align="center">
Kill Your Excuses
Those simple questions, as you can tell, shock your brain into realizing how rare a thing honoring your word is in this world. A simple truth: success is not easy. In order to honor your word, you must kill off all of your learned excuses. Trust me, excuses are all learned. The practice of killing off your excuses and your reasons for not honoring your word will be the hardest aspect of success you will find in the pages that follow. Killing off my own excuses has not only taken my lifetime but also is a daily adventure.
I have seen men ripped apart in combat get up and fight their way back to safety. I have seen marriages that could never hope to continue due to poor choices reset and begin anew. I have witnessed runners completely fall apart and break down emotionally and physically only to rally and finish 100-mile ultramarathons. All done by killing off their excuses and reasons and getting back to the foundational principle of success, which has always been to honor your word.
On the other hand, I’ve seen those with the most basic and minimal obstacles in life crumble because they excused themselves from doing the simple things. All across the world you can see examples of this, whether it’s in health or relationships or in their business lives. Taking days off being on point in health; excusing ourselves from the simple prospect of reading with our kids or even playing their video games with them; and even missing work opportunities because we do not feel like it. How do you learn to kill your excuses on a daily basis? The solution is simple.
Be the person you said you would be, no matter the conditions.
In each of the following chapters is a story and a process with step-by-step methods to build the foundation and structure for success. The experience of turning around the “wayward vessel” of my own life by recognizing my excuses, then being bold enough to share the facts, remains the most difficult story I wish to convey. The brutal challenge to be a part of other men and women sharing their “failure to success” processes is the second most difficult aspect of forming the stories within the following chapters. As we work through both the writing and the digesting of the stories together, I encourage you to be bold enough to read and to apply the processes and methods in your day-to-day life.
Nothing Left to Lose
My personal foundational story is the American story. Only in America can you have the freedom and safety to completely fail and build from the ashes of that experience. Our founding fathers came here to rebuild; our families now rebuild constantly. In fact, we are the rebuild nation. We are not a nation of laws. We are a republic of states, built on the notion that people can rebuild themselves and earn their lives.
I grew up during the ‘70s and ‘80s. A time with no restrictions, it seemed. A time when you could carry a gun in your truck so you could hunt after school to put meat on the table, a time when you could fistfight at school and take your punishment. And a time when parents told their kids they could do anything they wanted as long as they earned it themselves.
That attitude, that grace of parenting, and that occasional bloody nose encouraged me to earn a spot at the United States Military Academy. But that is not the story. That story, had I succeeded, would be boring or just an off-the-cuff remark about an elite kid. I am common and not elite at all.
The real story that matters is that I failed out my junior year. The crushing of the soul that happens to so many of our friends and neighbors around us didn’t happen to someone else, and it fractured me. For me, I was broken, I had proven to myself that I was not capable, and worse it seemed that society agreed with my assertion.
Flying home having failed was surreal. So real I can recall every smell and sound and how I felt. I was not numb as some recall their bottomless pits after failure. I was just overwhelmed with senses and had no direction. That complete loss of direction, that feeling of nothingness, lasted a long time.
Oddly, my parents were not disturbed by the failure. They both were, however, scared I would never recover. Like all great parents of that time who came from nothing, they merely provided a safe place to land. They didn’t put me down; they didn’t talk down to me at all. I am grateful for their strength. That strength today remains rare, indeed.
Nonetheless, the total nightmare of not knowing who I was anymore coupled with the sensation that I could never achieve a goal anymore was startling. As a young man I felt depressed and exhausted, which are still two reactions I loathe. For an old man now looking back, the sense was that I had nothing left to lose. I do not think many kids have parents who afford them the profound grace of rebuilding from loss.
During those first dangerous months with no footing, with no future, with no desire to do anything in particular, my friends fell away . . . and so did my options. As with all bouts of depression and loss, I gained weight, grew long hair, and even contemplated getting my ear pierced. Times of not knowing cause the demons to surface, that fact is very clear. The old saying “misery loves company” is true. Humans seek out people and actions that make them feel connected. When you are lost, you find others who are too.
After the “forever depressed” period of three months, my father and I had the inevitable sit down to discuss my options. The days leading up to the sit down, he merely asked me to come up with three options of jobs, or options I wanted to pursue. He offered three options: find what gives you passion, find a job, or find a college that will accept you. Yet he prefaced my search with a point of clarity: “After our sit down, you will pick one and go do it immediately. Or you will have to get a job here in town and begin to pay rent.”
Brilliant tactic of a wise old man, to be sure! Dad knew I could not bear the insult of getting a job washing windows in my hometown. And to pay rent at home would mentally cripple me. The tactic worked and brought the much-needed clarity I required to carve a new path into my future.
I am sharing this story because only in America can you go after something that excites you, even though you have failed. Getting a job to make rent did not move me. I am glad I didn’t pick that choice. Going back to college was about as appealing as sticking a hot poker in my eye. In fact, I was scared to share what excited me with my dad or anyone. Even to this day, the sharing of what excites me always feels fragile. When I sat there trying to share with Dad, the sharing seemed as fragile as a moth’s wings. I shared because I had nothing left to lose.
“Well, I am going to Minnesota to work at a fishing outfitter, because I long to be outside and want to see if that lifestyle is possible!” I said. “I leave next Monday.”
While I sat there holding the fragile future that excited me, he merely said, “Good choice. Take nothing from your past, don’t look back, and never give up.”
If you have ever started over, then you know what it is like to take the first step. The catharsis of leaving everything excites like no other. The freeing feeling is like a narcotic. The drive up to the outfitters was more exciting than going to West Point. In my thoughts, outdoor work represented who I was, not something I had to do or something I had to pass through. The job only paid $1,000 per month with room and food included. The job only lasted from April to October, but that had no bearing. I felt free and it felt like me.
Those six months of freedom closed out my thinking that I was a wholesale failure and encouraged me to ask and answer one simple question:
If there was nothing left to lose, what would I spend my life doing?
As you read my answer, a quick warning. My answer is mine, and not something I recommend to anyone. Never seek out someone else’s life because it seems cool or exciting or better than yours. Find your own life and pursue it
