UT alum Adm. William H. McRaven gives students the "hook 'em horns" at the university's commencement last week.
McRaven,
the commander of the U.S. Special Operations Command who organized the
raid that killed Osama bin Laden, stressed the importance of making your
bed every morning, taking on obstacles headfirst, and realizing that
it's OK to be a "sugar cookie."
All of his lessons were supported by personal stories from McRaven's many years as a Navy SEAL.
"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,"
McRaven told students. "It matters not your gender, your ethnic or
religious background, your orientation, or your social status."
We first saw this speech at the Military Times. Here's the video of the full speech with the transcript below:
Here are McRaven's 10 lessons from his years of experience as a Navy SEAL, via University of Texas, Austin:
I have been a Navy SEAL for 36 years. But it all began when I left UT for Basic SEAL training in Coronado, California.
Basic SEAL training is six months of long torturous runs in the soft sand, midnight
swims in the cold water off San Diego, obstacles 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 life time of challenges crammed into six months.
So,
here are the ten lesson's I learned from basic SEAL training that
hopefully will be of value to you as you move forward in life.
Every
morning in basic SEAL training, my instructors, who at the time were
all Viet Nam 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—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.
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 good will of strangers and a strong coxswain to guide them.
If you want to change the world, find someone to help you paddle.
Over
a few weeks of difficult training my SEAL class which started with 150
men was down to just 35. 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 five.
The
munchkin boat crew had one American Indian, one African American, one
Polish America, one Greek American, one Italian American, and two tough
kids from the mid-west.
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
feetprior 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 a person by the size of their heart, not the size of their flippers.
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 fine "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 a student 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.
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 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.
But
an interesting thing happened to those who were constantly on the list.
Overtime 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.
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.
During
the land warfare phase of training, the students are flown out to San
Clemente Island which lies off the coast of San Diego.
The
waters off San Clemente are a breeding ground for the 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.
They 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 summons 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.
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 two
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.
The
ninth week of 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 area between San Diego and Tijuana
where the water runs off and creates the Tijuana slue's—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 to quit from the instructors.
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—Malala—one person 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.
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
starting to change the world—for the better.
It will not be easy.
But, YOU are the class of 2014—the class that can affect the lives of 800 million people in the next century.
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 take 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 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.
Thank you very much. Hook 'em horns.
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