Today I woke up early.   Well earlier than I have in the past few weeks. I have always up early, that deep Iowa work ethic, the entrenched military timing, and decades managing things have my clock wired for before the sun comes up. Or in Army speak, "O dark thirty" But life changes and this new phase of life I am in, "being semi-retired" has allowed me to take a few steps back, and a few much-needed deep breaths. I was up, it was cold out, I grabbed some wood, got a nice fire going in the fireplace, and had some coffee brewing, filling the house with the wonderful scent of Hazelnut". I filled my cup, sat down, and was deciding what I was going to do today. My to do list is a long one, and everything on it needs to get done eventually, but I am prioritizing things differently these days. But this morning, I found myself in no hurry and thought maybe I would let the day decide what it wanted from me. I had sat down for a little while pondering, when I noticed my half-filled coffee cup sitting on the table. It wasn’t still hot. It wasn’t empty. It was just warm enough to still matter but not empty enough to demand a refill. Most mornings I don’t give that kind of thing a second thought. After all, coffee is just coffee, a part of the morning ritual that I barely notice any longer. But today I was sitting still in my office, reading a bit, tying up a few loose ends, and that cup caught my attention in a way it usually doesn’t. Maybe it was just product of the reflective mood I have been in, but it felt like a small mental interruption. Or maybe a mental invitation to take a minute is more accurate. The holidays have a way of doing that to me. They arrive loud and fast, wrapped in expectation and movement, and then pass just as quickly. Often leaving a tinge of emptiness behind. Somewhere between the lists, the lights, and the rush to “get things done,” moments slip by unnoticed. By the time I realize it, they’re already gone. That half-filled cup made me think about how long I’ve lived that way. Most of my adult life really, if I am being honest. Always leaning forward. Always racing to be ahead of the moment instead of being a part of it. Like running with blinders on. I think about just how many opportunities to appreciate, and participate in what was already good, and already right in front of me I have lost. Not because they weren’t meaningful, but because I wasn’t paying attention, or just couldn't see them. Like Christmas, it used to feel slower, but faster to me. Smaller, but bigger. Quieter, but louder. More intimate, but certainly more filled with family and friends. All of this all at the same time. Not that it was better, necessarily, just different. People say times have changed, but the reality it is us who have changed with the times. We used to be somehow more grounded, more connected. Over time, the season has grown louder, busier, it feels heavier. It wears me out more than it used to. Still, every year, I catch tiny, magical, glimpses of what hasn’t changed. A familiar voice. A shared laugh. The warmth of a fire. A song I’ve heard a hundred times but still recognize the moment it starts and feel the flood of connected memories that it carries with it. I marvel at next generation of kids moving through the world with their own energy and wonder. The wonder I feel thinking about the adults my children have become, and the astonishment at how fast the grandchildren are growing up. All of this wrapped up with the realization of the moments passed that I did miss. More than a few passed while I was on an airplane traveling for work, overseas supporting our troops, but not at home. Birthdays, picnics, bike rides, camping. Yes, I was there for some but missed out on many more. These things don’t announce themselves at the time. They don’t demand attention when the clock is calling you to work. They are there when we slow down enough to look for them. Like the reflection we see of ourselves in the mirror, those changes just wait to be noticed. That’s what the coffee cup felt like this morning. Not a revelation. Just somehow a reminder. Half full doesn’t mean settling, or even half gone. It means acknowledging what’s already there, and knowing that while we are able, we can refill it again. It means taking the time to recognize that not every meaningful moment arrives at full volume. Some of them sit quietly on the table, cooling, waiting to be picked up before they disappear. I hear people talk about the relief of being “done” with Christmas shopping, and I understand it. I feel it too. But sometimes I wonder if that relief points to something deeper. Not exhaustion from generosity, but exhaustion from pace. From the constant push to complete, acquire, move on. The moments I carry with me aren’t the finished ones. They’re the small ones. The unscheduled ones. The ones that didn’t make it onto a list. That cup of coffee this morning didn’t change anything about my plans. It didn’t solve anything. It just slowed me down long enough to notice where I was, who I was thinking about, and what I already had within reach. The calendar is about to turn. Another trip around the sun over with, and another one beginning. I don’t have resolutions in mind yet. "Not that my track record at keeping them is any good anyway". Just this quiet awareness that time keeps moving, whether I’m ready to move with it or not. A realization that I’d like to notice more of these moments before they slip away. For the time that has passed, and the time yet to come I feel a sense of gratitude that makes me recognize the richness of my life beyond material wealth. For now, the cup is still warm. And today at least, that feels like enough. I wrote this thinking how truly blessed I am! If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Give one of these a read next! Holiday Gratitude — A Midwestern Reflection Memories: Ghosts We Hammer on the Anvil of life. When the Christmas Gift List Becomes Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills, or just to touch base! A half-filled coffee cup symbolizing gratitude during the Christmas season

Growing up Then, Living Now! Time races by, and here we are again with the holiday season rolling in. As I often do, I find myself pausing to reflect — not just on the year behind me, but on the decades, events, and people that shaped who I am. For those of us who grew up in the Midwest in the late ’70s and throughout the ’80s, this time of year stirs things that hit deep. The world we knew then looks very different today. Very different indeed. And yet, with all the noise and motion of modern life, one feeling never seems to fade: gratitude. If you grew up then — and you’re reading this now — you already know this season invites us to appreciate the journey, the growth, and the blessings time has laid along the way. Remembering the Midwest of the Late ’70s and ’80s Growing up in that era meant living in a world without smartphones, Wi-Fi, or endless notifications. Life moved at a decidedly human pace. Summers meant being outside until the streetlights came on, bikes piled on someone’s lawn like a makeshift parking lot. Fall brought school, fire pits, crisp evenings, and the quiet build-up toward the holidays. Winter meant snow boots, travel plans, family gatherings, and thumbing through the gift bibles — Sears, Wards, Penney’s   — until the pages curled. Meals were eaten around the table. Saturday mornings belonged to cartoons and cereal. And yes, we kids bounced between each other’s houses like neighbors in a small migration pattern. I had friends who were at my house so often they called my mother “Mom.” It wasn’t strange. It was normal. We remember cassette tapes, Walkman's, push-button phones, arcades, and televisions that weighed more than small farm animals. The world felt smaller — but rich with moments that shaped our values and our sense of belonging. Oh, How the World Has Changed Fast forward to now, and everything hums at a different frequency. Technology connects us instantly to anyone, anywhere — and yet, somehow, many people feel more isolated than ever. The neighborhoods we once ruled from sunup to sundown have changed, and the traditions we grew up with have shifted or disappeared entirely. The kids who once played outside until dark are now inside, connected digitally instead of across the backyard. We’ve become the parents and grandparents — the storytellers, the steady hands guiding younger generations through a world that’s both familiar and foreign. The lessons from our childhood still matter, but we’re navigating things our own parents never had to imagine. Change comes whether we’re ready or not. And somehow, we adapt. Finding Gratitude in the Life We’re Living Now With time, our roles change — and so does the depth of what we’re grateful for. Being a parent or grandparent gives us a perspective nothing else can. Watching little ones grow, hearing their wonder, seeing the world again through their eyes — it reminds us how lucky we are to still be here, shaping stories that began decades ago. And for those of us fortunate enough to still have our parents around, there’s a whole different level of gratitude wrapped into every minute we get to spend with them. Gratitude grows when we recognize what we have today that previous generations didn’t: better access to healthcare, education, opportunity, and technology that — when used well — can improve lives instead of complicating them. The challenges are different now. But so are the tools. So are the support systems. I often think about how to leverage this gratitude and pass it on. Practical Ways to Build Gratitude This Season Share Stories. Listen to the older members of your family. Tell the younger ones what life was like — the good, the funny, the strange. Stories tie generations together. Create New Traditions. Honor the old ones, but don’t be afraid to build new ones that fit the family you have today. Practice Mindfulness. A few quiet moments each day can change the entire tone of your week. Give Back. Offering a little help — time, money, or encouragement — expands gratitude in all directions. Reconnect with Nature. A walk, a quiet porch moment, watching snow fall — they ground us in the present. The Power of Reflection and Connection Looking back on the decades that shaped us, change is a constant. But the core things — family, love, gratitude — hold firm. This holiday season, gratitude means more than money, more than flashy gifts, more than simply saying thank you. It means recognizing the richness of our lives, the lessons learned, the trials survived, and the hope we carry forward. It means honoring the past…and welcoming the future with open hands. I wrote this thinking how truly blessed I am! If this resonated with you, hit follow and sign up so you’ll get the next post. Give one of these a read next! Connections Beyond Borders, My life of Movement and Momentum! Our Aging Parents, the Unwinnable Battle with Time. When the Christmas Gift List Become Consider buying a coffee to help support the site. And reach out if you want help with resumes, research, or sharpening your interview skills, or just to touch base!

Written/Lived by Glen Maylone It was 7:45 a.m. on the AMTRAK platform in New London, Connecticut. Trust me, I was looking at my clock, not wanting to miss the train, wondering when it was coming, and wishing I was still snoozing in bed. (I may have had a few adult beverages the night before) What I was thinking would be an uneventful start to an uneventful day, well it turned around quickly. Stay with me. A thin morning fog still clung to the bay, slowly burning off as the sun made its way up. Quite a beautiful scene actually, I was just wandering off mentally enjoying it. Listening to the seagulls, hearing the traffic starting to pick up as New London was waking up and coming alive. People stood quiet, sipping coffee, thumbing phones, and pretending no one else existed. (Modern living) This was a classic Northeast morning scene—sun making an appearance, a little salt in the air, the water of the bay lapping, boats rocking, birds chirping. Straight up Normal Rockwell waterfront scene. (If he painted waterfront scenes)? Perfect! Well almost perfect, because naturally, in my rush to be on time (which, for a former soldier, means arriving at least 15 minutes early), I neglected to grab a cup of morning inspiration. And here at the New London AMTRAC station, there were no vendors selling anything, let alone morning livelihood. So, there I was—leaning against the rail, doing my best impression of someone content without caffeine—when a group of older ladies loudly rolled up the ramp to the platform. Four of them. Tourist types. Ranged from late 50s to 70s. I was thinking they looked like they just stepped off the set of the Golden Girls. Nonstop chatter, loud, accents said they were definitely from the Northeast, not quiet Boston, Long Island maybe? (I dubbed them: the Coffee Crew) They rolled in with coffee cups, matching windbreakers, brochures clutched in hand, purses you could fit the furnishings of a small apartment in, snapping photos of the bay—carrying that tightly wound combination of decades of early wakeups and unfiltered opinions. A few feet away next to the back rail of the platform stood a quire different couple. ( They looked like a Hot Topic catalog, or a deep dive into a Spencer's gifts, had exploded at a Harley rally) He looked about my age—gray beard like me, but with arms full of ink, and ear gauges you could roll a quarter through. Medium height, thin and wiry, long grey hair in a ponytail. Dressed like a combination biker, and kid from the 1990's. Denim vest with patches sewn all over it, shirt with a color (flipped up), jeans (ripped), and old school tennis shoes, along with maybe a dozen assorted bracelets and rings. She was… well,,, not his age. Early 20s, rainbow hair (Originally blonde it appeared), tattoos all over to match. Baggy pants, half shirt, also a vest, boots (that are a cross between Army, Frankenstein, and what the band Kiss would wear). Hair in a ponytail, wearing an even larger assortment of rings and bracelets. She was wearing makeup via the (Tammy Fay Baker college of applied cosmetics), topped off by the unmistakable cologne of Marijane's finest herbal crop, recently applied. I figured maybe a father-daughter situation. They were standing side by side maybe a foot apart, he quietly looking out at the water, her perusing her phone. No big deal. And then out of nowhere she rolled around, leaned in full-on chest to chest, and they started kissing. Not just a quick peck either. Full-on smooch city, transitioning into some lingering gropes, just enough to make it publicly uncomfortable no matter who the participants were. Half a make-out session right there next to the ‘Boarding Platform A’ sign. All before 8AM on a weekday. For a moment there it appeared like it may transition to full on (Parental Advisory, Rated R, or even Cinemax scene)! The air got really quiet. All other sounds seemed to disappear. All sounds except for the creaking of heavy makeup now cracking under the pressure of the raised eyebrows of the coffee crew, whose previously loud banter had now ceased, their attention fully now on this couple. If it was humanly possible to feel judgment (aside from the biblical fire, flood type) this would be it. Judgement was roiling forth from the coffee crew! The young woman—clearly no stranger to this situation noticed them, (or maybe she had provoked them, we will never know) seamlessly, almost playfully—turned to the group and said, with a perfectly measured tone of mock Northeast snark: “Enjoying yourselves ladies"? "Age is just a number that is transcended by love.” For an instant, I thought— hmm. Well played. My "well played" thought was quickly interrupted by the lead matriarch—late 60s, who loudly, in a calm measured tone, but one with all the dripping sarcasm born of decades of judgment—fired back instantly: “Oh, Sweetie, I agree. Age is JUST a number." (She said emphasizing the work "JUST" with a razor sharpness). "But JUST like a prison sentence, (short pause, while looking at her coffee crew mates) which by the way sweetie, is also JUST a number… at some point, it does matter in life.” That one hit like a dropped mic. BOOM! Suddenly, everyone within earshot had tuned in to the unexpected morning entertainment. A few chuckles broke out up and down the platform. The challenger: a spunky twenty-something " I do what I want". The veterans: a gang of seasoned “Well, I never” ladies . The guy didn’t flinch, didn't miss a beat. I could see his grip tighten on the young lady's arm to reign in where she was obviously at the ready to go verbally with the coffee crew. Cool as could be, he leaned in and said to her, “Baby, let’s head down to the other end, and let these ladies have some time to themselves” Then turned to the Coffee Crew as they were walking away and, with full gentleman like class, added, “Y’all have a nice trip, and a blessed day.” As they walked away, he punctuated the moment with a very obvious hand full pat on his companion's butt. A little swagger, and some "in your face" punctuation for sure. Now with the backdrop of some (hushed tone conversations), and (continued glares down the platform from the coffee crew), the train arrived. While boarding, a young woman next to me—late 20s, and who had been much closer to the action than I was—shook her head and muttered out loud, “I honestly thought he was her daddy when I first saw them…” “Obviously, he is” I said. We both laughed. She said: “Takes all types to make the world go ’round.” I agreed and thought "it certainly does". Truth is, I wasn’t even watching any of the people on the platform until the dialogue kicked off. I was too busy wishing I had a cup of coffee and watching the seagulls chase scraps across the water. But life’s like that. One minute , you’re invisible—alone with your thoughts. The next, you’re witnessing an HBO pilot… or maybe a lost episode of Springer … unfold in real time. I thought I’ll forget most of the train ride back to D.C. But that moment? That one’s staying with me. I thought that at that moment anyway, but New Jersey station brought Uncle Baconstein. But that is another story, in another blog post. And next time? I’m bringing coffee. Maybe popcorn too??? If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

There’s something strange—and a little surreal—about hearing your own words quoted back to you a decade later. Especially when you didn’t know they were ever written down… and wouldn’t have remembered them without a nudge. It was a regular day in the office when one of my employees—a sharp U.S. Coast Guard Commander—walked in holding a printout from a training course he’d just finished. He looked at me, deadpan, and asked: “Sir… is this you?” I looked down and saw a quote being circulated in a senior acquisition course, attributed to: “Glen Maylone, RIA.” “Hey, we are the government. We never miss an opportunity to waste time and money.” I burst out laughing. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s me. Malone with a Y to make Maylone… and RIA? Yep. That’s Rock Island Arsenal. Guilty as charged.” He laughed too, then explained how it came up. The professor had flashed the quote on screen during a lesson on procurement inefficiency—the long, twisted path from designing a weapon system to actually getting it fielded. When the Commander saw my name, he immediately asked, “Where’d you get that quote?” The instructor answered, “A student said it years ago. I wrote it down and have used it ever since.” To which the Commander replied, “I work for that guy.” Apparently, the professor wasn’t surprised. And there it was—my off-the-cuff remark, tossed out years earlier during an acquisition class at Rock Island Arsenal, probably while I was running on fumes and sarcasm. Now, floating in the ether. Circulating as lore. A quote with no author credit card, no trademark—and certainly no royalty check. Funny thing is, once I saw it, I did remember saying it. I even remembered the setting—those giant stone buildings from the 1800s, and one of those PowerPoint-thick days when you’re stuck in mandatory training while still running high-tempo war production post-9/11. HMMWV armor, Gunner Protection Kits, Small arms parts, Artillery pieces. Real stuff with real stakes. High stress. Low sleep. Honestly, it was probably just me trying to stay awake—cutting through the fog of jargon with a little gallows humor. Because if you’ve ever sat through one of those acquisition deep dives, you know: there’s plenty of opportunity for truth-telling masquerading as comedy. So yeah—turns out my sarcasm became some gelatinous form of training doctrine. A quotable moment. A training artifact. Maybe it’s not quite the polished gravitas of a presidential speech: “Ask not what your country can do for you…” But it’s probably more useful to the average government employee. If nothing else, it might make them chuckle. Or at least help them stay awake.

Glen Maylone’s Practical Field Notes on Early Retirement, Separation Incentives, and Not Screwing It Up Retiring from federal service is less like walking off into the sunset and more like escaping a bureaucracy-shaped labyrinth — armed only with acronyms, signature forms, and a well-worn PIV/CAC card. If you're going out under VERA  (Voluntary Early Retirement Authority) or receiving a VSIP  (Voluntary Separation Incentive Payment), congratulations: you’re navigating a maze with even more paperwork, rules, and landmines than most. Below is a field guide built from the scars of experience — to help you walk out the door prepared, paid, and proud. 🔍 Know Your Exit Flavor Unless you're doing a straight-up, fully eligible voluntary retirement, chances are you’re exiting under one of these “flavors”: Voluntary Retirement  – Based on age and years of service. Standard full retirement eligibility. Early Retirement (VERA)  – For when agencies are downsizing or restructuring. Lower age/service thresholds. Disability Retirement  – Requires qualifying medical conditions. Deferred Retirement  – For former feds who leave before retirement eligibility but want benefits later. Phased Retirement  – Work part-time while receiving part of your annuity and still earning credit. ✳️ VERA (Voluntary Early Retirement Authority) To qualify: Age 50+ with at least 20 years or  any age with 25 years of service. You must be in a position covered by the agency’s VERA plan and meet OPM’s timing requirements. OPM VERA Overview https://www.opm.gov/retirement-center/eligibility/early-retirement/#url=VERA ✳️ VSIP (Voluntary Separation Incentive Payment) The government’s version of: “Here’s $25K — please leave now.” You must: Be in a permanent appointment. Have 3+ years of continuous service. Be in a position covered by the agency’s VSIP plan. Apply and be approved — and not  be ineligible (see the list below). Ineligible categories include: Reemployed annuitants. Pending disciplinary action. Already received a VSIP. Received recruitment, relocation, or retention incentives recently. Received a student loan repayment benefit within the last 36 months. OPM VSIP Overview https://www.opm.gov/policy-data-oversight/workforce-restructuring/voluntary-separation-incentive-payments/#url=Overview ❤️ Survivor Benefits If you want your spouse to receive annuity after your death: You must  elect this on SF-3107 . Not electing it may kill their ability to keep FEHB. ⚠️ Important:  Anything less  than the full 50% survivor benefit requires your spouse’s signed consent. And yes — you’ll need the official  marriage certificate, not the frilly ceremonial one. OPM: Survivor Benefits Info https://www.opm.gov/retirement-center/fers-information/survivor-benefits/ 🏥 Continuing FEHB (Federal Health Benefits) To keep FEHB in retirement: You must be eligible for and receiving an immediate annuity , and You must have been enrolled in FEHB for the last 5 years  or since your first opportunity. ⚠️ If you forgo survivor benefits, your spouse loses FEHB coverage  when you pass. OPM FEHB & Retirement https://www.opm.gov/healthcare-insurance/healthcare/reference-materials/reference/federal-employees-health-benefits-fehb-program/#url=Annuitants 🪦 FEGLI (Life Insurance) You’ll have options for Basic, Option A, Option B, and Option C: Some reduce coverage over time (to 25%), others let you maintain full coverage — with rising premiums. Elections must be made at retirement. Miss it? It’s gone. ⚠️ Option B  premiums spike dramatically after age 65 — run the math . OPM FEGLI Info https://www.opm.gov/retirement-center/fers-information/life-insurance/ 📌 Bonus resource:   Compare FEGLI to WAEPA  (non-federal, but useful for price benchmarking) https://www.waepa.org/comparison/ 💵 W-4P and Withholding The W-4P is how you tell the government how much tax to take from your annuity. If you don’t file it, your default tax rate stays the same as while you were working. Federal annuities are taxable income . State tax  depends on where you live — some states tax pensions, others don’t. IRS Form W-4P https://www.irs.gov/forms-pubs/about-form-w-4-p 📄 Forms You Must  Get Right These are the big hitters: SF-3107  – Application for Immediate Retirement SF-2823  – Life Insurance Beneficiary Designation SF-2828  – Insurable Interest Election (optional) Marriage Certificate  – Must be the recorded official version Full OPM Form Library https://www.opm.gov/forms/ 🎖️ Military Buyback (If Applicable) If you’ve got military time: It’s NOT automatic — you must buy it back  before retirement. Request an estimate from DFAS  and pay before your separation date. It can add years  to your service credit — and boost your annuity. https://www.dfas.mil/civilianemployees/militaryservice/militaryservicedeposits/ DFAS Military Service BuybackBuyback Calculator https://www.myfedbenefitshelp.com/military-buy-back-calculator 📋 Your Pre-Launch Checklist ✅ Must-Do Before You Walk Out the Door : 🔽 Download your eOPF  — entire file. Do not skip this. 🧾 Save 2–3 recent pay stubs . 📂 Download training records  — needed for future consulting or certifications. 💌 Back up VERA/VSIP approval emails  and incentive docs. 🔐 Set up non-CAC login for Services Online , e.g., payroll or HR systems. 🔑 Turn in all property  (laptop, badge, keys) — and get written confirmation . 📅 Understand last workday impacts annuity  start. Retire on the 1st , not the 10th . 💰 Save cash!  First checks are estimates , not finalized. And you’ll now be paid once a month . Explore More Stories:   ➡️ [Read More Posts]( https://fedtofreedom.org/blog )  ➡️ [Start with the Reader Favorites]( https://fedtofreedom.org/tag/reader-favorites )  ✅ F ederal Retirement Pre-Launch Checklist Whether you’re retiring under VERA, taking a VSIP, or simply walking into the sunset of your career — here’s a brass-tacks checklist to make sure you don’t trip at the finish line. 📥 Records & Documentation ☐ Download your full eOPF  (Official Personnel File) ☐ Download all training records ☐ Download last 2–3 pay stubs ☐ Save all approval emails  (VERA, VSIP, separation incentives, etc.) 📄 Forms & Elections ☐ Review and complete SF-3107  (Immediate Retirement Application) ☐ Review and complete SF-2823  (Life Insurance Beneficiary) ☐ Review and complete SF-2828  (Insurable Interest, if applicable) ☐ Obtain official marriage certificate  (recorded version, not ceremonial) ☐ Complete your W-4P  for tax withholding in retirement 🏥 Health & Insurance ☐ Ensure you meet the 5-year rule for FEHB  (or since first eligibility) ☐ Elect Survivor Benefits  to continue FEHB for spouse ☐ Review FEGLI coverage  options (Basic, A, B, C) and choose wisely 🎖️ Veterans ☐ Request military service buyback estimate  (via DFAS) ☐ Complete buyback payment  before retirement to credit service time 🧰 Systems & Equipment ☐ Set up non-CAC login credentials  for Services Online and payroll access ☐ Turn in all government property  (laptops, phones, keys, ID/CAC badge) ☐ Obtain written confirmation  of all returns 💡 Financial Planning ☐ Know how your retirement date affects annuity timing ☐ Understand first annuity payments are estimates ☐ Budget for once-a-month pay  (not biweekly) and stash some interim cash 🧘 Final Thought Retiring early from federal service isn’t just a milestone — it’s an operation. But if you approach it like a good mission, with your paperwork tight and your timing dialed in, you’ll glide out instead of stumble out. Fill out the forms. Read the fine print. Download the records. Then step into your next chapter like the seasoned professional you are — head high, binder closed, PIV/CAC card surrendered with flair. (Okay, don’t snap it. Turn it in. Nicely. Get a receipt.) If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

When the meditation was over, I still had the ass, didn’t have the cash, and the universe left me hanging with a losing ticket. They say if you visualize it, believe it, and release it to the universe, good things will come. That’s Manifesting 101. So, I did just that. I bought a lottery ticket—carefully allowing the universe to guide the number selection (well… and a couple quick picks). Then I went home, arranged a quiet space—no interruptions, perfectly comfortable—held the ticket like a relic, and sat—calm and still—breathing deep. I envisioned a long hallway. A heavy door at the end. I saw the numbers being read aloud. I imagined the moment: the winning ticket, my family’s joy, the weight of worry slipping off of our shoulders. I felt peace. Clarity. Destiny. The good we could— no, would —do with the money. How this would be the seed of generational wealth. How we would be smart. Different. Responsible. How the universe would surely be pleased  with all the goodness flowing from this one tiny, well-intentioned manifestation. How could the Universe possibly say no?? (It works for the social media influencers, right?) If you’ve ever read " The Secret"  or watched someone manifest abundance on social media, you might be thinking: “Ah. So that’s how it’s done. It was on a show, and on the internet,,, sooooo... Abundance, here I come!” Well… a couple days later, I walked into a gas station to check the ticket. The universe, in its infinite wisdom, replied: “Glen… do you know what you’ve done? What you’ve won?” I held my breath. Slid the barcode under the scanner. Waited for the manifestation verdict. Then the universe spoke again, loudly, clearly! “Not one goddamned thing. Now stop daydreaming and get back to work.” Well, technically, the machine said: “Not a winner. Would you like to replay your ticket?” But po-tay-to, po-tah-to. At that point, it was just semantics. Although for a fleeting second, I swear  I heard a soft chuckle and a faint whisper from the void: “…loser…” So, there I stood—just another guy in a random filling station, experiencing the electronic crushing of a dream by a kiosk, while buying a drink and a snack like millions of others at that exact moment. No confetti. No angels. No majestic voice from the void. Just the cold " beep" of a losing ticket and the quiet shuffle of reality resuming. But wait! Maybe… maybe  if I had only tried to manifest a Daily Quick Pick —not something big like Powerball—the universe would’ve listened? Maybe greed shot me down? Maybe I needed more time. A vision board. Some sage burning? No wait, a drum circle? Maybe I need to google some ancient chants? Maybe??? The thoughts raced through my mind. Maybe? Well, maybe all of this was just mental masturbation —and the answer, same as always, was simple: If you want it, work for it. Still… on the bright side, I did   have a restful meditation. And well, coffee. From the station. ☕ Beep!!!! If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

"The story of how a driveway, two pastel vigilantes, and a few oil spots made me a political prisoner in a rental unit." More than twenty years ago, I found myself temporarily assigned to a company-rented townhouse in a quaint little community ruled not by kindness or common sense—but by bylaws, enforced by two dudes that had watched far too many episodes of Miami Vice (IMO). It came with all the comforts: furnishings, clean carpet, a thick stack of rules I didn't read, and most importantly, two HOA enforcers who smelled faintly of vinegar, water, and lilac. I assume it was to mask the scent of a Wanna-Be power couple. The First Visit: The Driveway Affair It’s a Saturday morning. No coffee yet. The doorbell rings, half awake I stumble downstairs. After all, I don't know anyone here so it must be important. I open the door to two men—no greetings, no introductions, no neighborly small talk. Just: “We’re from the HOA. You’ve been leaving your car in the driveway overnight.” I blink. “Where else should a car be?” “The bylaws state: in the garage or on the street.” I’m still trying to figure out if this is a joke, a hallucination, or maybe some kind of suburban performance art. “It blocks the view,” one of them says, lips tight, eyes serious. “People can’t see up and down across the lawns when cars are in the driveways.” That was the moment the caffeineless version of me blurted: “Are you f*ing serious? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”** And they just stood there. Completely unfazed, not comprehending the ludicrousness of what they were saying. Like two underpaid, mindless stormtroopers at the gates of a gated kingdom! Thing 1 continued: You can park in the garage or on the street. I looked up and down the crowded street, blinked and said. "Oh, that is why the street is packed with cars and boats, on both sides". You know that looks like crap. Thing 2, said, the HOA does not control the street. I muttered thank God for that. They handed me an official warning. Parking in your own driveway overnight, it turns out, was forbidden in the HOA empire. Yes, for short burst to clean the car, or maybe load or unload, but come evening, you best be off that, there, driveway! They were so serious, I was envisioning any other offense being handled by a black masked, deep breathing, enforcer representing the HOA Emperor and perhaps using some mystical HOA force from the bylaws to force compliance. THERE WILL BE ORDER HERE! The Second Visit: Oil Spotgate (I believe this was a wearing linen mixed with some other material crime from Leviticus level infraction). The next Saturday, same time: Ding dong. But this time, I was ready. I looked out, cracked the window and said, be with you in a minute. Then I made a pot of coffee first and waited fifteen minutes. Then, cup in hand, I opened the door. No “hello,” no “thanks for coming by.” I just said: “Car’s been garaged every night. No visual blockade has been established. Unless you’re here to congratulate me, I assume we’ve found some other near imaginary violation warranting a visit before it is even the approved time to begin mowing one's lawn.” Thing 1 (clean-shaven) and Thing 2 (porn-stache and pastel polo) were back on their mission from God. Or from the HOA Death Star . Same thing, I guess. I think they were passing time waiting for a "tee" time from the way they were dressed, or, well let's not dive into this "or" at this time. Let's just say, there are questions..... “We noticed oil spots on the driveway,” they said, almost in unison. “The bylaws clearly state—” I cut them off. “Those were there before I moved in.” Thing 2 squinted. “I don’t think so.” “Let’s find out,” I said. I opened the garage door and invited them in. I offered them a full inspection. No fresh oil drips. No evidence of vehicular misconduct. I even backed the car out—slowly, ceremoniously. “See? (to this day, I regret not inserting a "TA_DA" in there). Previous car had the dribbles, not me. Maybe issue a posthumous fine to the last tenant, or a strongly worded letter is always in vogue you know?” Thing 1 nodded slowly, obviously grasping I was not the diabolical oil dribbling criminal they had me pegged for. Thing 2 fumed like a boot camp corporal who just lost a shouting contest to a cactus. They left quietly. I gave them a cheerful: “Drop by anytime… except on days that end in Y.” Thing 2 started to turn and say something, Thing 1 caught him and kept him walking to the car. Aftermath: Pariah Status A few days later, the company realtor called. “The owner wants to know if we can cut the lease short.” I told her to talk to the company, not my call. Well, the company said no. So, I stayed, for the full six months. Yes, six months! But they went by quietly. I even went to an HOA meeting just to see what true power in force looked like. Oh, the stares. The whispers. The scent of passive aggression mingling with store-brand pastries, Dunkin Doughnuts coffee and folding chairs as the knowledge of "Thats the guy from XYZ address" made its way around the room. Smiles disappeared, greetings dried up, and conversation dropped like a lead balloon. I cheerfully munched on some pastries and shamelessly drank HOA provided coffee. Me sitting amongst the HOA faithful, listening intently, and oh so low, letting out the occasional ohhh, or ahhh, hmm, wow, and the occasional really. Throwing in a "Have you tried these raspberry ones", when someone made eye contact with me. Totally engaged you know. :) I never saw Thing 1 or Thing 2 at my door again. From time to time I would think maybe I caught them out of the corner of my eye cruising in the Chevy Chevette that Thing 1 drove. Maybe patrolling to keep the neighborhood visually safe from would be yard view anarchist, and concrete driveways unspoiled and unmolested by would be oil dripping felons. Epilogue: The Mystery Endures for me, even decades later. I often wonder what happened to those two. Did they marry? To each other? Did they go on to form a private code enforcement agency? Were they eventually overthrown in a bloody HOA coup? Did their pastel shirts, khakis, and overpowering cologne fade into memory… or are they still caught from time to time on the background of some other poor guy’s security cam footage, cherry red 4 door Chevy Chevette, clipboard in hand, porn stache primed for battle? All I know is this: I’ve vowed to never live in an HOA again if I could help it. And only once more was I not able to help it and endured the power mad struggle of HOA Barrons over the poor helpless homeowner serfs who lived there and had signed their lives away agreeing to serve them, in exchange for perfectly elevated mailboxes, approved paint colors, and consistently trimmed hedges. (where allowed). "If you thought that was ridiculous, wait until you hear about the time I got cited for growing sweetcorn — HOA Part 2" If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

Sometimes the most interesting conversations start with a quiet beer and a simple thank you. It was a hot, sunny afternoon in Boulder, July 2025. My other half was tied up in a work meeting, so I had time to kill. I wandered the historic downtown—old brick buildings, summer air thick with pine and pavement, the kind of day that makes you slow down. I browsed a few mom-and-pop shops, picked up some homemade baklava, chatted with a shopkeeper about how this was "Palestinian Baklava made with rose water, and not honey". Still pretty damned tasty. Eventually, the sun wore me down. I ducked into The Sink—an iconic Boulder watering hole. Cool, shaded, humming with old stories—and offering the kind of cold beer that makes a hot day worth it. I sat alone at the bar, sipping quietly, wearing my Army veteran hat like I always do. I watched a little TV over the bar, kept an eye on the time, and waited to pick up my wife. “Thank you for your service,” he said. I looked up. A couple, a few stools down had noticed the hat, and he had made the comment. “Appreciate that,” I replied. “It was my honor, and it is nice to get out and see the country I served". "It’s been a while since I was in Boulder… but these mountains—still something special.” That opened the floodgates. They both slid down a couple stools, he on one side of me, she on the other, and started talking. They’d just moved back to Boulder after living in Queenstown, New Zealand. “The mountains there,” he said, “you wouldn’t believe. Like something out of a dream.” He was athletic, clearly more alive outdoors than in—"grew up here in Boulder, in the mountains, in the great outdoors" he said, all his family still nearby. She was warm, polite, with that unmistakable Midwestern aura—"Chicago, she said. Working-class family. First one to graduate college". You could tell she was proud of that. It wasn’t really a dialogue between the three of us—more of a duet with them talking to me. I just listened, ping ponging back and forth, pint of Guinness in hand. Their story unraveled in sips and sentences. They’d made the leap to Queenstown chasing his dream. He’d been fixated on it since he was a teen—read about it once and couldn’t let go. Said: "he belonged  there". She’d come to Boulder for a geology job and met him after crashing her mountain bike in front of him. The rest of the love story was history. They married, both had good jobs here in Colorado and were building a life. But his dream kept pulling him, and she wanted to support his dreams. So, she started applying for work in New Zealand, more to humor him than anything else. Never thinking a job offer would actually come. (She didn't say those exact words, but her meaning was quite clear) Then surprise! She got an offer—doing what she was already doing, but for less money. She would be taking a pay cut, and he didn’t have sponsorship to work there. But he figured something would come through, it would all work out. After all, this was " the dream", "his dream". Despite her concerns—and some from his family—they packed up and left, moving halfway across the world to a place they hadn't been to before. That’s when the story split as they were telling their pieces of it: from romantic mountain vistas from him. To cracks in the dream starting to show from her. He kept talking about Queenstown— how spectacular it was, how incredible the trails were, the vistas, the lakes, the adrenaline sports, the quiet wilderness. The rugged mountains that invited adventure. And I just sat and listened. But in my head? I was thinking: What the hell are you talking about, man? I was thinking: You grew up in Boulder. Estes Park is 30 minutes away. The entire Eastern Range is right outside this door. Are you telling me that this —this town, this state, this range—isn’t enough? You flew across the world chasing something you already have in spades? Meanwhile, in my other ear, she talked about the reality. Rent was high—especially with his “needs”: for space, and views, and a yard for his aging dog, and extra rooms for all the people that will surely come and visit, and an office of course. She biked to work. OK in the Summer, but as it always does, Summer gave way to Winter. Not OK... He found only part-time retail work during tourist season, not enough to refill the coffers. Their savings vanished faster than expected. Utilities in the winter were brutal. Eventually reality won, they came back—back to Colorado, back to family. She told this part softly. Not bitter—but the weight of it lingered. In my other ear he pivoted back to the dream. Talked about going back someday. About reaching those mountains again, the adventure, the....... I was looking at him, paying attention. Then he looked at me— really  looked. And I think my face said it all. I didn’t speak. But something in my expression must have whispered: Brother… what you say you’re searching for, you already have. Or maybe it was a clear "WTF" are you talking about look, I am not certain. But let's go with the first one. He got quiet after that. Just sipped his beer and stared into the distance—maybe still in Queenstown, still chasing mountains, hiking the trails. Said he was getting another drink, then quietly moved back to the spot at the bar where they’d been sitting originally. She lingered a moment. Gave me a small smile, and a quick touch on the shoulder. “Thank you for the conversation.” “Happy to lend an ear,” I said. She stepped away, adding a soft “Good luck” as she walked back down the bar and rejoined him. There they sat quietly having a drink, looking at nothing in particular. And I sat there thinking: She’s back in Colorado and sad she couldn't give him his dream. He’s still wishing he was in Queenstown sad about his dream, not thinking about her dreams. What struck me wasn’t just the story—it was the mismatch. He was still dreaming. She was carrying the weight of reality. One reaching higher, the other already scanning for solid ground. They were kind people. Smart. Sincere. Obviously in love. But not all relationships crack or break. Some just wear down—under the quiet friction of unshared realities. Different destinations of the mind and heart. Fifteen minutes over a beer. But it stayed with me. Maybe because it felt so familiar. We’ve all seen that couple—one chasing something, the other carrying everything. And sometimes, that’s all it takes for a detour to become an ending. Later that night in the hotel, I told my wife what had happened. Told her my thoughts on it, what made me sad about it all. She listened, shook her head and said quietly, “So sad. Let’s pray for them.” Sometimes… that’s all we can do - pray. Well, pray, and dream. If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

Operation Maple Congo: T- Minus, 3, 2, 1 Command HQ:  Kitchen & Patio Forward Operating Base (FOB) Supreme Commander:  Generalissimo Yvie (Code Name: White Glove) Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) making it happen:  Command Sergeant Major Glen (Alcohol and Grill Divisions) Morale & Media Officer:  Private Eve (Often Missing, or sleeping in Action) Pre-Battle Intelligence Briefing The first encrypted messages arrive via Toronto Satellite Link   (also known as the family group text). Flight numbers, arrival times, and shopping wish lists confirm what we already suspected: the Canadian-Congolese Invasion Force is mobilizing. Within seconds, Yvie’s internal WHOPER WarGames supercomputer  spins up and begins running endless cleaning and preparation simulations. Lights dim across the house as thousands of “what if” scenarios get processed: What if they want to eat outside?  → Power-wash patio. What if they look under the couch?  → Move couch, sweep, mop, vacuum, dust baseboards. What if they want to grill?  → Source, season, and stage steak reserves three days in advance. Prepare Emergency Salmon supply! Operation Readiness Status:   DEFCON 2 From the moment intel confirms the incursion, the Maylone household shifts into full staging mode. No HGTV program where they are up against a deadline can even begin to compare to the pressure "to get things ready" that the Supreme Commander will be imposing! Known Allied Forces Tactics: Shopping Raids  – HVTs (High Value Tourists) will demand insertion into Walmart, Burlington Coat Factory, and Ross Dress for Less. Extraction timelines: unknown. Seafood Infiltration  – Multiple mandatory missions to Chesapeake Bay seafood strongholds. Expect crab mallet strikes, oyster knife ops, and precision Old Bay deployment. Supply Chain Devastation  – Wine reserves neutralized within 48 hours; whiskey stores will follow shortly thereafter. Cultural Culinary Bombardment  – Plantains, fufu, and salt fish deployed without warning, forcing integration into existing grill-and-smoker operations. There will be an overabundance of everything cooked, prepare for refrigerator saturation, and maximum leftovers casualties. Operational Timeline Every incursion is different; the 2025 Operation preparation is below: Day -3:  Strip & re-epoxy patio. Power Wash EVERYTHING! Now wash it all again! Day -2:  Decorative rock emplacement, weed-whacking, and front-yard beautification maneuvers. Be prepared for change orders and delayed final project acceptance. Day -1:  Final mop-and-sweep campaign, fridge reorganization, and candle-lighting drills. Frantic pacing and white glove inspections, sit down at your own risk! Day 0:  Dulles Airport extraction of parental HVTs (shopping escort likely required). 📡 HQ to Ground Team One: Be advised, mother-in-law requesting immediate redeployment to Burlington Coat Factory. Possible Ross Dress for Less diversion en route. Proceed with caution. Day 1:  Reagan Airport recovery of three sisters-in-law + one nephew. Immediate redeployment to retail & dining zones. 🎙 Grill Control to HQ: Salmon prepped and holding at DEFCON 2. Request clearance to initiate lemon pepper strike package. Parmesan crust variant standing by. Days 2-10: Initiate strategic Wine, Food, and Shopping maneuvers in support of allied family High Value Target (HVT) AKA: Alice my Mother in Law) mission set. Operational tempo remains high for 10 days, with 24-hour on-call status  and zero margin for verbal missteps . Any misstep, no matter how slight will be dealt with by harsh "side eye" looks from the Supreme Commander. Private Eve will make brief, unpredictable appearances, supporting shopping forays, before disappearing again into civilian life, leaving me to redeploy wherever the Supreme Commander sees fit. Post-Action Report Casualties:  4 bottles of wine, 2 bottles of whiskey, and 1 grill thermometer lost in the line of duty. Morale:  High. Exhaustion Index:  Extreme. Happiness: Off the charts. Final Word I joke about the D-Day landings, the tactical wine raids, and the Stalin-esque logistics planning by Yvie. I laugh about the Canadian invasion, the “yes ma’am” marching orders, and the attrition of my alcohol reserves. (I actually pre-position things I know they like). But the truth is — I love my family. These visits are loud, busy, and sometimes exhausting, but they are also rich, warm, and full of laughter. I start missing them the day before they leave, and I’m already looking forward to the next visit here or our next trip to the Great White North. The stories we tell after the dust settles are worth every Walmart trip, every seafood feast, and every square inch of patio I re-epoxied. When it is all said and done, these are the moments, the interactions, the love, laughter, that make us truly rich in life Heel click, and so it begins. Time for my Dulles Airport run. If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

“Every interview has a silent clock. You’ve got 90 seconds to win the room — or spend the rest of the hour trying to climb out of a hole.” Whether we like it or not, every interview starts with a silent clock. Within the first minute and a half, the panel has already decided if you look like someone they want to hire — or someone they want to move past. It often sets the pace for the rest of the interview. Will this be a building experience where you get to highlight why you are the right fit, or time spent under fire, or worse yet, going through the motions with a disinterested panel. This is the once you have gotten to the interview part, there is a long road before this, and even before you sit down, people have formed impressions based on the 30 seconds of your resume they have most likely skimmed. I’ve been on both sides of the table: as the one sweating through the questions, and as the one sitting in judgment on the panel. With over 200 federal employees hired directly by me over the past few decades and easily a thousand plus interview panels, trust me, that opening minute and a half carries more weight than most people realize. This critical time determines how much listening, and mental capacity the members are going to dedicate to the rest of the interview be it 30 minutes or an hour. So how do you win the 90-second test? Let’s break it down. Dress the Part: When in doubt, overdress by half a notch. For government or corporate interviews: suit and tie, or conservative professional attire. For startups or creative spaces: business casual that still looks intentional. For trades, or specializations know where you will be working and be dressed appropriately. If you show up looking like you just wandered in from the grocery store, (or the club from the night before, yes, I have seen this more than I would like to admit) the panel won’t hear a word you say after that. Ok, I can't believe this is making it into a "how to" interview blog series, but times have changed. Dress the part but also think about things like hygiene. Even if this is virtual: Shower, hair taken care of, etc. Also, and this has become a big one in the last half decade, when in person: not smelling like anything strongly: Smoke, lunch, alcohol, overuse of cologne or perfume. etc. Pro tip: Also take the earbuds out please. Hearing aids are one thing, earbuds or headphones are another. Lead with Confidence: That first handshake (or greeting on Zoom) sets the tone. Stand tall, shoulders back. Look them in the eye. Smile — not a fake grin, but a “glad to be here” presence. Energy and posture communicate more than your first sentence ever will. Pro tip: It is ok to be nervous. The worst thing that can happen is you don't get the job you didn't have to begin with. But you will have gained experience and will be all the better the next time. Keep this in mind. It helps settle the nerves. Mind Your Non-Verbals: Your mouth might be saying “thank you for having me,” but your body can betray nerves, or indifference. So, pay attention to whether you are saying nonverbally, "I am an open book, and want to be here, OR I am postured for defense and ready to push back" Open stance, not arms crossed. Nod when others speak. (Look at them if you are in any setting where you can see each other). Sit forward slightly — it shows engagement. And for the love of all things holy, silence your phone before you step in. Nothing kills momentum faster than your ringtone singing the song you swore you’d change six months ago. Pro tip: This goes for all things distracting. In today's environment we are often interviewing over teams, or zoom, etc. Hearing a TV in the background, or dogs barking, or interruptions by children, spouses, etc. are also momentum killers. Think about the interview, ask others for help to take care of children, dogs, etc. Let everyone know during this time, " I will be in an interview. " This is important so treat it that way. "Like preparing for a test"? You ask. Yes, exactly, every interview IS a test. It is a competition, be there to win! Mind Your Environment: This can be: The room you are sitting in while interviewing be it at home, on site, or anywhere else. What does this mean? Well, for example: if you are going on site and interviewing to manage a manufacturing center, chances are that you will be out on the floor at some point, not being able to go because you do not have steel toes on could be an issue. Plan ahead or even ask prior to the interview when it is being scheduled. "Do I need anything"? If you are in the office, keep your attention of the panel, there are often many other things to look at that are distracting. If you on virtual, you should look at your space from someone else's computer so you can see what you look like to others. Often the little square you see yourself in on your PC is NOT the view others have of you. Walls full of pictures, and trophies are nice, but distracting for the panel. You want that precious 90 seconds of focus to be on you. Not wondering what all you have sitting on the dozen shelves behind you, or where you caught that trophy fish mounted on the wall. Why This Matters: I’ve sat in many panels where the decision was basically made in the first two minutes. The rest of the interview was just confirmation bias: if they liked you, they hunted for reasons to keep liking you (or asked questions probing for strengths). If they didn’t… you were climbing uphill (answering questions that probed for weakness). Don't believe me? Think about some past interviews. Ones that went well and ones that didn't. Did they ask about experiences that shined a light on your skillset, or probing "We are not sure you are right for us" questions. Final Word: You don’t have to be perfect — but you do have to look like you belong. Show up like you already have the job and let the panel spend the rest of the hour convincing themselves they made the right choice. Yes, before I get a hundred comments: I know there are many other formats of interviews where there is little to no interaction between you and the panel. We can what if, and one off all day: But no matter what the scenario: humans are humans, and they bring their experiences with them. No way around it. Sorry. There is a lot to all of this, the higher you go, the trickier it gets. Look you spent minutes just reading about prepping for the first 90 seconds. 👉 Next in the Interviewing Mastery Series:  The Questions You’ll Always Be Asked — and How to Answer Them Without Rambling. And if you want more than a blog post — if you want to practice, sharpen your stories, and walk into your interview already owning that 90 seconds — check out my [Coaching & Services page]. Let’s get you ready to win. If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!

Y ou have to manage what experienced interview panel members call "the ABBA Syndrome" No not the 1970s musical group. This is when the interviewee starts stuttering a ba aba a ba aba,,, over basic questions. I don’t care if you’re interviewing for a GS-5 clerk or the SES ranks, the usual suspects  always show up. The wording may shift, but in one form or another, panels ask the same sets of basic questions. The trick isn’t just having an answer — it’s answering with clarity, confidence, and without rambling yourself into a corner. Here’s how to handle each one. 1. Tell me about yourself. This isn’t an autobiography. Repeat: NOT an autobiography! It’s a chance to frame the interview. "What about you, makes you the person this position needs? ✅ Do: Keep it to 90 seconds (yes, another 90-second test). Focus on the arc of your career  and tie it to why you’re sitting in that chair . Any interesting personal nugget can be welcome. Just know the job you are applying for, something about the corporate culture, and use that nugget to perc up some ears. End with a bridge: “That’s what led me here, excited to bring X to this role.” ❌ Don’t: Rehash your entire resume. They skimmed it already. (I have seen this far too many times), be prepared to see panel members looking at the clock. Start with childhood or hobbies (unless it directly, say it with me, "Directly" ties to the role). Pro Tip:  Think of it as your professional headline . If you can’t say it on an elevator ride, it’s too long. This one sets the tone, be prepared for it. 2. Why are you leaving your current job? Panels are sniffing for baggage here. Your explanation may frame the questions they ask if you get to the reference check stage. Pro Tip 1: This is not grievance time or putting your employer on blast. Your tone here will carry through the rest of the interview. ✅ Do: Stay positive. “I’ve learned a lot in my current role, but I’m ready for…” Focus on growth, challenge, or mission alignment. ❌ Don’t: Trash your boss, coworkers, or turn this into gossip time. That’s poison in the room. Get defensive — keep it calm and factual. Pro Tip:  Even if you’re escaping a bad situation, phrase it as running toward  the new role, not running away  from the old one. Also, it is ok that life has happened. Taken time off to care for family, went back to school, effected by downsizing, be honest about it. The panel are humans too. 3. What are your strengths and weaknesses? This is the honesty test. ✅ Do: Pick 2–3 strengths tied directly to the job requirements. Pro Tip: This is where time researching the company, and even the individuals that will be interviewing you (if you know) is priceless. This lets you really highlight strengths that are directly applicable. Example: "One of my strengths is attention to detail. It is one of the things to drew me to apply for this position, and an asset that will help me accel here". For weaknesses, pick something real, but non-lethal, and show how you manage it, or how you are in the process of turning it into a strength. Example: “I can get impatient with slow decision-making. I’ve learned to use that energy to keep projects moving while still giving others space.” ❌ Don’t: Say “I’m a perfectionist” (it’s cliché). Use an example that is framed as a weakness for other people. Example: I tend to outwork everyone and end up pulling my team along. (yes, I have heard this one) Pretend you don’t have any weaknesses. Everyone does. Pro Tip:  Weakness + mitigation = credibility. That’s what interviewers are looking for. 4. Why should we hire you? This is the close-the-sale  moment. ✅ Do: Match your skills to their  needs. Use language like: “Because I bring [X], which directly supports [Y priority of the organization].” Keep this brief and concise. (By this time the panel is gearing up for the next interview, meeting, or the final huddle to fill this position). ❌ Don’t: Wing it. Have a practiced, confident 2–3 sentence answer ready. Be cocky or overconfident. (Do not say things like "I will bring a youthful energy to the workplace" or "hiring me will be the best decision you ever make") yes, I have heard these and many more. Pro Tip:  This is where you separate yourself. Panels don’t want to hear what you want — they want to hear how you make their lives easier. 5. Tell me about a difficult situation at work and how you handled it. This is your storytelling test. Be excited, be upbeat, be engaging, and keep things simple and moving along. Pro Tip: This may be worded or masked in a hundred different ways. It may be about money, people, schedule, quality, working under pressure, or whatever itch this company has, but it is the same question. "How do you fix things?" ✅ Do: Use the STAR method  (Situation, Task, Action, Result). Practice this! Do not miss any of the steps here. Yes, there are many variations of this method. STAR, CCAR, etc. They are all the same. What triggered the need, what was the need, what did YOU do, and what was the result. Pick an example that shows problem-solving and resilience. (Once again, know the job and company you are applying for, use an example that will resonate with them). A little research goes a long way here. Keep it contained — 5 minutes max. (If there will be several of these questions, keep the answer down to 2-3 minutes max) ❌ Don’t: Tell a story where you were the victim and nothing got resolved. Make your role out to be something that cannot withstand scrutiny. (Think reference check) Get lost in side details. Stick to the point. (This is the largest issue I have seen over the last few decades, to many details, acronyms, corporate jargon, flashbacks, flash forwards, etc.) Pro Tip:  Panels love stories where you end with a result : money saved, conflict resolved, process improved. Always land on impact. Final Word Interviews aren’t pop quizzes — they’re open-book tests where everyone already knows the questions. The winners are the ones who come prepared with sharp, honest, and relevant answers. (If you read the first 90 seconds blog, then you know it is ok to be nervous. Channel that energy, if you haven't read it, go read it). 👉 Next in the Interviewing Mastery Series:   Panel, Zoom, or Stress? How to Adapt to Any Interview Style. And if you want more than blog tips — if you want to sharpen your stories and practice these questions in real time — check out my [ Coaching & Services page ]. Let’s make sure your next panel hears the version of you that wins. 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We didn’t need a fancy shop. Hell, we barely had tools. What we had were garages — dimly lit, oil-stained concrete caves that smelled like smoke, sweat, and cheap beer. I am at that particular age where there are far fewer years left in front of me than there are already behind me. Conversations about aches and pains, financial planning, what you are eating, what meds you are needing, how the grandchildren are doing are the norm now. Sadly, the who is no longer with us, and what happened conversations are also the norm. But there was a time when losing friends was happening, just for different reasons. We think back on those losses with sadness, but also with some youthful reverence to a time now long gone. A few weeks ago, I was back home in small town Iowa where I grew up. There to see the kids, the grandchildren, and other family, and of course some friends. While there, downtown a 1980's street party was happening, and friends were blowing up my phone asking if I was coming down since I was in town. Umm yes, of course, you had me with 1980s. (Take me back there please!) There was food, bands playing, drinks flowing. (In other words, FUN!) I was seeing a lot of people I haven't seen in years. Along with a lot of "Hey that looks like XYZ over there" then realizing yes indeed it is. People have changed a great deal over the last 4 decades or so. Hair and waistlines may be significantly different....... I walked around, talked to a lot of people, it was so nice to catch up (I notice as we get older, we get huggier " if that is a word, if not it should be). As always there were the "Have you heard about such and such" conversations. The who is doing what, and with who, and sadly the who is no longer with us. After the evening my wife, "who grew up in a very different place and time" , was asking me about some of the people she had met, and some of the conversations we were having. She was curious about what it was like here 40 years ago. So, I started telling her about how we used to "Cruise the ones" how that was the place to see and be seen. Relationships started and ended there on a regular basis. It was a standard question at that time. "You cruising the ones tonight"? I explained how downtown used to be a series of one-way streets a few blocks long each and the sidewalks were full of teenagers jumping in and out of each other's cars, music blaring, driving around, trying to find where the next keg party was, or who was where, and where to go to for the next good time, the next drag race, whose parents were out of town. All of the usual stuff we teenagers did back then. (Much of this was met with disbelief that we just went out so freely) On the weekend arcades were open, little diners, shops, stores, and the drinking age was 18. So, people were in and out of the bars. Herbal smells filled the air, cigarette machines were still on the street corners, and in every gas station, bar, bowling alley, etc. $.50 in the slot and you could just grab a pack. No ID needed. The norm was built engines in muscle cars, sleeper cars, trucks, and motorcycles, all out on the ones cruising around and around. Sometimes disappearing to head up to the mall, or down by the bowling alley, but eventually returning for a few more swings around the ones. Seeing a hood open with a crowd around to take a look at and engine, or intake set up, headers, etc. just anything someone was proudly showing off was a common sight. That was our social network! Once you hit a certain point and passed the "Whose house, are all the bicycles sitting in the front yard of" age. You got a car, freedom, and you hit the road, and cruised the "Ones". Yes, it was a very different time, and my wife listened with amazement that this time ever existed outside of a movie set. It did indeed. I was there. I started talking, telling her about how life just "was", what typical days, or weekends looked like for us. Jobs we had, things we did, the drive-in movies, the parks, the little fairgrounds all over the counties where stock car races and corn dogs were a weekend staple. She was amazed how we drove an hour, or two to see or do something, see a concert, go to a fair, go camping, and how we thought nothing of it. How we cruised and raced and partied in the "woods" or a "field", just had her in disbelief, it was so alien to her, but we took it for granted. She then asked, "how we afforded these cars"? "We worked, cars were cheap, everyone had one" I answered. Where she grew up no one had a car, no one drove until they were older, and hell many of her friends still don't drive today in their late 40's and early 50's. She grew up in a big city, a place of traffic jams, public transportation, apartment buildings. Keggers in the woods??? Umm no, never happened. Any real woods were out of the reach of public transportation. Having these conversations is when I started thinking back to the garage. Not just mine, almost everyone I knew had some place they worked on stuff. Almost everyone knew something about mechanical things back then. Yes, the garages where we spent our time, hung out, worked on cars, talked about our futures, and thought hanging out building stuff would always be a part of our lives. My thoughts wandered back to my place. One old first generation boom box with a cassette player with one half blown-out speaker blasted AC/DC, Zeppelin, or the Hair metal hit De Jour, into the night, a few partial packs of cigarettes, and cans of whatever beer we could scrounge up, was enough. We were a bunch of skinny kids, usually shirtless, drinking cheap beer, chain-smoking Marlboros or Camels and rolling joints with dirty fingers. The work was all done manually: a one-ton chain hoist creaking over an engine block, cement blocks stacked like Jenga towers to prop frames up, homemade transmission jacks cobbled together from whatever we had lying around. We’d hold steel in place with one hand, mark it with the other, then cut, drill, and pray it would fit. Trips through junkyards. Well, these were pilgrimages, the rows between the old junk heaps of automotive treasures were like the well-worn paths of the silk road (treasures to be had). Yes, they were traveled by many seeking treasure, the automotive version of silk and spice. Holley carbs, 4 bolt main blocks, 202 heads, HD transmissions, posi rear ends. One never knew what could be found crawling around through the piles of old automotive corpses. Yes, these paths were beaten into the Earths memory by the feet of those seeking the treasures of steel. We didn't just search out of need, oh no, often we may find a motor in something, or a transmission, or rear end, grab it, then look for a car to drop in into. The ingredients for automotive alchemy. Maybe automotive mad science would best describe it! We were not engineers; there were no YouTube videos to guide us. No google searches to check for answers. It was trial and error, hard work, and stubborn youthful drive. Maybe some guidance from old timers who knew their way around a wrench, or a warning here or there to think about. Often though, the answer was just: "hell I don't know, give it a try". When money was around, well, then a trip to the auto parts store may be possible. Oh yes, bolting something brand new on was much like Christmas, and we would proudly proclaim to anyone that would listen, "yep, bought that part new". Safe? Questionable at best. Fun? For sure. And the girls — One cannot think of the 1980's without thinking of the girls. Enter a long thoughtful sigh...... Mmmmm. They’d swing by in tight jeans and enough hairspray to hold the space shuttle together, leaning on the garage door frame, asking when we’d be out cruising the one-ways. They were the chorus to our chaos, watching us bloody our knuckles while we dreamed of horsepower and freedom. These weren't the shallow, "what can he do for me" looks you see all over social media today. These were not today’s curated selfies, self-absorbed sizing someone up looks; these were the hopeful glances at shirtless grease-monkeys. These were the "Someday, I will marry that man" looks. Greasy, skinny, garage dwelling, future husbands and grandpas. We didn't know it yet, but they had our futures already mentally planned out. Money was always short, so we’d pool change for another 12-pack, or pack of cigs, laughing like idiots when we came up just enough for a case of the cheap stuff. Normally a combination of bills, change, and empty bottles to take back for deposit money, just enough for the brews, and some hope that we had enough gas to make it back. Nobody cared, our focus was on the steel we were working on, rock and roll, and the lovely aqua net artist that would be riding along once we could bring the machines to life. We weren’t just working on cars. We were inventing ourselves. That was the rite of passage in those days: you didn’t buy speed, you built it with your own hands, even if half the job was duct tape, wire, and stubbornness, it was all ingenuity, sprinkled with courage. And let me tell you, what hit the roads, well some of it was impressive indeed. Some beautifully detailed machines, some with horsepower stuffed into things never intended to house it. Some would just make you laugh and shake your head asking why. All fun, all interesting and all very personal. But the truth is — not everyone made it out. Some of those cars ended up twisted heaps of steel. Some of those nights ended with flashing red lights and parents sobbing on front lawns, and a cold stone in a lonely graveyard. We lost people. Friends, neighbors, kids who should’ve been cruising beside us for decades more. Now a growing list on "the classmates no longer with us page". That’s the bittersweet edge to those garage days. They were priceless, but they were dangerous. They built us, scarred us, and in some cases, took some of us away too soon. Looking back now, I smile with a tinge of sadness. There was an unstoppable innocence to it all — a belief that we could drink, smoke, wrench, and laugh our way through life forever. That is of course what everyone thinks when you are only a few years into adulthood. And forever is still decades away. But those nights taught us more than mechanics. They taught us loyalty. Grit. To really think outside of the box, because no box was there to contain us. The joy of making something out of nothing. The flash, laughter, rumble, reckless abandon of it all. And the harsh reality that life doesn’t promise anyone a morning after. That grease, aqua net, tight jeans, and stale smoke also formed a glue. One that has held some of us together as friends, well, for our entire lives so far........ The story of a time now long gone, that still lives within a shrinking population of those for whom, it was our reality. If you enjoyed this, please follow so you can get notified of new posts. Share with everyone that would enjoy this. Maybe buy me a coffee or a beer to just support the basic costs of running this site. Thank you!