How Did You Make It Out of Childhood Alive?

In my consulting practice, my favorite question to ask a leader is: “How did you make it out of childhood alive?”

They usually stare back blankly, waiting to see if this is the setup for a joke.

Nope, it’s not a joke or trick question.

I really want to know: How did you make it out of childhood alive?

Ok, I’ll go first.

California

Growing up in a dusty, rural valley, I learned early on that we were in rattlesnake country. Living some 20 miles from the nearest hospital, my parents drilled a message into us: Never, ever step where you can’t see the ground.

Daily, my brothers and I roamed wild over dry creek beds and hills covered in sagebrush. One summer afternoon, on a day too hot for outdoor adventures, we lazed at home with the doors open to encourage a breeze. I was walking down the hallway when I nearly stepped on a small brown stick on the green carpet. Except, this stick had a triangular shaped head.

Every muscle in my body went stiff.

“Ah, Marme? Help?” I called out slowly.

My mother appeared behind me instantaneously. Perhaps deciding the hallway was getting crowded, the snake slithered away into my parents’ bedroom. My mother shut the door and stuffed a towel at the bottom.

Naturally, my father was out of town that day. We phoned a neighbor, who soon arrived at our house. We listened from the hall as he opened doors and drawers until he finally found it, coiled around a nail at the bottom of my parents’ wardrobe.

With his hand wrapped in a pair of my father’s underwear, he called out, “I’ve got it!”

As he left with the snake's limp body shrouded in white Y-fronts, he turned to me.

“You were brave, Holly,” he said. “This was a baby rattlesnake–the most dangerous kind. If you had panicked, it would have startled and attacked you. Staying calm probably saved your life.”

Afghanistan

Two journalists and I sat sweating in the only shade we could find, a shadow cast from a pallet stacked high with plastic water bottles swollen from the sun.

It was 2009 and the American military had decided to base a cavalry squadron in Spin Boldok, a small town on the border with Pakistan. It was the latest move in their ever vacillating strategy, going back and forth on whether to protect the population centers or the borders.

I was based with the unit as an advisor on working with the local population to stabilize the area. So far, though, not much was happening. The relative security was mostly due to the ruthless reputation of the local Afghan commander.

“I don’t know why we’re here. It’s just a bunch of trucks hauling grapes and raw cotton across the border,” complained one of the journalists. He closed his eyes and leaned back with a huff.

The next day, the journalists set out with a patrol of light armored vehicles to survey the area. Civil Affairs and I were meeting in a corner of the tent that served as command headquarters when the Executive Officer bellowed out, “Silence!”

Over the next few minutes, I watched the choreography of thousands of hours in drills for each function to respond effectively to this very scenario. One of the vehicles had rolled over a bomb planted in the desert terrain. The hit vehicle happened to be carrying the two journalists; both were wounded. Two soldiers suffered leg wounds, one seriously. Later we learned, one of the wounded soldiers had crawled out of the vehicle and applied tourniquets to the injured journalists and soldier. All were airlifted to Kandahar and survived. The journalist who had complained the day before was a veteran war correspondent. For his next assignment, he would be navigating the battlefield without his left foot.

That’s the risk right? Except there’s more. It turns out, the vehicle that hit the bomb was not leading the patrol. One of the basic rules of tactical driving in hostile, desert terrain is to follow in the tracks of the vehicle in front of you. That’s the best proof of safety you can get. The driver of the vehicle that was hit had strayed out of the tracks.

What does all this have to do with leadership?

It might not immediately be obvious how a baby rattlesnake and a wounded journalist shaped me into the leader that I am today. But both experiences were foundational to my personal and professional development.

When I look back at that day with the rattlesnake, I see hints of how I first learned to operate intuitively in uncertain circumstances. I never forgot being told I was brave and that staying calm in a crisis likely saved my life. I carried that knowledge with me when I traveled unarmed into warzones. No matter how frightened or helpless I felt in the moment, I carried the knowledge that I was brave and it allowed me to stay calm until the danger passed.

That day in Afghanistan, when the journalist lost his foot because the driver had not stayed in the tracks, I remembered: Never, ever step where you can’t see the ground. When the **** hits the fan, whether at home, on the battlefield, or in a Zoom meeting, I’ve learned a powerful truth:

In any given moment, we have the power to reconnect to our personal stories of courage and survival. We have the power to stay grounded and remember who we are. To keep calm, evaluate our options, and act in accordance with our values.

How did you make it out of childhood alive? The way you answer this question helps me understand what those basic instincts have been telling you.

And once we figure that out, we can start the real work: learning to harness your intuitive knowledge of how to handle difficult situations, and applying that more effectively to your current challenges.

Helping you find that power is my mission.

Need help finding your footing? Let's talk.