Start each day with a task completed.
Find someone to help you through life.
Respect everyone.
Know that life is not fair and that you will fail often, but if you take some risks, step up when the times are toughest, face down the bullies, lift up the downtrodden and never, ever give up—if you do these things, then the next generation and the generations that follow will live in a world far better than the one we have today. And what started here will indeed have changed the world, for the better.
The University of Texas slogan
is "What starts here changes the world."
I have
to admit—I kinda like it.
"What
starts here changes the world."
Tonight
there are almost 8,000 students graduating from UT.
That
great paragon of analytical rigor, Ask.Com, says that the average American will
meet 10,000 people in their lifetime.
That's
a lot of folks. But if every one of you changed the lives of just 10 people,
and each one of those folks changed the lives of another 10 people—just 10—then
in five generations, 125 years, the class of 2014 will have changed the lives
of 800 million people.
Eight-hundred
million people—think of it: over twice the population of the United States. Go
one more generation and you can change the entire population of the world—eight
billion people.
If you
think it's hard to change the lives of 10 people, change their lives forever,
you're wrong.
I saw
it happen every day in Iraq and Afghanistan.
A young
Army officer makes a decision to go left instead of right down a road in
Baghdad and the 10 soldiers with him are saved from close-in ambush.
In
Kandahar province, Afghanistan, a noncommissioned officer from the Female
Engagement Team senses something isn't right and directs the infantry platoon
away from a 500-pound IED, saving the lives of a dozen soldiers.
But, if you think about it, not
only were these soldiers saved by the decisions of one person, but their
children yet unborn were also saved. And their children's children were saved.
Generations
were saved by one decision, by one person.
But
changing the world can happen anywhere and anyone can do it.
So,
what starts here can indeed change the world, but the question is: What will
the world look like after you change it?
Well, I
am confident that it will look much, much better, but if you will humor this
old sailor for just a moment, I have a few suggestions that may help you on
your way to a better a world.
And
while these lessons were learned during my time in the military, I can assure
you that it matters not whether you ever served a day in uniform. It matters
not your gender, your ethnic or religious background, your orientation, or your
social status. Our struggles in this world are similar and the lessons to
overcome those struggles and to move forward—changing ourselves and the world
around us—will apply equally to all.
I have
been a Navy SEAL for 36 years. But it all began when I left UT for Basic SEAL
training in Coronado, Calif.
Basic
SEAL training is six months of long, torturous runs in the soft sand, midnight
swims in the cold water off San Diego, obstacle courses, unending calisthenics,
days without sleep and always being cold, wet and miserable.
It is
six months of being constantly harassed by professionally trained warriors who
seek to find the weak of mind and body and eliminate them from ever becoming a
Navy SEAL.
But,
the training also seeks to find those students who can lead in an environment
of constant stress, chaos, failure and hardships. To me basic SEAL training was
a lifetime of challenges crammed into six months.
So,
here are lessons I learned from basic SEAL training that hopefully will be of
value to you as you move forward in life.
1. Every morning in basic SEAL training, my
instructors, who at the time were all Vietnam veterans, would show up in my
barracks room and the first thing they would inspect was your bed. If you did
it right, the corners would be square, the covers pulled tight, the pillow
centered just under the headboard and the extra blanket folded neatly at the
foot of the rack—that's Navy talk for bed.
It was
a simple task, mundane at best. But every morning we were required to make our
bed to perfection. It seemed a little ridiculous at the time, particularly in
light of the fact that were aspiring to be real warriors, tough battle hardened
SEALs, but the wisdom of this simple act has been proven to me many times over.
If you
make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the
day. It will give you a small sense of pride and it will encourage you to do
another task and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task
completed will have turned into many tasks completed. Making your bed will also
reinforce the fact that little things in life matter.
If you
can't do the little things right, you will never do the big things right.
And if
by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is
made—that you made—and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be
better.
If you
want to change the world, start off by making your bed.
2. During SEAL training the students are
broken down into boat crews. Each crew is seven students—three on each side of
a small rubber boat and one coxswain to help guide the dingy. Every day, your
boat crew forms up on the beach and is instructed to get through the surfzone
and paddle several miles down the coast.
In the
winter, the surf off San Diego can get to be 8 to 10 feet high and it is exceedingly
difficult to paddle through the plunging surf unless everyone digs in. Every
paddle must be synchronized to the stroke count of the coxswain. Everyone must
exert equal effort or the boat will turn against the wave and be
unceremoniously tossed back on the beach.
For the
boat to make it to its destination, everyone must paddle.
You
can't change the world alone—you will need some help—and to truly get from your
starting point to your destination takes friends, colleagues, the goodwill of
strangers and a strong coxswain to guide them.
If you
want to change the world, find someone to help you paddle.
3. Over a few weeks of difficult training my
SEAL class, which started with 150 men, was down to just 42. There were now six
boat crews of seven men each.
I was
in the boat with the tall guys, but the best boat crew we had was made up of
the little guys—the munchkin crew we called them. No one was over about
5-foot-5.
The
munchkin boat crew had one American Indian, one African-American, one
Polish-American, one Greek-American, one Italian-American and two tough kids
from the Midwest.
They
out-paddled, out-ran and out-swam all the other boat crews.
The big
men in the other boat crews would always make good-natured fun of the tiny
little flippers the munchkins put on their tiny little feet prior to every
swim. But somehow these little guys, from every corner of the nation and the
world, always had the last laugh—swimming faster than everyone and reaching the
shore long before the rest of us.
SEAL
training was a great equalizer. Nothing mattered but your will to succeed. Not
your color, not your ethnic background, not your education and not your social
status.
If you
want to change the world, measure people by the size of their heart, not the size
of their flippers.
4. Several times a week, the instructors would
line up the class and do a uniform inspection. It was exceptionally thorough.
Your hat had to be perfectly starched, your uniform immaculately pressed and
your belt buckle shiny and void of any smudges.
But it
seemed that no matter how much effort you put into starching your hat, or
pressing your uniform or polishing your belt buckle, it just wasn't good
enough. The instructors would find "something" wrong.
For
failing the uniform inspection, the student had to run, fully clothed, into the
surfzone and then, wet from head to toe, roll around on the beach until every
part of your body was covered with sand. The effect was known as a "sugar
cookie." You stayed in that uniform the rest of the day—cold, wet and
sandy.
There
were many students who just couldn't accept the fact that all their effort was
in vain. That no matter how hard they tried to get the uniform right, it was
unappreciated.
Those
students didn't make it through training. Those students didn't understand the
purpose of the drill. You were never going to succeed. You were never going to
have a perfect uniform.
Sometimes,
no matter how well you prepare or how well you perform, you still end up as a
sugar cookie. It's just the way life is sometimes.
If you
want to change the world, get over being a sugar cookie and keep moving
forward.
5. Every day during training you were
challenged with multiple physical events. Long runs, long swims, obstacle
courses, hours of calisthenics—something designed to test your mettle.
Every
event had standards, times that you had to meet. If you failed to meet those
standards, your name was posted on a list and at the end of the day those on
the list were invited to a "circus."
A
circus was two hours of additional calisthenics designed to wear you down, to
break your spirit, to force you to quit. No one wanted a circus. A circus meant
that for that day you didn't measure up. A circus meant more fatigue, and more
fatigue meant that the following day would be more difficult—and more circuses
were likely.
But at
some time during SEAL training, everyone—everyone—made the circus list. Yet an
interesting thing happened to those who were constantly on the list. Over time
those students, who did two hours of extra calisthenics, got stronger and
stronger. The pain of the circuses built inner strength—built physical
resiliency.
Life is
filled with circuses. You will fail. You will likely fail often. It will be
painful. It will be discouraging. At times it will test you to your very core.
But if
you want to change the world, don't be afraid of the circuses.
6. At least twice a week, the trainees were
required to run the obstacle course. The obstacle course contained 25 obstacles
including a 10-foot-high wall, a 30-foot cargo net and a barbed-wire crawl, to
name a few.
But the
most challenging obstacle was the slide for life. It had a three-level, 30-foot
tower at one end and a one-level tower at the other. In between was a
200-foot-long rope.
You had
to climb the three-tiered tower and, once at the top, you grabbed the rope,
swung underneath the rope and pulled yourself hand over hand until you got to
the other end.
The
record for the obstacle course had stood for years when my class began training
in 1977. The record seemed unbeatable until one day a student decided to go
down the slide for life—head-first. Instead of swinging his body underneath the
rope and inching his way down, he bravely mounted the top of the rope and
thrust himself forward.
It was
a dangerous move—seemingly foolish, and fraught with risk. Failure could mean
injury and being dropped from the training. Without hesitation, the student
slid down the rope, perilously fast. Instead of several minutes, it only took
him half that time and by the end of the course he had broken the record.
If you
want to change the world sometimes you have to slide down the obstacle
head-first.
7. During the land-warfare phase of training,
the students are flown out to San Clemente Island near San Diego. The waters
off San Clemente are a breeding ground for great white sharks. To pass SEAL
training, there are a series of long swims that must be completed. One is the
night swim.
Before
the swim, the instructors joyfully brief the trainees on all the species of
sharks that inhabit the waters off San Clemente. The instructors assure you,
however, that no student has ever been eaten by a shark—at least not recently.
But,
you are also taught that if a shark begins to circle your position, stand your
ground. Do not swim away. Do not act afraid. And if the shark, hungry for a
midnight snack, darts towards you, then summon up all your strength and punch
him in the snout and he will turn and swim away.
There
are a lot of sharks in the world. If you hope to complete the swim you will have
to deal with them.
So, if
you want to change the world, don't back down from the sharks.
8. As Navy SEALs, one of our jobs is to
conduct underwater attacks against enemy shipping. We practiced this technique
extensively during basic training. The ship-attack mission is where a pair of
SEAL divers is dropped off outside an enemy harbor and then swims well over 2
miles—underwater—using nothing but a depth gauge and a compass to get to their
target.
During
the entire swim, even well below the surface, there is some light that comes
through. It is comforting to know that there is open water above you. But as
you approach the ship, which is tied to a pier, the light begins to fade. The
steel structure of the ship blocks the moonlight, it blocks the surrounding
street lamps, it blocks all ambient light.
To be
successful in your mission, you have to swim under the ship and find the
keel—the centerline and the deepest part of the ship. This is your objective.
But the keel is also the darkest part of the ship, where you cannot see your
hand in front of your face, where the noise from the ship's machinery is deafening
and where it is easy to get disoriented and fail.
Every
SEAL knows that under the keel, at the darkest moment of the mission, is the
time when you must be calm, composed—when all your tactical skills, your
physical power and all your inner strength must be brought to bear.
If you
want to change the world, you must be your very best in the darkest moment.
9. The ninth week of SEAL training is referred
to as Hell Week. It is six days of no sleep, constant physical and mental
harassment and one special day at the Mud Flats. The Mud Flats are an area
between San Diego and Tijuana where the water runs off and creates the Tijuana
slues—a swampy patch of terrain where the mud will engulf you.
It is
on Wednesday of Hell Week that you paddle down to the mud flats and spend the
next 15 hours trying to survive the freezing-cold mud, the howling wind and the
incessant pressure from the instructors to quit.
As the
sun began to set that Wednesday evening, my training class, having committed
some "egregious infraction of the rules" was ordered into the mud.
The mud consumed each man till there was nothing visible but our heads. The
instructors told us we could leave the mud if only five men would quit—just
five men and we could get out of the oppressive cold.
Looking
around the mud flat, it was apparent that some students were about to give up.
It was still over eight hours till the sun came up—eight more hours of
bone-chilling cold. The chattering teeth and shivering moans of the trainees
were so loud it was hard to hear anything. And then, one voice began to echo
through the night—one voice raised in song.
The
song was terribly out of tune, but sung with great enthusiasm. One voice became
two, and two became three, and before long everyone in the class was singing.
We knew
that if one man could rise above the misery then others could as well. The
instructors threatened us with more time in the mud if we kept up the
singing—but the singing persisted. And somehow, the mud seemed a little warmer,
the wind a little tamer and the dawn not so far away.
If I
have learned anything in my time traveling the world, it is the power of hope.
The power of one person—Washington, Lincoln, King, Mandela and even a young
girl from Pakistan named Malala—can change the world by giving people hope.
So, if
you want to change the world, start singing when you're up to your neck in mud.
10. Finally, in SEAL training there is a bell.
A brass bell that hangs in the center of the compound for all the students to
see.
All you
have to do to quit is ring the bell. Ring the bell and you no longer have to
wake up at 5 o'clock. Ring the bell and you no longer have to do the freezing
cold swims. Ring the bell and you no longer have to do the runs, the obstacle
course, the PT—and you no longer have to endure the hardships of training. Just
ring the bell.
If you
want to change the world don't ever, ever ring the bell.
To the
graduating class of 2014, you are moments away from graduating. Moments away
from beginning your journey through life. Moments away from starting to change
the world—for the better.
It will
not be easy.
But
start each day with a task completed. Find someone to help you through life.
Respect everyone. Know that life is not fair and that you will fail often, but
if you take some risks, step up when the times are toughest, face down the
bullies, lift up the downtrodden and never, ever give up—if you do these
things, then the next generation and the generations that follow will live in a
world far better than the one we have today. And what started here will indeed
have changed the world, for the better.
The above was adapted from the commencement address given by Admiral William H. McRaven, ninth commander of U.S. Special Operations Command, at the University of Texas at Austin on May 17, 2014.