You Wanted It, Now You Got It
When the Falcon 9 Flight 6 operator team walked back into SpaceX HQ, they got a standing ovation. Everyone stood up from their cubes and clapped. The scene was incredible.
It had been about a week since the sixth flight of SpaceX’s Falcon 9. This had been a difficult launch campaign because it was an upgraded version of the rocket. Everyone at the company had worked hard on the mission, but these operators were the ones that got it over the finish line.
The look on their faces was multifaceted. There was a base of prolonged exhaustion, partially remedied by a recent megadose of sleep. There was a hint of relief. There wasn’t much bravado. If anything, there was awkwardness induced by being at the center of attention. There was purpose, confidence, and a deep sense of accomplishment.
I had been an engineer at SpaceX for less than six months. Seeing the look on their faces that morning, I knew I had to figure out how to become an on console operator.
Making the Case
My boss’s boss was the Director of Stage Propulsion. My team reported to him, as did the stage operator team. He sat twenty feet away from me and was the obvious person for me to approach first.
In previous years, I’d interned for him directly and we had a good relationship. He was a seasoned engineer from Delta II program and knew rockets like mechanics know cars. He was unwavering in the most difficult of times and had rallied the team through test failures and seemingly insurmountable challenges. People looked up to him and people listened to him.
I mentioned that I wanted to be on console. He registered it, but it wasn’t an immediate priority. I brought it up more and more, blowing well past the point of annoyance. During the Flight 7 campaign a few months later, I went out of my way to just be around. Every time folks circled for a discussion near his desk, I’d hover in the back, both trying to learn up and awkwardly make myself seen. I got thrown little tasks here and there and started to slowly making a name for myself.
About a month later at a holiday party, I cornered him and made my case again. I explained why I was good for the team and how much I’d learned in the last few months. I threw every angle I had at him. He was a good sport and entertained it, but eventually steered me back to enjoy the party.
Opportunity
The holidays created a natural break in my campaign to get on console. At the start of 2014, I was working on a project for Dragon that I quite enjoyed. Being in the control room was still top of mind, but I wasn’t spending much time campaigning for it.
In late January, I got e-mail from the stage team manager, asking to find time to get a coffee. I was pumped. We chatted for a bit, before he made the point of the meeting clear and offered me a Stage Responsible Engineer (RE) job. He explained that he didn’t have a lot of experience working with me, but his boss (the Director) thought I could be good for the role. I obviously accepted.
Reality
The next morning, I caught the Director as soon as he walked in the building. I excitedly told him about my coffee chat the day before and spurted out a bunch of ideas I had on process improvements. I spoke as if I was already a Stage RE.
He cocked his head and looked at me sideways. I quickly realized I may have been a bit overzealous. “Come outside now” he commanded, dropping his bag at whomever’s desk we happened to be standing next to and heading towards the door. I was preparing for a lecture, but what I got was very different.
“You wanted it, now you got it” is all he said. Then he turned and walked back inside with an energy that clearly signaled to not follow.
These were powerful words. In them, I understood that I had not yet earned the job. I wasn’t a Stage RE. I’d been given the opportunity to become one, but now there was much work ahead of me to grow into the role.
Becoming an RE
I went back to the basics of being a rookie on a big team. I picked up every tedious, arduous, unexciting task there was and did them with a smile on my face.
As I started to get on console, I also realized just how big of a job this was. What I hadn’t gleaned from the operators’ faces that day after Flight 6 was the depth of knowledge they each had. I poured myself into the job for six months. I shadowed every op I could, learned the schematic inside and out, walked the hardware down, and asked questions to everyone in sight.
It wasn’t a linear path. I had small wins and equally as many hiccups. As is customary, the wins went unacknowledged and the mistakes were front and center. While frustrated, I came to understand this was part of the journey.
I completed a handful of smaller scale operations on console, finding my way and getting my feet beneath me. A few months later, I was selected to be on console for Flight 11.
The mission launched in August 2014, just under a year after I had gotten the idea to become a Stage RE. I supported that launch and many more from the Cape Canaveral control room. When I got back to SpaceX HQ, the Director greeted me with a big smile and a big hug. This was my version of a standing ovation.
I got teary-eyed and didn’t know what to say, but words weren’t needed. He understood the path I just traveled and how impactful that seven word motivational speech had been months prior. The embrace also came with an unspoken but fully acknowledged expectation that I would do the same for others. I don’t know that I’ll ever fill this role as well as he did, but I’ll certainly keep trying to come as close as I can.
