Reflection #2
It was dark. I mean the kind of pitch black darkness where even seeing your hand in front of your face was a stretch.
I was leading a group of Marines in a training evolution and there we were, out on the open ocean in the middle of the night. We were headed towards a beach to conduct a nighttime training evolution. We were still a few hours away from landing and I was focused not only on the transit but what we would be doing once we landed.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of our boat engine coughing and then shutting down. While engine failures happened from time to time, it had never happened on my boat.
As the lead boat in the formation, the mechanics worked hard to ensure that engine would never go down because the other 17 boats were keying off of us.
But life on this team had taught us patience and adaptability. If this was the worst thing that happened tonight, we'd be just fine.
We had a simple plan for events like this. If an engine died, one of the mechanics would be dropped off at that particular boat. He had five minutes to assess the situation and give me his recommendation. If he could fix it, he'd get on it right away. If it required more work and tools than we had available bobbing up and down in the water, we would hook up a tow rope to another boat and get back to our transit.
Since a mechanic always traveled in the lead boat, it was pretty easy. I couldn't see him in the boat but knew where he sat. I leaned in his direction and whispered, "you've got five minutes."
One of the coolest things about being in this company was the caliber of the Marines who filled the ranks. This mechanic was an infantry Marine who had likely grown up around engines and had a legit skillset.
He was probably 21 or 22 years old and I, like the other 150 or so other Marines in the company, trusted him implicitly. If he said he could fix it, he would. If he couldn't, he'd tell me without worrying about anyone doubting his ability.
It would be his call.
He got to work and while I couldn't see him, I could hear him quietly humming to himself. He was in the zone.
He told me he needed to get in the water in order to access a part of the engine. Off he went. He turned on his red lens flashlight, put it in his mouth, and stabled himself with his elbows on the side of the boat while working with his hands.
After a few seconds the flashlight was noticeably erratic. I leaned over and saw his face in the glow. Whatever he was touching in that engine was sending a current through his body. In a shaky voice he whispered "almost got it, sir" and then after a brief pause said, "done. Let's start it up."
At that moment, time stopped for me.
In my mind's eye, against a pitch black background, three red neon words exploded into my brain.
Who. Am. I.
I knew in that moment exactly what that meant.
Who am I to have the responsibility of leading people like this?
Three simple words, but a message that resonated so deeply that I've never forgotten that night. I don't remember any other details of that evening's adventure but that micro experience would be a driving force for the remainder of my career.
While I had been well schooled by some amazing leaders, this was the night that I began to equate leadership with "a sacred responsibility." I was never the same leader after that experience and it has stayed with me for almost 30 years.
We, as leaders, have a sacred responsibility and as such, it is heavy.
I've had people tell me, "yeah, but I don't make life and death decisions" - to which I respond, "you are making a very real impact on very real people and influencing their lives - and that can't be taken lightly."
I'm going to have to write more later because this only tells part of the story of the sacredness of leadership. There is much to be said about the impact this realization has on the leader.
But that's enough for now.
If you want to continue the conversation or explore this reality of your own leadership journey, I'd love to talk to you. There's a link below to schedule a brainstorming session.
Dan
Founder, Leader First Coaching