Introduction: Learning to Trust in Your Own Potential
It’s two o’clock in the morning. A young company commander—an officer of a combat unit supporting American troops in Vietnam—is sleeping as soundly as one can during wartime. He is stationed in Đông Hà, the northernmost town of South Vietnam, just below the DMZ. A surprise mortar attack rocks him from his bed. He is immediately jolted into fight-or-flight mode.
As the S-3 of the battalion—the staff person in charge of operations—he instinctively sprints in the direction of the command bunker where all plane arrivals and departures are controlled. The blasts hit the center of the base in quick succession and as they do, they tear up all the buildings and terrain in their wake. The officer pauses momentarily to get his bearings then darts a block and a half farther until he falls into a ravine. Shrapnel flying overhead just narrowly misses hitting him. Cries from the wounded are barely distinguishable from the piercing screams of the bombs as they’re launched through the air. It looks to him as if the base is taking fire from all angles. He lifts himself up from the blood-soaked ground and takes off again, running until he reaches his destination. Pulling rifles off the wall, he turns them over to whoever has free hands. He can’t even think about assessing the damage to himself until after he gets four or five teams up into the air in roughly thirty-five to forty seconds.
He had helped install this airfield just four months earlier and had hooked up all the avionics in the towers, so even in the dark of night and in the rain of fire he knows how to navigate it well. It is from here that the MACVs, USAV command helicopters, and fixed-wing aircraft take off and land daily. And just as important, it is here where they are repaired and maintained after each mission run and battle.
Only in the aftermath of the fighting, with adrenaline still coursing through his body, does this young commander realize that his leg has been badly torn up by debris from the explosives’ shell casings.
As you may have guessed by now, the young officer in that real-life story is my father, Bobby Harris, and as scary as that combat experience had been, it wasn’t the only harrowing situation he would find himself in during his twenty-year military career. I grew up hearing several such stories and I still shudder to think about his many close calls.
But I picked this particular story to start with—as difficult as it is to tell—because it speaks volumes about trusting in your own potential. All those who pressed on, who assumed their battle roles, and who fought that night despite the fear, confusion, and imminent threat of losing life and limb had to have exceeded their own expectations. None of them could’ve imagined having the strength and presence of mind to resist such a devastating attack—and yet they did.
When the military trains you, this is one of the many deadly scenarios they are preparing you for. They know from their vast experience that with the right tools, practice, and hidden reserve deep inside you that you’ll rise to the occasion and defend yourself and your country.
From the moment the armed services set out to recruit young men and women, they not only project confidence in your potential to be this brave and mighty, they also project confidence in their ability to draw that potential out of you. Just think about the countless ad campaigns they’ve run over the years. If the slogan “We Want You” doesn’t exude faith in your potential, then certainly “Be All That You Can Be,” “Army of One,” “Army Strong,” or “Accelerate Your Life” do. These words are far more than marketing.
Anyone who has served will tell you that they can’t imagine what would happen if the military didn’t drive its troops, from the moment they enlisted, to believe in their own potential—or if the powers that be didn’t throw every available resource behind those troops to validate and make that belief a reality.
Without this belief in your own abilities, both the number of lives and the number of battles lost would be staggering. To get you to trust in yourself is the very reason they put you through the rigors of boot camp. They teach you every conceivable survival skill and drill you until you can practically respond to the threat in your sleep the way my father did in the previous story. They test you to prove to yourself and to them that you are ready to face the challenges ahead. They choose specialties that match your skills, and they give you further education and training to enhance those skills. Then they send you to the parts of the service that need your skills the most. If you don’t emerge with a stronger sense of your own abilities then, I’m not sure what could possibly instill greater confidence in yourself.
They do all of this because the physical training is absolutely necessary to survive, but so too is your mind-set. You have to trust you will be flexible enough to apply the right skill to the right challenges.
OVERCOMING THE ODDS
Trusting in our own potential is just as vital for those of us who aren’t engaged in life and death skirmishes every day as it is for warriors. We all still face challenges where we may have much to lose and we all still need confidence to overcome them. I tell you this because in the absence of hard-driving drill sergeants to ensure that we believe in, exercise, and increase our potential every day, we have to remember to do these things ourselves.
There were many opportunities for me to learn about the power of trusting in my potential when I was growing up. Both of my parents encouraged my sister Annissa and me to believe in ourselves. It wasn’t necessarily a mantra, but the message came through in the way they prompted us to try new things and to stick with them as if nothing was beyond our reach. They always seemed to know how far we could stretch before we knew it. They had a good measure of our potential and we trusted in that measure until we learned to raise the bar on our own.
Throughout my childhood I also witnessed my share of nervous recruits transform into self-assured, intrepid soldiers once they had been through training and certainly after they returned from their first tour of duty. Initially the proof was in how much their running times improved or in how many more push-ups they could do, but in time it showed in the way they walked around base with increased pride. You knew they were surprising themselves with what they could do. Watching them grow and test their limits, I came to understand that we all have more potential than we think.
And believe me, every time I heard the story that opens this chapter, I thought about how capable my father was amid all that chaos and danger. The details of what transpired that night quickly became a powerful lesson in trusting your own potential because no one walks into the military on day one ready for that kind of scene. You have to practice something a million times, and get it right just as often, in order to develop both the kind of rote survival skills he exhibited and the kind of belief in your potential that we are talking about.
Of course, this was true of my dad just as it was true for every military recruit. On the surface, my father’s military career appeared destined. First there’s the coincidence of his birthday, June 14, 1937, which also happens to be the anniversary of the founding of the US Army. And there is also his lifelong hobby of collecting and building model airplanes, which should have foreshadowed his specialty in aviation. But if you heard stories about his struggles as a very young boy, you might not have seen this path for him as clearly.
The man who is now a retired lieutenant colonel actually grew up a poor boy in the sticks of East Texas. Although he taught himself to read before entering grade school and was a stellar student throughout, it was far from guaranteed that he would get a college education or that he would have many job opportunities beyond that. No one he knew from his school had enjoyed the kind of success he envisioned for himself. What complicated matters was that he had severely underdeveloped vocal cords—a condition that left him unable to speak until age thirteen. And if that doesn’t make you doubt a future military career, consider this: When he finally became of age to enlist, America was engaged in the Vietnam War—the most unpopular and controversial conflict it had ever been in. That war also coincided with the start of the civil rights movement. As you can imagine, very few men of color were eager to fight on behalf of a country that was bleeding from the South over racism and hatred. Under these circumstances, the odds that my dad’s life would go the way it did were slim, but he trusted in his own potential. What happened between age thirteen and that mortar attack is what really inspired me, and in many ways inspired all the rules to follow.
Strangely enough it was his love of basketball that set events in motion. His school was so small that their team was made up of kids from every grade. Although he possessed natural talent, he had to practice to be as good as some of the older boys. It was a real endorsement when they believed in him enough to put the ball in his hands during the last seconds of a close game. Being clutch like that was such a great feeling that he worked even harder to make sure he was always ready for those moments. In time, he and his team made it all the way to the state championships. But even before that happened, he realized that if he believed as much in his potential to talk as he did in his potential to improve his game, he might just be able to find his voice. He understood that in the same way an athlete has to work hard to develop his core, arms, and leg muscles to play well, he would have to work hard to develop his throat muscles to speak well. He did his vocal exercises as often and as long as he shot hoops after school. With patience and perseverance, the sound came. It’s amazing—most people who know my dad now seem to hang on his every word when he is telling a story, and his unit back in Vietnam certainly listened to his every command. I think they’d be very surprised to learn that talking didn’t come easily to him.
To this day, my dad still believes that you can do anything if you want to badly enough and if you practice. There is no end to your potential if these two factors are involved. He loves to point to the example of Steph Curry, who challenges himself to make five hundred three-pointers a day, even during the off-season. You can be born with lots of innate skill, but you don’t get to be the best shooter in the NBA without putting in the work. These are qualities, by the way, that my dad not only sees in the MVPs of his favorite sports teams, but also in the military’s much-admired Special Forces.
Since trusting in his own potential carried him this far, my father pursued a bachelor of science degree from Prairie View A&M College in Texas and followed that with a master’s in engineering from Georgia Tech. He was preparing himself to build more than just model airplanes. He interrupted his graduate work for a while, resuming it later, because the Vietnam War was under way and the civil rights movement was also picking up steam, as I mentioned earlier. Both were aggressively recruiting people to their cause.
The draft was in effect, so many young men had no choice but to head into battle. The rest were free to contest our involvement in the conflict or to march for equal rights. Protests—both peaceful and turbulent—were everyday occurrences on college campuses and elsewhere across the country. Faced with a choice as to what to do, my father opted to assert his independence differently than many others would have. He volunteered to fight in Vietnam.
Shortly before shipping off to Saigon Airfield, he had a chance meeting with a representative from the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC)—an activist group to which such civil rights leaders as John Lewis and Julian Bond belonged. When this representative attempted to change my father’s mind, he told her that he strongly believed they both served different but equally important roles in progressing black lives forward at that time. She and her supporters would need to be in every nook and cranny of the country for the battle against racism to be won, but he suspected correctly that it would take a long time—years and possibly decades—for that goal to come to fruition. In the meantime, he saw that he could attain a greater degree of personal freedom within the structure of the military. He understood that if he performed the measurable steps demanded of him, especially in light of his considerable technical skills, he could quickly climb the ranks of the Army and be freer and more successful as an individual than he could ever be if he stayed behind and joined the civil rights movement. Simply put, the military needed men in great numbers. It didn’t matter what their race, ethnicity, height, weight, or eye color were. If those men could fight from the sky well enough to survive the enemy’s newest penchant for blowing up planes from the ground, and if they had the added skills to repair and maintain those fighter planes, then they’d be rock stars.
My dad recently explained his decision to me in even more eloquent terms, saying, “This is probably difficult to understand if you have not lived in the years that I lived, but the military was the first chance I had at a real freedom from home—a freedom from the pressures of having to be alert about something as simple as a drinking fountain. I don’t think that I can state it any clearer than that.”
When I think about the collective obstacles my dad successfully overcame in his early life, I certainly see and appreciate the power of trusting in your own potential. But it was hearing this specific story—the story of why my father joined the military—that impacted me the most, and motivated me to trust in my own potential too.
By the way, the beauty of my father’s approach to securing greater freedom for himself is that it went a long way toward securing freedom for others too. When he succeeded at his goal of attaining increased independence, respect, and purpose within the military and society at large, he stood as a role model for others who wished to enjoy those same liberties. His service also reflected an understanding of what the US military hoped to accomplish through the Vietnam War. By fighting against communism, the US aimed to preserve freedoms for those who were facing severe oppression. My dad remains in awe of the ideals he fought for back then, telling me recently, “I certainly understand how this nation is outfitted to declare that it is a free country. It is because of those old guys—I don’t know where they got their smarts from, but they were wise enough to write that constitution. And if you read that thing and you live to it, this is the freest nation you are ever going to see. I don’t think you’re ever going to come by another one like it.”
Although my father was pained, confused, and conflicted when he returned from two tours of duty in Vietnam and people spat or yelled derogatory comments at him because he was a veteran or because the color of his skin was different than theirs, he always met their animosity with his trademark vision and understanding. “I would rather fight for this country as it struggles than go anywhere else,” he would say. He is a true patriot and in many ways a patient teacher. He isn’t afraid of conflict and often remarks that, “Political dialogue, as nasty as it is, is a privilege.” He very clearly trusts in the nation’s potential to overcome division, just as he did. And that is a trust I share with him.
Because of his belief in self, my dad did indeed obtain the freedom and mobility he sought as a young man. He ultimately worked at the Pentagon for the Joint Chiefs of Staff overseeing US Aviation operations all over the world. He performed many duties in that capacity. Among them, he helped maintain our presence in key regions after the war and he also conducted the safe dismantling and clearing of military power from the shores of North Africa and the Mediterranean. I’m proud of the path he took and the wisdom and experiences it provided him.
RAISING MY HOPES
I clearly ripped a page from my dad’s playbook when I was preparing for my future. My passion for journalism was apparent from a young age just as his passion for airplanes was. I was driven and inquisitive too, but my secret skill is that I am an active listener. Because my father couldn’t speak until he was in his teens he perfected the art of participating in conversations with his ears and I picked that skill up by his example. I really do believe in the adage “God gave us two ears and one mouth so we would listen twice as much as we talk.” I also believe in training and conditioning myself to meet my goals.
For all these reasons and many more, I knew in my heart that I had the potential to rise to the top. So I dived right in. At first it may not have seemed like I had a plan, but at every step I evaluated what was going to get me to the next level and I went for it. I began my career in Los Angeles as a freelance writer before interning at a local TV station. From there, I moved to a variety of different cities garnering experience as a local reporter, a daytime news anchor, and an evening news anchor, respectively. I even squeezed live radio in at some point so I could get experience hosting a talk show, and became a correspondent for A Current Affair so I could get some exposure to the ins and outs of covering crime stories. But it was at the Fox News Channel where I attained one of my longest-held goals. At some point early in my exploration I set my eye on becoming a breaking-news anchor, and finally it was happening on the primetime show Fox Report Weekend.
Primetime.
You read that, right?
It was a huge deal. Not just for me, but for the industry. If you turned to any of the other cable networks during that peak broadcast block, there was no way that you’d find another face like mine. Even today, people of color—especially women of color—are terribly underrepresented on cable during those vital news-viewing hours. So believe me, I had to trust in my potential. A lot of people were watching and hanging their own hopes and dreams on me doing well.
For the longest time, I worked six days a week and prepared to start all over again on the seventh day. Every position I held and every broadcast I did was like a dry run for the next one. And just as my dad had his clutch moments on the basketball court, I had mine in the studio. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked to fill in on ensemble shows that are not my own—shows I’m not even likely to inherit one day. But I always caught that ball and ran with it because (1) it’s good practice, (2) it’s an honor to be trusted to perform well, and (3) it’s a chance to prove my further potential. If I can take the show I’m filling in on to a ratings win, then that’s a triumph for the whole team.
It was this spirit and belief in the limitlessness of growth that led me to Outnumbered, a program I’ve been cohosting since it debuted on April 28, 2014, and more recently to Outnumbered Overtime with Harris Faulkner, the relatively new show I’ve been anchoring since October 2, 2017.
Together these two programs enable me to do the things I’ve enjoyed most in my broadcast career, all at the same time. On Outnumbered, I cohost with three other women and a guy in the middle whom we “outnumber.” We get to examine the top news stories of the day as well as the leading political and cultural issues dominating the headlines. Then on Outnumbered Overtime with Harris Faulkner, which directly follows Outnumbered in the daytime lineup, I am able to track and more fully cover a few of the day’s most important emerging news stories in real time. I can utilize the resources of Fox News Channel’s journalists in the field, conduct one-on-one interviews with the latest newsmakers, and engage in deep discussions with the network’s top contributors so that the coverage of breaking news is as complete as possible. It really doesn’t get more fun and interesting than that.
It’s humbling to see so many of my TV dreams coming true. Recently I moved to a new office. I was taking down a decorative decal I had custom made a long time ago that hung prominently on the wall across from my desk when it occurred to me that I am constantly telling myself to trust in my own potential in one way or another. The words on the decal read: “Just a girl who decided to go for it.” I always liked this saying because the “Just a girl” part reminds me of where I started from and encourages me to keep humble in the face of my success, while the “who decided to go for it” reminds me to continue to strive to fulfill my potential. I smiled at the synchronicity of the message. I was having a moment of self-doubt as we are all apt to have before stepping into a new role—one I’ve wanted for a very long time. I had recognized that this latest development in my life was big, and I wondered if it might actually be too big. I asked myself if I really thought I had what it takes. The words on the decal reassured me that I did. I had filled big roles before and had even grown into some. Just thinking about this saying, which I had clung to for so many years, convinced me that I could do it again. It was actually telling me to trust in my own potential.
BEING YOUR OWN BEST CHAMPION
I must admit that I got a sudden jolt of motivation as I was writing the previous paragraphs. There is something about taking stock of the things you’ve done up until the present moment that proves your capabilities to the naysayer in your head. Making a list of the challenges you’ve overcome and the triumphs you’ve had helps you realize how much potential you’ve already fulfilled. It will give you the confidence to reach for that next goal.
Even looking at the times you tried and failed tells you a lot about your resilience and capacity for growth. Potential isn’t only about the great qualities and aptitude we already have in store—it’s also about what we add to ourselves with every experience we have and with every effort we make. So draw up that list now. You might be surprised by the confidence it gives you and the push it provides to go do something that ensures another great growth spurt.
I’d also encourage you to think about one of the primary appeals the military held for my dad: He liked the fact that there are clearly defined steps to getting promoted to each rank—to living up to the potential each stripe represents. You have to fulfill one manageable goal at a time before you can arrive at the big one. Every time you set and achieve a measurable and realistic goal you will be gaining faith in your abilities to achieve the really big one at the end of the process. It’s important to aim high, but rushing in to attain that final goal before all the other pieces are in place will only make you doubt your potential. Remember, trust is something you build. So start racking up trust by doing one thing each day that furthers your goal or makes you a better you.
To help me remember to do that, I collect inspirational quotes much like the one on the decal that hung on my office wall. I’ve shared a few of these quotes below. Hopefully they will inspire you to take the kinds of steps that build trust in yourself as well:
Be the person you needed when you were younger.
—AYESHA SIDDIQI
You cannot give another human the responsibility of your happiness.
—TARAJI P. HENSON
I want to inspire people. I want someone to look at me and say, “Because of you, I didn’t give up.”
—ANONYMOUS VIRAL MEME