Humble Pie doesn’t taste great but it sure is good for you.
I was 23 and had been in the Marine Corps for probably 15 months and had responsibility for about 30 Marines. We were in the early phases of getting ready for an overseas deployment the following year and were preparing for an influx of Marines and advanced training.
Like most at my age I felt indestructible and on top of the world. I had the grit and determination to overcome any challenge and had the youthful exuberance to work 24/7.
The word “failure” was not in my vocabulary. I knew I would have to work hard and nothing would be given to me, but without a doubt I would succeed. I had always figured out a way.
Until I didn’t.
I was given a fantastic opportunity to attend the summer Mountain Leaders Course in Bridgeport, CA. It would be physically demanding but that was right up my alley and I couldn’t wait. One of the final exercises involved scaling and crossing a glacier which sounded amazing.
However, long before we got to that point we had to be trained in and tested on a lot of stuff involving climbing up steep earth, rock faces, and eventually ice.
Proficiency required a stone-cold ability to tie numerous types of knots that might be used during an ascent or descent. Other lives literally depended on one’s ability to do that correctly.
I had a hard time grasping some of the knots. I still do. I see how they’re done and the purpose of each makes sense but when it comes to replication, I struggle.
Instead of asking for the readily available help all around me, I relied on sheer willpower and work ethic. A brand-new lieutenant trying to make a name for himself admitting he needed help tying knots? Admitting weakness? No thanks.
And I failed that portion of the test.
They gave me a second chance.
Failed again.
They might have given me a third chance but I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter.
What does matter is that I was called into the lead instructor’s office and told I was being dropped from the course for my inability to tie the requisite knots in the time allowed.
That was one scenario I had NEVER envisioned.
At the risk of writing a small book, I’ll just say that the embarrassment and shame was crushing. I had built my identity around competence, toughness, and the belief that I could be counted on in “every clime or place.”
And now I had to go stand in front of my platoon and tell them I had failed. I imagined them booing me or turning away in disgust because “their” lieutenant was a failure.
On my way to see them I called my mom from a payphone. She said something I’ve never forgotten. Something about being human and real and that my Marines didn’t expect perfect because no one can identify with perfect.
I got the guys together and ripped the band aid off. I told them what happened and that I had failed out and would not be continuing in the course.
I expected some hint of disappointment or revulsion but no one said anything. To fill the void I said, “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Instead they looked at me with puzzled looks on their faces as if to say, “is that it? What’s the big deal? Is that why you called this meeting?”
Finally one of those warriors said, “ok sir. No problem. We’ve got your back.”
Wow.
Perfectionism meets grace.
It would be decades (!!!) before I would come to understand that I had a serious problem with perfectionism, and that it was not something to brag about or wear as a badge of honor.
Maybe that part of this journey will be a future newsletter topic, but for now the focus is on the humility I painfully learned during that season.
I can say that experience, without a doubt, made me much more empathetic and understanding. I became aware of the need to extend grace a lot more freely and encourage those I led when they had their own personal trials and tribulations.
I was much more mindful of the need to rally the team and close ranks when someone was struggling, to stand in the gap for others when they needed to go offline.
I wish I could have climbed that glacier. I heard it was an amazing experience and it would have been the source of many cool stories.
But I’m thankful I went through that challenge because it made me a better leader in the long run and allowed me to connect with my people in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then.
You can be humble or you can be humbled. I prefer the former, but it took a bunch of bowlines, clove hitches, and Prusik knots for the lesson to be really learned.
If perfectionism or unrealistic expectations have tripped you up or are keeping you from getting where you want to be, consider getting on a call with me. I've been there (and sometimes still am) and understand.
We'll find a way to get you through it.
Dan
Founder, Leader First Coaching