Psychological motivation is what determines whether or not an individual decides to assume any endeavor. Motivation is generally produced by the personal reasons one has for wanting to achieve just about anything. When it comes to a demanding performance-centered environment, that very personal reason or set of reasons is what determines whether or not an individual is successful.
It was 1700 hours when Senior Chief Hitchcock entered the dimly lit classroom. We had been going all day, uniforms soaked, sand in places not to be mentioned, chaffing everywhere, muscles screaming, and eyelids noticeably drooping. My boat crew was up at 0330 reading the lines of surf and chalking charts. My canteen miraculously found itself half-full, and I checked the knife in my sheath to see if the Vaseline I’d coated the blade with had actually prevented rusting and calcification throughout an entire day of salt-water exposure. It hadn’t, and what’s worse, it was stubborn about going back into the casing and I sliced open the webbing of my left hand.
“It’s been three days, no tremendous accomplishment. Look to the man standing to your right, now the guy on your left. Two of you won’t be here by next week. Which leads me into tonight’s presentation. . .” Senior hit a button on a small remote hidden in the palm of his massive hand and the projection screen lit up in bright royal blue. In small yellow writing at the top of the screen read the words “Mental Toughness.” As if on cue, one of the men standing in the back of the room failed to stay awake. His knees locked and his eyes rolled back as he made the six foot descent to the linoleum floor. We tried to catch him, but weren’t quick enough and the crunch of his nose breaking reverberated to the raised platform upon which my First Phase LSCPO (Leading Senior Chief Petty Officer) was beginning his spiel. “Fuck that! Drop!!” The instructors escorted my compatriot to medical as the other 167 of us remained in push-up position for the enduring hour and a half of the lecture.
That was my introduction to any formal education on the inner workings of mental toughness. I don’t remember half of what was said, I was alternating from one arm to the other attempting in vain to shake out the pain, while trying to keep my back straight so as not to insight further physical punishment, but I learned the lesson through what I now understand to be a form of implicit training. I’ve always defined mental toughness as the mindset necessary to accomplish the task at hand despite any and all external distracters. Everyone has their own definition . . .
It’s all a matter of perspective; seeing as every one of us views the world through a different lens, it’s sometimes a challenge to get an entire team on the same page regarding what they expect from one another and from themselves. I don’t remember the man who collapsed on his face in that class, just that a man did. We were discussing a characteristic that the rest of us were able to tap into unknowingly to focus through our condition . . . or perhaps, just maybe, he was that exhausted.
When people inquire as to some of the most trying events in my life I usually get this sadistic grin on my face. The more dangerous or difficult, the more fun; the fewer the number of people who chose to persist in the face of pain, the more pride I take in the task. There was one evening I remember in particular where I came up with a metaphor for BUD/S (Basic underwater Demolitions/SEAL) training better than any explanation I’d tried to date.
I was on shift in the solitary confinement block of the disciplinary camp in the detainment facility at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. My squad was on night shift at the time so there was very little to do. Having exhausted ourselves doing push-ups in every manner we could think of (feet up on chairs, hands on chairs, chairs on our backs, clap push-ups, etc.) we did a few pull-ups while hanging from the rafters. The best challenge we devised was an excruciating one. There were thirteen metal crossbeams from one end of the tier to the other; the task was to complete four pull-ups per beam in less than ten minutes. It burned quite a bit, but it got done . . . in 7. My friend John looked at me like I was insane as I dismounted from the final thin metal beam. A decently fit fellow himself, he was taken aback by how big my crooked smile was, and how maniacal my laughter had been throughout. It sparked an interesting conversation.
He wanted to know what special warfare training was like, and how I’d managed to laugh constantly in the face of chaos. I didn’t regale him with tales of ocean swims and running with boats, I simply created a circumstance. “Where we’re standing right now” I said, “You can see the other end of the tier, and the exit. If I were to take my left hand and knock you to the ground, using that exit would look like a pretty solid idea, but you’d stand back up. Now say I balled my fist up and went in for another one as soon as you stood up, that door would become very appealing from your spot on the metal floor, and it would grow into an increasingly viable option with every blow. It's like that.” “What do you mean?” he asked. “When you’re down there on the floor, and you see the exit, there will be a split second when you consider whether to get back up or run. During that instant, your mind will search for an answer as to why you should pick yourself up. With every wallop, that answer will become more important, and eventually it will hurt so bad that it better be really good and readily available. You have to know why you’re there, and it becomes yet another hoop to jump through.” I strolled the block in silence for a moment ruminating on what I’d just said. It wasn’t about mental or physical toughness, optimism or positivity, it wasn’t even about ability or support, it was all about how bad we want something.
It would be an interesting undertaking of psychoanalysis to try to figure out why I get a kick out of doing what someone tells me I can’t, or enduring a challenge other people hesitate to. I get a thrill out of pressure, and actually struggle when life slows down and becomes less demanding. There is something very simple and appealing about facing the impossible or fighting for survival, the stressful nature of everyday life and the complications of society and complex interpersonal relationships is much more psychologically taxing. This is why we find ourselves searching for a larger purpose. Brene Brown says that “Connection is why we’re here; it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives. This is what it’s all about . . . What we know is that connection, the ability to feel connected, is neurobiologically that’s how we’re wired, it’s why we’re here.” Is it really though? It might be one of the things we desire from one another, but we’re here because something or many things motivate us to be . . .
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