One of the most moving things I’ve encountered this week is the 2014 University of Texas commencement address given by Naval Admiral William H. McRaven, a U.S. Navy SEAL. In the address Admiral McRaven gives 10 life lessons drawn from his training as a SEAL. It’s an inspiring exhortation, and the behind-the-scenes tour it gives of the life of a SEAL is enough to make you want to drop and do 250 push-ups and stop, at least for five minutes, letting the Human Race down. You can read and watch the entire address here, at the fascinating website I’ve just discovered, Farnham Street. But here’s a sample I particularly like:
As Navy SEALs one of our jobs is to conduct underwater attacks against enemy shipping. We practiced this technique extensively during basic training.
The ship attack mission is where a pair of SEAL divers is dropped off outside an enemy harbor and then swims well over two miles—underwater—using nothing but a depth gauge and a compass to get to their target.
During the entire swim, even well below the surface there is some light that comes through. It is comforting to know that there is open water above you.
But as you approach the ship, which is tied to a pier, the light begins to fade. The steel structure of the ship blocks the moonlight—it blocks the surrounding street lamps—it blocks all ambient light.
To be successful in your mission, you have to swim under the ship and find the keel—the centerline and the deepest part of the ship.
This is your objective. But the keel is also the darkest part of the ship—where you cannot see your hand in front of your face, where the noise from the ship’s machinery is deafening and where it is easy to get disoriented and fail.
Every SEAL knows that under the keel, at the darkest moment of the mission—is the time when you must be calm, composed—when all your tactical skills, your physical power and all your inner strength must be brought to bear.
If you want to change the world, you must be your very best in the darkest moment.
Now every walk of life demands this kind of composure at “the darkest moment of the mission.” But for the writer, this is the moment when all the hard work you’ve put in on a project fails to resonate with an audience. When the light coming through the water as you swim–which is to say, encouragement in the form of praise, sales, employment, recognition, status–fades into darkness. And there you are, with nothing but your depth gauge and a compass–which is to say, your craft and your mission to create something beautiful and true.
You can’t see your hand in front of your face. No encouragement from the outside world is there to confirm you’re on the right track. And because of this it’s easy to get disoriented, discouraged, and to fail.
This is the point where heroes are made. You’ve got your craft and your mission and that’s enough. Quite enough. Encouragement from others is all gravy anyway. So keep calm and focused and follow through on what you need to do.
In this darkest moment, you have to be at your very best.
The image above, of Navy SEALs training themselves to endure freezing water, is reproduced courtesy of Shane T. McCoy at Wikimedia Commons.
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