Last time, I wrote about the night that I was confronted with the reality that leadership is a sacred responsibility.
It was a deeply personal experience.
Up to that point, I feel like I knew how serious leadership was. Being in the Marine Corps certainly helped that process.
Like most new lieutenants, the admonition from our instructors that we may make decisions that could lead to the deaths of our Marines was emblazoned in my heart. I never wanted to be in the position where a poor decision caused that to happen. The idea of writing a letter to the family of a fallen Marine was heavy enough. But if I had to do it because I wasn’t on my game, that was harrowing.
I was going to do everything in my power to make sure I was as prepared as possible.
But the sacredness of leadership? I’m not sure I had considered that.
Leadership was something I was trained to do. Went to school, got a degree, made it through my basic training, and jumped into the fray. Twenty-two years old and bullet proof with more determination and confidence than common sense or wisdom.
This was what I was supposed to do. Lead Marines – the best of the best. Whether in peacetime or if called upon to do so in combat, it WAS my job description.
That night, in an environment that wasn't too dangerous I came face to face with the reality that EVERYTHING I did or said would have an impact on peoples’ lives. Even if we never faced combat (we didn’t), I still played a major role in how their lives would progress for the time we worked together.
Every comment. Every training evolution. Every time I had to counsel or discipline someone.
Every time I put on the uniform and stood in front of them.
Every time I was in town and ran across some of the guys.
It all mattered. It was all a part of the leadership tapestry being woven in real time with real people. People with dreams and goals and aspirations and fears and challenges.
They didn’t get to pick me as their boss and had no say as to whom they wanted to work for.
When they went home for the holidays, saw their families, or talked to old friends, there was a chance my name would come up. How I chose to lead them would determine if that conversation was a good one or not.
Did I care about them? Did I value them? Was I willing to make the hard calls? Did I train them hard so that they were best prepared for the worst conditions possible or did I take it easy on them as a means of gaining empty popularity?
Leadership, at that point, was no longer an accolade or résumé builder or status mark.
It was a heavy weight.
A weight that, like you, I chose to carry.
If you’re reading this, you recognize that your role is SO much more than a title. You might refer to it as your “calling” or your “purpose.” You’re capable of understanding that you play a huge role in others’ lives – regardless of the fact that you are a flawed, broken human being yourself who has still decided to answer the call despite the challenges you face on your own.
I admire you and I’m glad you’ve decided to serve something far greater than yourself.
If you’ve hit a rough patch and aren’t sure what to do, you’re in the right place. I’ve been there many times and understand. Simply reply to this email and we’ll get together to find the way forward.
Dan
Founder, Leader First Coaching