This book relates my experiences on the frontlines of humanitarian service overseas, military training and war, and public leadership in the United States. It is not a full account of my service or, more importantly, the incredible service of those I have worked with. I have included here only a few critical moments from a few key endeavors; other parts of the journey—Albania, Chiapas, a White House Fellowship—I have left out completely.
In sharing this manuscript with friends, the most frequent comment I heard was some version of, How could you leave out the time we...
were almost attacked by hippos?
lost twenty pounds and looked like walking ghosts?
were compromised on that reconnaissance mission?
fed that starving girl?
To those not finding their stories here, I am sorry. They may not be on these pages, but I still carry them with me.
This book is not the story of my life. If it were, my family and others close to me would feature more prominently. I have worked with some incredible people—Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity, who wake every day to work among the poorest of the poor, and members of America's most elite commando units, who have given their lives defending their friends and our country. They are real heroes, and I hope that this account has shone some light on their incredible lives.
I hope that this book will be of use to those seeking to find their own place on the frontlines, as well as those concerned about loved ones who are serving or thinking of serving there. On a regular basis, I am asked things like, "I want to be a Navy SEAL, what should I do?"; "Who makes it through SEAL training?"; "My daughter wants to serve in an orphanage overseas; should I let her go?"; "Is there any way I can be of service here at home?"; or "What can I do to help veterans?" Most people, I have found, are trying to figure out how to live their lives well. I hope that this account of my experience—complete with low points and high points, mistakes and successes—will prove valuable to those who are finding their own way.
It's always tough to piece together the past, but I've been fortunate to have a number of good friends who accompanied me on this journey and have been able to shore up my memory and correct the record where necessary. I've also been fortunate to have access to the thousands of photographs I took during my travels, and the notebooks in which I recorded my observations. In addition to letters, I also have e-mails, memos, papers, and reports to look back on. My colleague Tim Ly further helped me by conducting interviews and researching key events. Still, errors undoubtedly remain. There was a boy who died when I was working in a home for children of the street in Bolivia. His story is recounted here. I was confident enough in my memory that in my earlier book, Strength and Compassion, I wrote that a broken leg had led to his admission to the hospital. After digging through bins in my basement, however, I found a notebook from my time in Bolivia where I'd written that the initial injury had been a broken collarbone. It's a minor detail, perhaps, but details matter, and I've tried to get them as right as possible. I take full responsibility for any errors of fact that remain.
It might go without saying that some of the conversations included here are not verbatim. I'm thinking specifically of the scene in Chapter 4 in which my grandfather lectures me on the virtues of Chicago pizza. I remember this lecture well, and my aunt and brother both agree that the speech sounds like him. But the incident took place twenty years ago. I've tried my best to present conversations accurately, but for some of the casual conversations recounted here, the best I could do was capture the spirit of the dialogue.
I've used pseudonyms for all living Navy SEALs and Special Warfare personnel mentioned in the book, except for those who are public figures. I have used the real names of those who died in combat. There are also two names that I assigned: "Karen" was a woman I worked with in Rwanda, and "Denis" was a Bosnian boy I knew in the refugee camps. Though I remember these individuals vividly, I was unable to confirm their names, and it was awkward to keep referring to them as "the blond volunteer from Texas" and "the pensive Bosnian boy."
I did not use composite characters or scenes in the book, and the sequence of events is largely chronological, except where indicated otherwise in the text.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the many people who helped with this project. My literary agent, E. J. McCarthy, encouraged me in this endeavor and has offered counsel and friendship every step of the way. Bruce Nichols, publisher at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, believed in this project from the beginning, and his insightful editing strengthened the final product. Tim Ly did excellent research and conducted hours of quality interviews. He is a wise and hardworking friend, and his sense of humor made him a valued assistant on this project.
My best editors are people who know me well, and my thanks go out to Audrey L. Jacobs, Rob Greitens, Marc Greitens, Barb Osburg, Sheena Chestnut, Silvette Bullard, and Jimmy Soni. Melissa Dobson served as an exceptional copyeditor. At Houghton Mifflin Harcourt I had a great set of friends and allies. Thank you to Lori Glazer, Larry Cooper, Megan Wilson, and Carla Gray. Jacques Chazaud created excellent maps, and Richard Schoenberg graciously allowed me to use his exceptional photographs from BUD/S training. My thanks also to Bob Holden, who loaned me his cabin for several days of focused writing.
I served with hundreds of incredible people—too many to thank by name, for fear that I might leave someone out. Thank you. My final acknowledgments go to the children, their families and communities, and the many relief workers and volunteers who welcomed me into their lives. Many of them told their stories to someone who could do little for them. This work is too weak a gesture to serve as a thank-you, but I hope, at least, that it reflects some of their strength.