From a retired federal worker: Realizing I’m not special changed my leadership

After 27 years in federal law enforcement, from corrections officer to deputy associate director, I need to tell you something that nobody talks about: You are not special. And neither am I.

And that's actually the most liberating thing I can tell you.

The Doug Noseep Story

Let me share the story of Doug Noseep, my best friend in the service. Doug was one of those guys everyone came to for answers. He knew every case, every procedure, every contact. If something needed to get done right, you called Doug.

Here's how quickly we all become yesterday's news:

Monday: Doug is running operations, making critical decisions, fielding calls from headquarters. Everyone needs Doug.

Friday: Doug's retirement party. Huge send-off. Speeches about his irreplaceable contributions. "We'll never find another one like Doug."

Monday: "Well, guess we need to put in an SF-39 to replace Doug."

Six months later: The new people don't even know who Doug Noseep was.

It was shocking how quickly my friend went from essential to invisible. The machine just kept running. They put in another spoke and rolled on.

These stories show how quickly even the most valued employees become part of history.

The Darren Cruzan Lesson

The most influential leader in my career was BIA Office of Justice Services Director Darren Cruzan. He shaped how I thought about federal law enforcement and managing across different cultures and jurisdictions. For years after he retired, people still referenced him: "Darren used to say..." or "When Darren was here..."

But you know what happened in my last few years? The folks working for me would hear his name mentioned and ask, "Darren who?"

Even the legends get forgotten. Even the people who "changed everything" become footnotes. And that's not a tragedy, that's just how organizations work.

What This Really Means

Here's the uncomfortable truth: most of your specialized knowledge gets lost when you leave. But honestly, so what?

What actually happens is this: You leave, taking your knowledge with you. The new person spends six months figuring things out. They "discover" solutions to problems you solved years ago. They develop their own systems and approaches. Some of it's better than what you did, some worse, most just different. The mission gets accomplished anyway.

And that's perfectly fine.

When you understand that you're not the irreplaceable hero holding everything together, you can actually delegate meaningful work instead of micromanaging everything. You can take vacations without checking email every hour. You can make decisions without thinking the entire organization's future depends on getting it perfect.

The Weight of Choices

When I was a young officer working reservations throughout Indian Country, my children were little. I thought the most important thing was going on those month-long TDYs to provide for them.

Now, decades later, my son is in the U.S. Space Force and my daughter is graduating high school. I would give anything go back 15 years to when they needed me—their tiny arms hugging daddy's neck. My kids and I have a great relationship, but they were only little once.

You can't know how it would have turned out differently. Maybe staying home more would have meant financial struggles. Maybe those TDYs taught my kids about service. Or maybe we would have been just as well off with me home more.

There's no fixing this kind of regret, but there's no point torturing yourself either. You do your best with what you know at the time.

But if you're reading this and your kids are still little,  keep that balance.

The Real Liberation

This perspective isn't meant to make you feel small. It's meant to free you from the impossible burden of thinking you have to be superhuman.

When I finally understood this (really understood it) it changed how I managed people. I stopped trying to be the smartest person in every meeting. I stopped thinking I had to solve every problem personally. I started focusing on building up the people around me instead of proving how essential I was.

And you know what happened? I became a better leader. Not because I was special, but because I stopped trying to be.

True servant leadership isn't about making yourself indispensable. It's about making yourself unnecessary. The highest compliment isn't "we couldn't do this without you." It's "you taught us so well that we're ready to handle whatever comes next."

Permission Granted

I'm giving you permission as someone who's been where you are to take your vacation and actually disconnect. To delegate important work to people who might do it differently. To retire when you're ready, not when you think the organization is ready. To be human-sized instead of superhuman.

The organization will be fine. It was fine before you, and it'll be fine after you. And it's liberating.

The Final Word

You are not special. Neither was Darren Cruzan, even though he fundamentally shaped my thinking. Neither was Doug Noseep, even though he was one of the best agents I ever worked with.

We're all just temporary custodians of something bigger than ourselves. We do our part, help who we can reach, try to leave things a little better, then pass responsibility to the next person.

That's not cynical. That's realistic. And it's liberating.

Work hard. Do good. Care about your people. Train folks well. Then go home, live your life, and let the next generation figure out their own way forward.

Sometimes the most important thing a leader can do is teach others they don't need you. What legacy will you leave when it’s your turn to pass the torch?

Jerin Falcon is a retired deputy associate director with 27 years in tribal, county and federal law enforcement.