When I was an ROTC student at the University of Southern California, I had a single-minded focus on a goal. I was going to be a Navy fighter pilot. I don’t want to date myself, but this was the era of Top Gun. And I was determined to fly.
Then came my flight physical. My left eye didn’t test at the 20-20 vision required of any wannabe Maverick. So, the trajectory I had envisioned for my life changed in an instant. I was still in a daze when they asked: Ships or subs?
That’s how, a few years later, I found myself on the bridge of the battleship USS New Jersey. In the middle of one night, I was about to become the Officer of the Deck. I would be in charge of driving a mammoth vessel that was 887 feet long, weighed 58,000 tons, and housed 1,500 sailors.
And something was very wrong.
This summer, I’ve been writing a series of blog posts (read more here and here) about how lessons from the Navy have impacted my business career. I hope that others can take away some things that they might apply to their own lives. What I’m sharing now was something of a defining moment for me. I think it’s an example of why it matters to do the right thing even when it’s hard. That’s especially the case when it feels like the hardest thing.
Not becoming a pilot was a difficult pill to swallow. But the disappointment faded. I decided I would serve on the coolest ship possible and do my darnedest to be the best officer on it.
I was an ensign – the most junior grade of officer – assigned to the New Jersey when we got a new captain. He made it clear that he was willing to give anyone as much responsibility as they earned. In the long history of the ship (the New Jersey was commissioned during World War II), no ensign had ever qualified to stand watch on the bridge. That’s the person who’s in charge whenever the captain is not present. There may be higher-ranked officers on the bridge, but the Officer of the Deck is in command.
I wanted to be the first ensign to serve in the position. I spent months learning every part of the ship. Engineering. Navigation. Weapons. Everything. When we were in port, I even lived on the ship and stopped going home at night to my apartment. So, I was ready when the captain and his direct reports grilled me for three hours in an oral exam. I really think I passed for one reason. I earned the captain’s trust. He believed I would meet the most crucial responsibility – carrying out the captain’s standing orders.
These are the expectations the captain has for the vessel’s operation. One of the most critical orders was any time the ship needed to change position in our battlegroup squadron’s formation, always notify the captain.
So, fast-forward to that night. It’s 2 a.m., and we’re at sea. I was about to relieve the current Officer of the Deck when I discovered that he had done something foolish. We had received an order to move to a new position in the formation. It was pretty routine. But instead of doing it cautiously, the other officer acted as if the New Jersey were a sports car and was cutting through the middle of the formation to get to our new position faster. That’s how ships run into each other. More importantly, he had violated the most important standing order.
He didn’t alert the captain.
Now, it appeared that the maneuver – dangerous as it was – would be successful. The easy thing for me to do would have been to ignore it. I didn’t make this decision. Nothing terrible (probably) will happen. Probably best not to make any waves. (So to speak.)
Instead, I said: “Either you’re waking the captain, or I’m doing it.”
The other officer, who was two ranks above me, was incredulous. I’m sure he (and everyone else on the deck) thought I was overreacting. He believed everything was under control, and now I was throwing him under the bus for something that wasn’t a big deal. But I wasn’t going to be complicit in a situation where something terrible could happen just because they were lazy.
For me, it came down to this. I had given my word that I would embody the captain’s orders. I had made a solemn vow. And I wasn’t going to break it.
When the captain, a profoundly religious man who taught Bible study, arrived on the deck, some uncharacteristic words emerged from his mouth. He immediately plotted a new, safer course. Our trip to the new position proved uneventful. Afterward, he put his arm around my shoulders and said, “You did the right thing.”
Yes, there’s a happy ending to this story. (Well, not so much for the other officer.) But here’s the thing. When any story is in progress, you never know how it’s going to end. Especially in those difficult moments that we all face in our professional and personal lives. Sometimes, we can feel the weight of the world upon us. All we can do is make what we believe are the right choices. That means following our inner compass, staying true to our values, and meeting the commitments that we’ve made.
Nobody is perfect. I’m certainly not. The most any of us can ever really hope for is to keep making progress. But we all constantly face one question, and how we answer makes all the difference.
Should I do what’s easy or what’s right?