The True Mentor
Visualize, if you will, the cramped, oven-like cockpit of a United States Air Force refueling tanker, flying an approach for a practice landing.
“Tanker, turn onto heading two, niner, zero,” a voice instructs.
“Roger, air traffic control, turning onto two, niner, zero.”
“Co, this is pilot—watch altitude—you’re a little low.”
“Pilot, Co, copy. Increasing altitude. Coming up.”
“Co,” I say, sitting behind and in between the pilot and copilot in what is called the jump seat, “you’re a little slow—increase power. . . .”
“Boom, I copy. Increasing.”
“Air force tanker, air force tanker, be advised your heading is now three, one, zero approaching three, two, zero correct heading, turn left, turn left now.”
“Co, lower landing gear,” commands the pilot.
“Co,” I pile on, “lower flaps to thirty. Check forward tank fuel pumps. Check airspeed.”
“Watch your bank angle!” the pilot advises, raising his voice.
“Roger, I copy,” you, as the copilot, huff as you wipe the beads of sweat dripping from your tired eyes. “I’m on it. I’m on it. Gear, coming down. Fuel pumps turned . . . on . . . increasing airspeed . . . increasing altitude . . . turning to heading three, two, zero—”
Then without warning, the cockpit fills with a single word—from the pilot, the aircraft’s navigator, and myself: “Abort!” A split second later air traffic control commands, “Air force tanker, abort your approach. Abort. Go around. Go around.”
Suddenly the instructor pilot takes over, instantly levels the wings, applies proper rudder control and slips the wallowing aircraft onto a proper heading, adjusts airspeed, and readjusts the flaps. All in a matter of two, three seconds tops, as if he were flicking a fly off his shoulder. Then, in a mock disgruntled voice, the veteran aviator leans over to you, the twenty-three-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears copilot, and sneers, “What in the hell are you doing? Are you flying this jet or is this jet flying you?”
Now, dear reader, stay in the zone for a moment longer and imagine all that high-pitched noise filling your headset, which has two different radios constantly yelling curt commands at you from different agencies at the same time, plus three other members from your crew watching, dissecting, advising, then telling you not only what to do, but when and how to accomplish your task. Your one hand is trying to steer the aircraft while the other fumbles through an endless array of switches and fuel throttles, and all while your eyes strain to stay focused on the inside of the cockpit and the outside runway environment.
On top of all that you’re basically a kid—with a little acne still on your chin, maybe a year into your air force service commitment, which means you’re just out of college—and now you’re overwhelmed with attempting to jostle a mammoth piece of metal that has been flying since thirty years before you were born, carrying 70,000 to 80,000-plus pounds of highly volatile fuel. And this is the last hour of your day that began ten hours before.
Hoo-wee!
Taking control or even just trying to manage life—love, family, friends, work, home, health, and whatever else comes your way. Wow! Intense. Overwhelming. To some, utterly, completely, unmanageable. But God bless those who step into the breach or strap themselves into the seat of something bigger than themselves. Bless those who at least give it a shot.
Now I can understand that some of you may be thinking the preceding is just a twisted, macho, over-the-top aircrew-member ritual. Absolutely not! Nothing would be further from the truth. The example is really a lesson in management. Management of one’s time, one’s focus, and one’s resources. It’s learning how to conduct, and when to regulate, a sequence in the performance of one’s task. A valuable lesson in getting behind and aiming the eight ball of life.
Think about it.
Remember this: You cannot lead if you cannot manage. Whether in sunny skies or gale-force winds, you plot your destination, maintain your course, and hold fast to your convictions. In life you’re either manning the helm or you’re just unmarked cargo used for ballast, dead weight.
So here’s a question: In your life, right now, in real-time reality, are you flying your jet? Are you the captain of your ship, or are you stumbling around in a stupor? Are you just a lifeless passenger, a blind-to-the-world-around-you observer, being tossed from side to side like a worn rag doll?
I certainly hope not.
With all my heart, I am of the belief that nearly all folks simply wish to live their lives in their own way, doing their own thing, for their own reasons. And for the most part, I’ve found that folks wish to do better. To better themselves and their surroundings. In all honesty, I can’t say that I’ve met too many people who have run up to me saying how much they wish for, how much they crave, someone or something that would dictate their lives for them.
Choosing for yourself, living as you wish, kind of sounds like freedom to me. What do you think?
Manage the small, seemingly insignificant things in order to direct more important matters of life. It’s not going to happen overnight, but if you’re consistent, it will happen. Learn to walk before you attempt your marathon race.
Yet what gives me pause, what causes me duress, at times bordering on intense apprehension that makes me want to pull out my hair, is that there are some who have lived their lives for many, many, many years with not a hint of ambition. These folks have no goals to better themselves or their surroundings, let alone helping out and lending a hand to others. They have made any and every excuse, have calculated, sometimes with savage malice, every angle to their selfish indulgence, while pointing the finger of blame at others. In reality, through their own decisions, their own actions and/or inactions, they failed to step up. Yet lo and behold, suddenly, with passion and vigor, they become the one and only know-it-all, whizbang expert on a subject. These types of individuals suddenly have vast knowledge and practically demand that you, dear reader, instantly listen and heed their mighty words about how you should now live your life!
What in heaven’s name is that all about? Maybe I’m off my rocker, but to me that’s not even close to sound leadership, management, or even ownership.
I’m in no way going out of my way to be callous, but I personally know an individual we’ll call E.M. who has conned, lied, and cheated everyone at all levels—from family members, including an elderly grandparent and a mentally disabled sibling, to friends, business associates, you name it. E.M. was dishonorably kicked out the armed forces within weeks of enlistment, had various lawsuits and DUIs, and filed bankruptcy protection even against the grandparent who loaned E.M. the money to file the bankruptcy paperwork in the first place.
E.M. is blatantly jealous of others who have not only come to terms with their issues, but after years of grueling work and sacrifice, who are also now content in their lives. E.M. feels “left behind,” just a mere two steps behind everyone else. If that weren’t enough, E.M.’s attitude is arrogant beyond words. If anyone mentions past transgressions, the lightning response is, “ ‘F’ ’em. It’s my way or the highway.” E.M. lives for attention, inventing over-the-top scenarios with, of course, E.M. right in the middle of all the high-end drama—from the death of family members, to nearly being a victim of the 9/11 aircraft hijackings. E.M. later boasted that this avoidance of harm was a result of personal “premonitions.”
(Thank the Lord!)
E.M. justifies the drinking, the drugs, the cons, and the swath of destruction by having a dark past. Most of that really bothers me. None of us is perfect; all of us have something in our pasts that we’re not all too proud of. But what sickens me is when someone like E.M. suddenly, without remorse, without making amends, without helping others, without any training, decides to become the master, super-duper entity for all to hear and take heed of.
Maybe you’ve encountered an E.M. in your life. A person who, instead of striving to improve a negative situation, uses it as an excuse not only to dwell in the misery, but also to further enhance that misery with self-destructive behavior. These types of people seem to feel society owes them because they suffered. They may even resent you, either because they don’t think you’ve suffered as they have or because they can’t get beyond their own situation as you are trying to do—they embody that old saying: misery loves company.
When I was finally able to crack through a few thick layers of E.M.’s defensive ego during one of many phone calls, the response I received was, “You were lucky, David. You were removed. I was never taken away. You have no idea what it was like.”
Okay, I said to myself, keeping my mouth shut. Now, I wouldn’t say I was lucky to be subjected to my past. However, to be honest, it was horrible that while I was taken away and placed in the bosom of social services, there was nothing done to save or protect my four other brothers who had to deal with my mother’s wrath. That in itself has constantly haunted me for a majority of my life.
“What happened?” I probed. “Please tell me. I really want to understand.”
“You think . . . you think you were the only one?” E.M. choked up, as if tears would spill at any second.
“Please,” I genuinely pleaded, “tell me. Was it physical? Were you beaten?”
“Huh?”
“Your abuse. Were you tortured? Were you constantly beaten? Were you starved?” I asked, throwing out any example I could, hoping to stimulate any type of response.
“Uh . . . no. No. Of course not.”
“Okay,” I continued. “Were you ever sexually abused, raped, sodomized, molested, touched—anything of this nature?”
“No!” E.M. immediately barked in a resentful tone.
“Well,” I returned, “what the hell did happen?”
After a few seconds, E.M. let out a deep breath. That’s when I felt we were near a breakthrough. Thank God, I thought, now E.M. can begin to come to terms. “I got yelled at. All the time. I mean all the time. I was slapped. I was told I was stupid. I was ugly, that my red hair was disgusting. I was chased around the house. I was threatened. But then I’d chase back. I was made to feel inferior. I was made to think I wasn’t smart, that I wasn’t pretty.”
Pretty? I thought to myself as I continued to pay close attention to the voice on the other end of the phone.
At the end of the long, dragged-out, mind-numbing conversation, I so wanted to believe I had made a chink in this individual’s defensive armor. At least that was a start. To me, it in no way justified E.M.’s misdeeds or continued actions or superior attitude, but now I had something to connect the dots with regarding why this individual craved so much attention.
I knew E.M. had in fact been physically and psychologically abused. There was no doubt about that. But while E.M.’s siblings adopted a more honorable, challenging path of hard work and true-grit determination, E.M. copped out, cheating in any way possible, choosing a different trail. Plain and simple.
Whew. I gotta take a breath here.
I believe there is not one of us on this planet who hasn’t been affected by some horrible, undeserved situation. Hopefully, we learn, we grow, we turn things around, we make things better. To me, that’s leadership: setting the bar from good solid experience and by sound example. What I cannot tolerate is a person who suddenly believes he deserves to take the helm for the sole purpose of bathing in the spotlight of recognition because as a pre-teenager, this person’s perpetrator made him feel inferior and made him think he was not pretty.
And yes, dear reader, this middle-aged man blames others for the outcome of his life because he has always wanted nothing more than to be superior and admired by others. To this day, he is adamant about not making any gesture of apology or atonement, yet still wants, craves, and demands respect from others, believing he is a person who is so qualified to lead.
Personally speaking, I think it’s nothing short of sickening.
Now hold on, dear reader—please don’t think I’m hitting below the belt. The preceding example gives me absolutely no pleasure, but I have personally known of this person’s road of destruction for more than half of my life. And with all of my heart I hope and pray for this man to come to terms, grow the hell up, and truly become a sound, contributing member of society.
Regardless, I am of the firm stance that one should walk the walk for many, many, many untold, unknown, unadvertised miles before one even thinks about informing others about how to tie their shoes.
As a person who works hard, as a person who at least tries to make improvements, the question I pose to you, dear reader, is: What do you think?
Having an idea is one thing. Wanting to do something for others is nice. Cleaning up from past episodes is indeed another fine gesture. And they are all worthy and deserving of respect, if one’s intentions are true. But to assist and to lead takes time. It takes true heartfelt commitment, all the time. Setting the pace is basically the manner in which we live our lives.
The challenges of life and time will test your mettle. Maybe to see in some strange way if you are indeed worthy of the cause.
I’m not trying to pull the rug out from under anybody, but to be a parent, to manage a team in business, to stand up to an injustice, or to hold yourself to a standard takes a lot more responsibility and exertion than some are willing to practice. For there are those who only want to take over the Good Ship of Hope and command the helm under clear blue skies and on smooth-as-glass seas, rather than pilot the craft in rough, white-capped waters.
Which poses the obvious question: Are you ready for this? Are you up to the challenge, the loneliness, the heartache, the scoffing from others, the disappointment and untold suffering that only you and God will realize? Can you, will you, stand tall against the storm of despair when things aren’t so smooth?
There are some people who make things look easy. Mr. Tiger Woods comes to mind. “Wow, it must be so hard being out there playing golf all day for a living,” some may scoff sarcastically. I say, well then go out there and do it yourself. Let’s not forget that in reality this man has been out there putting and driving that little white ball since before kindergarten every day. Now let’s not forget that his father, Earl, wasn’t even allowed to step foot on some of those golf courses because, oh my God, Earl Woods (who was good enough to serve his country as an officer in the United States Air Force) was black. But hey, after years and years of steadfast commitment and untold sacrifices, Tiger makes it all look so easy, as a true leader in the game. He is an immense inspiration to millions of folks of all ages and races, whether they whack that little white ball or not.
Another name that pops into mind when it comes to true-grit, how-do-you-like-those-apples, bring-it-on determination is Lance Armstrong. Ol’ Lance literally rode the comeback trail of battling cancer and a grueling career as a bicyclist but didn’t get all that much attention until after he won his fourth—I repeat, fourth—back-to-back Le Tour de France.
To me, just as important to society is that sweet married couple down the street and that single parent with the nice, well-behaved teenage kids. No one sees the time, the tears, the frustration, the resolve, the boatload of drudgery it took behind the scenes just to keep the union together, or to keep little Joey off the street and his sister Michelle away from drugs. Again, for those lazily coaching from the sidelines, I’m sure it all looks easy.
And that’s in part what good mentors do. They make it appear simple, keeping it simple while living life simply.
I know you know this. All of this. You and I are not children, but having a true deep respect and appreciation for a cause, your cause, is another thing entirely. Few of us, especially me, are qualified to land a wallowing jet that takes out an entire city with its load of volatile fuel that is just seconds away from tumbling out of control. But God love and God bless the person who truly straps in, who has truly studied, who certifiably passed every challenge and still fights to take on all that can be thrown at him. At the end of the day, if you can walk away from a bumpy landing, a not-so-good day at work, or a trying time with the family, well, I hope you can draw a positive experience from it, and make taking on that approach vector another day easier.
If this is you, good luck. Study up, buckle in, sit up, and pay close attention to your checklist and your personal moral compass. You’re cleared for approach, so lower, and check, and recheck your gear. Verify your flaps, maintain your current heading, and keep your eyes on your inside and outside environment.
And, of course, enjoy the ride.
My Personal Perspective
It’s Always Something
“No way!” I huffed as I ran through the Denver airport, frantic to make my next series of back-to-back flights. “You have got to be kiddin’. That’s a good one. For a moment you had me. You sounded serious.”
A few seconds later I came to a sudden stop as hundreds of people rushed around me. “No, Dave,” Chrissy, my editor, gently inserted, “there’s been a mistake and we need to add more to the book.”
Still not taking it all in, I asked, “You’re serious?” for the tenth time in less than a minute.
“I’m afraid so.” Chrissy exhaled. “I just found out myself. I know it’s a big deal—I know how busy you are—but we’ve got to do this. I’m sorry, I truly am, but . . .”
I could feel a sudden crushing weight bear down on me. As much as I tried, I couldn’t shake it off. I shook my head from side to side before sprinting through the terminal to make my next flight. “No!” I announced. “I can’t do it.”
“Dave, you’ve got to understand, this has no bearing on your writing. The book is solid, it’s just—”
Now running at full speed, weaving among herds of people sauntering too slowly for my taste, I barked back, surprising myself as I could feel the tension from within me rising, “No way. You and I finished, what—a week, two weeks ago? You said it was a wrap. No. I’m done with it, the whole thing.”
I was in no way trying to be arrogant or rude. I despised that in people, especially those “one-week wonder” bestsellers who ran down those in the business who took a chance and made them who they were. As an editor, Chrissy was more than kind and patient with my quirky personality and my high-speed lifestyle. When it came to the line-by-line editing of the manuscript, which I dreaded more than the writing even though I was anal with the pacing, the exact wording, and every example given in my works, Chrissy made the entire process non-threatening and easy to accomplish. After countless hours on the phone, Chrissy seemed more like a kid sister to me. I respected and admired her immensely.
But now I felt threatened. What she did not know, what I had not revealed to her but instead to only a handful of senior staff members of my team, was that the latest manuscript was the hardest project I had ever attempted. With it, I had stepped way beyond my comfort zone. I had been married to the project for well over four years, and during that time I went through a heart-wrenching divorce, assisted in cleaning up after the devastation of Katrina, became even more involved with the military—including traveling to Iraq—and, in between everything else, I had restarted my degree in criminal justice, was in production of my next tome, and had just signed on to host a major radio show. All in all, I just wanted to be done with that book.
“Chrissy, you don’t understand!” I again shook my head while my brain cascaded down over its endless list. “No way. I can’t do it. My life—everything I do—is planned, to even when and how long I can steal a nap. I would have never signed on for the radio show, volunteered to work with the military—It’s all too much as it is. I don’t have the time. I’ve got nothing else to give. I’m spent. Please, don’t make me do this. Listen, I gotta go,” I ended, zipping through the jet way as I boarded the airplane.
As embarrassed as I was at having ended the conversation in an unmannerly way, within seconds I was back on the cell phone bitterly complaining to my literary agent and my office’s executive director, trying to find a way to avoid the challenge.
It took a couple of days for me to cool down. Only then was I able to take it all in. Even when Chrissy first broke the news to me at Denver International, I knew I would have to “cowboy up.” Part of my resistance was that it takes me so long to scribe a single paragraph. After numerous phone calls, when everyone finally got together, we laid out a plan. It was simple: I would literally devote every free second I had to work on the book.
After a few chapters, I found my groove. The less pressure I put on myself, the less I resisted, the more things seemed to flow from me. Due to my extensive appearances that were scheduled months before, I had to adapt to little or no sleep for days at a stretch. I really didn’t mind. With so many people and so much involved with the book, I switched from wanting to be done with the project to recommitting to making the tome the absolute best that I could. I could accept nothing less. That in itself gave me solace. There were days when I was more of a zombie than a human being, like when I worked through three straight shifts camped out at a local Starbucks. Like everyone else who faces a challenge, I kept telling myself, I’ll do what I have to do.
For me, it was only when I accepted my fate that I seemed to open up, giving more than I ever thought possible.
At the end of each chapter, before e-mailing the new sections to Chrissy, my executive director, Mrs. “C,” would review the additions. Mrs. C, a very spiritual woman, always gave me a courtesy nod. At times, after reading a few pages, she would wipe the tears away with a tissue.
“This was meant to happen. God wanted you to do this. This is going to help out so many people. Just like your speaking and your radio show, it’s all about telling your story. I know you’re beyond that. But for now, God wants you to do this. Look at all the signs. It’s all clicking together.”
Remembering her words late one night after finishing another section, I smoked my celebratory cigar. As my emotions began to settle after writing, I exhaled slowly. I had at least a few hours off. I had a few hours to clear my head and count my blessings.
Whenever I faced a challenge, especially the unexpected and overwhelming ones, I always seemed to reflect on where I came from and how fortunate my life has truly become. I could think of no other person who was as lucky as myself. Even with all the chaos, the wild rollercoaster-like highs and lows, and the absolute, petty, needless bullshit flung my way, at least my life was an adventure. At least I had a purpose. Even if I failed, at least I tried.
For me, all good things seem to evolve when I least expect them. That night, without thinking, as always, at the end of a long day, I made the sign of the cross across my chest. However, that evening I vowed, “I’m not going to fight it. Do with me as you wish. I know I can do better. I know I can be better. I’m ready to listen. I’m ready to accept my fate.”
Your Personal Perspective
The True Mentor
• At times when elements of your life seem to take over, what do you do (or can you do) to keep from being overwhelmed?
• When you become overtaken, do you shut down, do you resist, or do you lash out against others? How long and how strong is your initial reaction? How long does it take you to accept an unfortunate situation?
• What makes you feel secure, helps you face the situation and begin to turn things around?
• How does it make you feel to see someone you know seem to get away with so much while you continue to strive to better yourself or those around you? Does it distract you at times? If so, do you realize how much time and energy it takes away from your focus?
• Even when it may seem as if there is no light at the end of your endeavor while those around you are in fact complete façades and morally bankrupt, do you take pride in simply being true to yourself and your cause?