekeeper, validating the information and ensuring that the appropriate information makes it the next level. Even at the top of the pyramid, that person is capable of processing only a limited amount of information and has a finite amount of time to enact decisions. If every bit of information at the junior levels flowed immediately to the decision maker, he likely would be overwhelmed.
In addition, by knowing where you fit within the chain of command, you know the institutional script expected in potentially ambiguous situations. When two sailors meet, for example, the junior one knows to salute. These social scripts make interactions more efficient. When there is a clear hierarchy, people do not need to waste time establishing who is the leader of the group.
Never fall in love with a plan; love the planning process. This mantra came from one of my executive officers (XOs). (And no, he was not a Marine.) To me, plan changes felt like rework and usually increased my frustration. Then, over time, I realized that the need to update or redo a plan was not necessarily rework but a reasonable response to a change in circumstances, such as a shift in dates, new information, or feedback from others. I also realized that my largest resistance to changing the plan was not the rework; it was my ego. I hated changing my plan because it was mine. The requirement to change seemed like an attack on my ability. Once I was able to divorce my ego from the plan and instead focus on the process, it was easier to listen to others’ feedback and evaluate whether their feedback warranted a change.
Winners don’t get shout-outs. During my current tour, the XO began having department heads submit sailors for recognition on the 1MC during cleaning stations. This policy proved highly divisive within my department, and people tended to fall among generational lines. During checkout interviews some junior sailors told me they wanted more recognition, but this is a paradoxical situation. The more recognition, the more diluted the compliment becomes. Most people can remember having a senior leader who was notoriously tight-lipped with compliments. So when he or she gave one, even if it was as simple as “Good job” or a nod of approval, it meant more than if it had come from a leader who told you often how well you performed.
We can end up in a cycle of constant affirmation that feeds the egos of our sailors until they become reliant on it to operate. Will they need these positive reinforcements to do their jobs? We should expect sailors to do their jobs as a baseline. For those who go above and beyond, we should provide recognition, but the better people are able to internalize motivation instead of seeking external motivation, the better equipped they are to handle tough times.
Suck it up, buttercup. Our job is difficult: extended time away from family, constant moves, training for stressful situations, and the insanely small square footage we provide sailors in which to both live and work. This phrase used to grate on my nerves because of the implied condescension for the situation and the person complaining. I now see it as simple recognition that there are moments when life sucks. It is not worth exerting the mental energy to rail against the circumstances that led to your situation, particularly if you cannot control it. When your deployment is extended, you have to make a conscious decision whether to spend your energy complaining or figuring out how to maximize the opportunity. This saying emphasizes the need for our sailors to continue to develop resiliency.
This response also can also be used when someone receives critical feedback on performance. Most people’s initial reaction is to become defensive; learning to “suck it up” allows you to stop and determine the value of the criticism. The junior officers on board my ship recently survived a spate of qualification boards. The ones who received critical feedback—either failing to advance on a murder board or not qualifying at a final board—but were able to reassess what they needed to do to succeed are the ones I know will do well in life. The ones who spent the next week pouting about the results or complaining to the CO that the boards were unfair are the ones I know are not ready to be department heads. Feedback is a reminder that we are all human and, therefore, will fail at some point in our lives.
Drive it like you stole it. When I was a first-tour division officer and had the conn of the destroyer, we arrived at our rendezvous early. The CO and XO were on the bridge as the events were delayed at the last moment. Instead of just drifting in circles while we waited, my CO ordered me to “Drive it like you stole it.” I immediately ordered up flank speed and a full rudder while the boatswain’s mate of the watch passed, “All hands stand fast while the ship comes about.” During that moment, my CO laughed. He did not scold me or immediately take the rudder back in hand. He reminded me that although our jobs are inherently difficult and stressful, there remains an immense capacity for joy. We see star-filled skies our peers will never see. We see dolphins, whales, sea turtles, and sharks.We drive billion-dollar warships and turn disparate groups of people into cohesive teams prepared for war. Occasionally, as we complete another operational risk management assessment or draft another spreadsheet to track something, we forget how much fun our jobs can be. I hope that as I continue in the Navy, I will never become so risk averse and so caught in the small details of the job that I forget that every once in a while, you need to order flank speed and a full rudder.
1. “‘OK, Boomer’: 25-year-old New Zealand MP Uses Viral Term in Parliament,” BBC News, 7 November 2019, www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-50327034.