Do the Work

love to report that I rallied at once and whipped that sucker into shape in a matter of days. Unfortunately, what happened was that I crashed just like the book.
     
    I went into an emotional tailspin.
     
    I was lost. I was floundering.
     
    Ringing the Bell
     
    Navy SEAL training puts its candidates through probably the most intense physical ordeal in the U.S. military. The reason is they’re trying to break you. SEAL trainers want to see if the candidate will crack. Better that the aspiring warrior fails here—at Coronado Island in San Diego—than someplace where a real wartime mission and real lives are at stake.
     
    In SEAL training, they have a bell. When a candidate can’t take the agony any longer—the 6-mile ocean swims or the 15-mile full-load runs or the physical and mental ordeals on no sleep and no food … when he’s had enough and he’s ready to quit, he walks up and rings the bell.
     
    That’s it. It’s over.
     
    He has dropped out.
     
    You and I have a bell hanging over us, too, here in the belly of the beast. Will we ring it?
     
    There’s a difference between Navy SEAL training and what you and I are facing now.
     
    Our ordeal is harder.
     
    Because we’re alone.
     
    We’ve got no trainers over us, shouting in our ears or kicking our butts to keep us going. We’ve got no friends, no fellow sufferers, no externally imposed structure. No one’s feeding us, housing us, or clothing us. We have no objective milestones or points of validation. We can’t tell whether we’re doing great or falling on our faces. When we finish, if we do, no one will be waiting to congratulate us. We’ll get no champagne, no beach party, no diploma, no insignia. The battle we’re fighting, we can’t explain to anybody or share with anybody or call in anybody to help.
     
    The only thing we have in common with the SEAL candidates is the bell.
     
    Will we ring it or won’t we?
     
    Crashes Are Good
     
    Crashes are hell, but in the end they’re good for us.
     
    A crash means we have failed. We gave it everything we had and we came up short. A crash does not mean we are losers.
     
    A crash means we have to grow.
     
    A crash means we’re at the threshold of learning something, which means we’re getting better, we’re acquiring the wisdom of our craft. A crash compels us to figure out what works and what doesn’t work—and to understand the difference.
     
    We got ourselves into this mess by mistakes we made at the start. How? Were we lazy? Inattentive? Did we mean well but forget to factor in human nature? Did we assess reality incorrectly?
     
    Whatever the cause, the Big Crash compels us to go back now and solve the problem that we either created directly or set into motion unwittingly at the outset.
     
    Sartre said “Hell is other people,” but in this case, hell is us.
     
    Panic Is Good
     
    Creative panic is good. Here’s why:
     
    Our greatest fear is fear of success.
     
    When we are succeeding—that is, when we have begun to overcome our self-doubt and self-sabotage, when we are advancing in our craft and evolving to a higher level—that’s when panic strikes.
     
    It did for me when my book crashed, and it was the best thing that happened to me all year.
     
    When we experience panic, it means that we’re about to cross a threshold. We’re poised on the doorstep of a higher plane.
     
    Have you ever watched a small child take a few bold steps away from its mother? The little boy or girl shows great courage. She ventures forth, feels exhilaration, and then … she realizes what she has done. She freaks. She bolts back to Mommy.
     
    That’s you and me when we’re growing.
     
    Next time, the child won’t run back to Mommy so fast. Next time, she’ll venture farther.
     
    Her panic was momentary, a natural part of the process of growth.
     
    That’s us as we rally and re-tackle the Big Crash. This time we’ll lick it. We’ll fix this jalopy and get it back on the road.
     
    Panic is good. It’s a sign that we’re growing.
     
    Back to Square One
     
    In the belly of the beast, we go back to our allies:
     
Stupidity
     
Stubbornness
     
Blind faith
     
    We are too dumb to quit and too mulish to back off.
     
    In the belly of the beast, we remind ourselves of two axioms:
     
     
The problem is not us. The problem is the problem.
     
Work the problem.
     
     
    The Problem Is the Problem
     
    A professional does not take success or failure personally. That’s