Quantico, Virginia—It was here I planted the seed to let down my future self.
It is October in Virginia, a favorite time of year in which to experience it. Now retired, I have returned to Marine Corps Base Quantico as a dreaded contractor (I work for a company called Advanced Forces Group ) to observe and assist with training a new, young crop of international officers to, perhaps, not make the same mistakes I did.
In the delightful morning air, I drive the once-familiar, winding roads to a remote part of the base. I’m flooded with memories of my time in the Corps and how I didn’t achieve all of the goals I set so long ago. Twenty-five years is a long time to serve doing one thing. It is another to examine it and feel unfulfilled in some regards.
I park my car at a pull-out along a lonely tract and further reflect. In 1998, I arrived here innocent and naïve about many things and departed the same way a year later, though more cocksure and with an arrogant surety of purpose I’m unsure I ever shook.
It was here on this base that my loving wife did her best with our small children, both of us young and unprepared for adulthood. She adapted to that better than I ever did. Back then, she coveted Quarters One, the Base Commanding General’s house, but I missed obtaining that opportunity for her by a couple of ranks.
We were new to the Marine Corps. We went to lunch at the food court in the commissary area; shopped at the base Exchange; went to football games and our children played with other kids, oblivious to their parents’ angst, worries, and imperfections—and all this before 9/11 changed the world. What I’d give to be that malleable man again before I sacrificed so much of who I was for what I became and now am. Was it worth it? I don’t know …
I exit my car, conduct what passes for a stretch, and against the backdrop of outgoing artillery fire, I set off down the road flanked by vibrant autumn trees. My footfalls scuff the asphalt, and I settle into a slow, rhythmic jog I’d have been embarrassed to call “running” when I was a young officer. On this trot over rolling hills, I assess who I was as a leader. Was I a good one? As good as I thought, anyway? When it comes to that kind of introspective analysis, who, really, can conduct an honest assessment without stopping due to painful personal realizations?
We tend to focus on the positives and what we did well, the negatives being a form of self-awareness that makes us uncomfortable. In the main, everyone loves the idea of integrity, of holding people accountable, until it’s time to hold people accountable for their actions, particularly if it’s the result of a lack or lapse of integrity.
The Marine Corps has a set of leadership tenants and principles upon which all leaders, enlisted and officer, are to base and develop their leadership style. Having an abundance of one of these traits and not much of another can be detrimental and possessing each trait and principle in harmonious balance is the ideal. I never saw such a thing, though a select few of my leaders came close.
Most struggled (as humans do) to achieve these in any semblance of a cohesive array to allow every person in their charge to enjoy their decisions. Some were just assholes; they’re out there …
During my service I strove to be the kind of leader with whom I’d want to serve and follow. At times I was that, but often fell short, in someone’s estimation, anyway. But it came down to what one of my Sergeant’s told me. “There comes a time in everyone’s career where you have to come legit. With yourself and to others. You’ll know when that time comes, because only you can do it.” I’ll never forget the incident during my pre-dive training at 1st Reconnaissance Battalion during which I “came legit” and turned a corner to being a better leader.
In the present, as a leadership coach, I strive to impart some wisdom and guidance without sounding like a threat to people’s ego’s, fiefdoms, or company culture, though it’s happened. But being around Marines and international soldiers again, I’m struck at how young they are and that they now must take the same journey of self-assessment that allows them to examine themselves critically. Some will do so, and some will not. Most don’t seek the opportunity because they are unaware it is out there to be found. I view their excitement and youthful energy as an opportunity.
Finishing my run, I inhale deep breaths and prepare to join another group of young officers at the training lane to assist them in finding their path. To accept their mistakes as a part of growth in the hopes of themselves “coming legit.” It’s the least I can do.
Welcome to The Logbook, a place to read, examine, and ponder my observations on leadership, life and other topics. Through my writing, I want people to explore their own experiences and perhaps achieve commonality.
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