Chris Finerty likes to keep a certain perspective in mind, one borrowed from the late Major League Baseball pitcher Tug McGraw. McGraw’s philosophy was blunt: In a million years, when the sun burns out and the earth is a frozen snowball, almost all you did in life will be irrelevant.
“It’s not about saying nothing matters,” Finerty said, leaning back slightly as he spoke, the weight of three decades in uniform still in his posture. “It’s about realizing that not everything matters. And once you understand that, you make better decisions. You stop getting caught up in noise.”
For Finerty, who spent his career at the intersection of national security and politics, the noise was constant. As a retired Air Force Major General, his office often sat inside the Pentagon’s nerve center, where conversations could shift from billion-dollar defense budgets to urgent phone calls from the Hill without warning. He was the one charged with keeping the conversation between military leaders and Congress productive, even in the middle of bruising political fights.
He admits that staying grounded through those high-pressure moments required more than strategy. It required a perspective rooted in his personal life.
“Tough times don’t last,” he said. “I try to remember how fortunate I am to have been born in this country and, most importantly, that I have two wonderful kids I get to care for. When you measure challenges against that, it puts things in perspective.”
That perspective was his anchor. Whether dealing with tense legislative negotiations or managing competing demands from senior defense leaders, Chris Finerty learned to separate the urgent from the truly important. “Nothing should match the importance of your children,” he said. “When people put too much weight on their professional life, the inevitable bumps will be a persistent source of anguish. Never let your work become your life. It’s easy to let it happen, and it always ends poorly.”
“I’ve been in rooms where you’re balancing the interests of the Air Force, the Space Force, and Congress, all at the same time,” he added. “You have to know what matters in that moment. You have to know what’s worth standing your ground for.”
Finerty’s reputation in Washington was built on his ability to connect competing priorities without compromising on what mattered most. As Director of the Department of the Air Force’s Office of Legislative Liaison from 2019 to 2023, he led more than 80 military and civilian personnel who managed every aspect of the Air Force and Space Force’s engagement with Congress.
That meant preparing senior leaders for Senate confirmations, guiding them through contentious hearings, and crafting strategies to protect $200 billion worth of budget priorities each year. It also meant making sure the right relationships existed long before the high-stakes moments arrived.
“You cannot just drop into a Member’s office when you need something,” he said. “You have to build trust over time. That means listening as much as you talk. You need to understand their priorities and show them that you care about the things that matter to them.”
Finerty’s portfolio touched everything from weapons modernization to Congressional travel oversight. He was a sounding board for four Secretaries of the Air Force, two Air Force Chiefs of Staff, and two Chiefs of Space Operations.
“Chris had this ability to translate Pentagon-speak into something that made sense to us,” one former congressional aide said. “He never made it about winning points. He made it about solving the problem.”
When asked about the biggest challenge for leaders today, Finerty didn’t hesitate. “We’ve confused doing the right thing with doing the legal thing,” he said.
His view is that institutions have become too risk-averse, too quick to discard people in order to avoid public scrutiny. “People are the most important asset in almost every profession, and they’re also the most expendable,” he said. “Leading people should be based on far more than a risk assessment.”
For Finerty, integrity is not negotiable. He believes there’s never a wrong time to make the right decision, even if it costs you professionally. “You have to be willing to stand in the storm for what’s right,” he said. “At the end of the day, you need to be able to look in the mirror and know you didn’t compromise your dignity.”
After more than 30 years in uniform, Finerty’s focus has shifted dramatically. Today, he spends far more time in a school cafeteria than in a secure briefing room. He serves as president of the PTA at his daughter’s special needs school and calls it one of the most rewarding roles of his life.
“The military gets a lot of recognition for its service,” he said. “But our children’s teachers deserve just as much. They show a level of dedication and sacrifice that’s extraordinary, and they do it without fanfare.”
His role as a father is now the center of his world. He is intentional about mentoring his teenage son, giving him the tools to navigate life’s inevitable difficulties. “Life isn’t going to soften for him,” Finerty said. “My job is to prepare the child, not the path.”
He admits he didn’t always have that balance. “If I could go back, I’d spend more time with my kids and less time at work,” he said. “Work will always replace you and move on. Your kids never will.”
Finerty is not entirely done with leadership. He still advises, mentors, and speaks on what he’s learned about influence, integrity, and the human side of decision-making. He believes change starts small but must begin with the most important audiences - whether that’s a platoon of young officers or two kids sitting across the dinner table.
“The military taught me a lot about mission and discipline,” he said. “But it also taught me the importance of perspective. Not every battle is worth fighting. Not every hill is worth dying on. You need to know the difference.”
That perspective, grounded in McGraw’s frozen snowball philosophy, has carried him through combat deployments, legislative showdowns, and the quieter, more personal moments of fatherhood. It’s a reminder that when the noise fades and the headlines disappear, what matters most is rarely the thing that once seemed urgent.
“You get to the end of a long career and realize your legacy isn’t the programs you protected or the budgets you defended,” Finerty said. “It’s the people you stood by, the ones you protected when it wasn’t easy. That’s what lasts.”
