CONCLUSION

One spring day in early 2000, my best friend, Glen, and I got a call that we were wanted in our officer in command’s office. Now. We hoofed it up there and found not only Jim McNary, our OIC, but also Tom, our platoon LPO (leading petty officer), and Dan, our chief petty officer, standing by Lieutenant McNary’s desk. It was obvious that something major was up. Were we in some trouble? If so, we figured, it must be the big kind.

“Listen, guys,” said Lieutenant McNary. “We’re short on snipers. We want you two to go to sniper school.”

Sniper school?! The idea of becoming a sniper had never occurred to me. Furthest thing from my mind, actually. I’d been a rescue swimmer and loved the water. I loved flying and had always wanted to be a pilot. But . . . a sniper? Hell, I’d never even handled a gun until I’d enlisted in the navy, and the navy (unlike the army and the marines) was not noted for its firearms training. As far as shooting weapons went, I was practically a virgin.

Plus, Glen and I were new guys. There were seasoned SEALs who had waited years to get one of those coveted Naval Special Warfare sniper school slots and sure weren’t going to be too happy about two snot-nosed young ’uns getting those billets ahead of anyone else. When those same seasoned SEALs heard that these two dipshit new guys were attending the course, they would no doubt be expecting us to fail and wash out, and they would probably be right.

Four years later, I was running the course.

This is what happens when you’re an entrepreneur. One day you’re wiping down the counters at the diner, and the next you’re opening a chain of restaurants up and down the coast. It’s a natural progression: total focus → excellence → leadership.

I served in the U.S. Navy for thirteen years, six months, and six days, most of that time in the SEAL teams but also for a few years before that as a helicopter aircrew search-and-rescue swimmer and airborne sensor operator (active and passive sonar, mostly). During that time, I experienced leaders from great to mediocre to terrible, some who nearly got me killed and some who almost certainly saved me from being killed. I served under leaders who inspired courage, loyalty, and outstanding performance from those they led, and others who inspired little but scorn. I’m happy to say the good far outnumbered the bad, but they all taught me valuable lessons.

I have been out of the service and on the battlefield of business now for close to the same length of time: eleven years, one month, and nine days as this book hits the bookstore shelves. During these years, I’ve built a multimillion-dollar start-up that blew up in my face and brought me to my knees, and another multimillion-dollar start-up that survived its early struggles and now stands tall as, if not a fully grown adult, at least a strong and healthy adolescent charging toward adulthood. During these years, I have leaned heavily on the experience and wisdom of business leaders whose savvy, good judgment, and sterling character remind me of the finest officers I’ve known.

Now that I’ve transitioned from SEAL to CEO, I often look back at my time in the military and my time in the business world and consider carefully what both have taught me about what it means to be a better leader.

When you’re in a leadership position, you are the one who has to make the impossible decisions—and yes, typically under insane pressure. A smart leader does so only after listening to the people he or she trusts without question, that loyal inner circle of proven teammates, taking in all the feedback possible from as many different trusted perspectives as possible—but still the decision itself rests on one person’s shoulders.

Being in a leadership position is not easy. You’ll take plenty of shots from the cheap seats, and some of those shots may be loaded for bear. When that happens, it may help to know that it happens to the best among us. It simply comes with the territory—which is to say, with the responsibility. And like a blade on a good whetstone, it makes you sharper.

You’ll fail, probably more than once. That, too, is not only inevitable but a positive force, guiding and propelling you forward. Failure seems to be a necessary ingredient in the humility and wisdom it takes to succeed greatly. No successful person I know has not failed, often greatly, along his or her way to great success. Don’t let those failures dim your light or keep you down—and sure as hell don’t listen to the critics, especially the ones who’ve never dared, who’ve never put their own skin in the game and name on the line.

Theodore Roosevelt, no stranger to slings and arrows from smaller men, said something about critics that has become one of my guiding quotations:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

In those thirteen years plus in the military and eleven years plus in business, maybe the most important thing I’ve learned about leadership is this: It is not some special talent or skill, some inborn ability or exceptional capacity that makes you a leader. It certainly isn’t an expensive education, high station, or family name that makes you a leader. It isn’t even necessarily past accomplishments. What makes you a leader, more than anything else, is that you dare to plant your flag in the ground and do something nobody has done or is willing to do. A leader goes first. A leader charts the uncharted.

Leaders lead. It’s that simple.

I started this book by telling you about the $15 million acquisition offer we got for Hurricane in 2014. We’ve had a few more offers since then, including interest from both A&E and IAC, the company that owns the Daily Beast, Tinder, and Match.com (among others). In the spring of 2016, we had four serious inquiries within 120 days. I haven’t bit down on anything yet . . . but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

My perfect offer would look like this: A strategic (to us) company invests in us for a large stake and a fair valuation (we are well over the $100 million mark by now), and then leaves the team and me to keep running and building the business to a valuation of over a billion, as long as we keep hitting our metrics, for as long as I want to. Which I do until I get bored and decide it’s time to put my focus on something else. Probably something that benefits humanity and stokes my passion for adventure.

And you? What does your vision or ideal scenario look like? If there’s one thing I’ve learned about targets, it’s that you’re never going to hit yours if you don’t know what—or where—it is.

I have no doubt that there is a great deal more I don’t know, a vast amount still to learn, than what I have learned so far. But I do know this: Time is too precious to waste it in playing small. Life is too precious to waste it in playing small. Whatever excites you, intrigues you, stirs your passion, I urge you to go chase it now.

Here is what I’ve learned on the field of battle, both as a SEAL and as a CEO:

Stay focused—

Keep keenly attuned to everything going on around you—

Practice violence of action—

Hold fast to a standard of absolute excellence—

Embrace the suck—

Honor and value your team—

Lead from the front—

. . . and you’ll do great things. Spend yourself in a worthy cause. I’ll be here, cheering you on.