The Dichotomy of Leadership: Balancing the Challenges of Extreme Ownership to Lead and Win

by Jocko Willink

  We had most of the day to plan the operation and get all the necessary approvals. But I hadn’t detached. I’d gotten bogged down, obsessed with the details. I spent too much time on the approval paperwork and not enough on the plan. It was a failure to properly Prioritize and Execute. Having been pulled too far into the weeds, I was unable to see where the team needed to focus our efforts in the limited time we had available. As the time for launch neared, our mission brief was not yet complete and I wasn’t confident that we were ready. Besides, we hadn’t yet received approval for launch. With the pressure mounting, I vented my frustrations to Jocko.

  “I don’t believe we will be ready in time to launch,” I told him. “I think we should delay the operation and wait until tomorrow night.”

  Jocko disagreed.

  “Leif,” he said in a reassuring tone, “this isn’t that hard. You and the platoon are more than ready. You will see. We will get the approvals. Go ahead and brief the mission, and we’ll launch as soon as it’s approved.”

  While I became fixated on the immediate tasks to plan and execute this mission, Jocko was detached. He saw the bigger picture and why it was critical for us—for Task Unit Bruiser—to launch on as many operations as possible in those first few days on the ground.

  “We need to generate momentum,” Jocko said. “We need to do as many operations as we can here at the beginning of deployment so that we develop the experience and build the task group’s confidence in us. If we can generate enough momentum early on, that will set the tone and carry us throughout our time here.”

  Overwhelmed by the myriad details of the approval and planning process, I’d lost sight of the strategic vision. I now realized that in the bigger picture, it was important that we launch this operation that night and not delay.

  Once I gained that perspective, I was determined to make it happen. We finalized our brief, quickly filled in the remaining holes in the plan, and delivered the mission brief (the operation order or OPORD) to the team. Shortly after the OPORD concluded, we received approval and launched on the operation. As Jocko predicted, it wasn’t that hard. I hadn’t needed to overthink it. We captured the insurgent, gathered some intelligence, and returned to base without incident. When we got back, I walked into Jocko’s office.

  “You were right,” I said. “It wasn’t that hard.”

  Going forward, I recognized that I needed to better Prioritize and Execute. To do that, I needed to detach—to not get so focused on the details but instead be mindful of the broader aspects of the planning and approval process. My platoon would handle the details, and I trusted them to do so. Otherwise, time would slip away and the critically important things could get overlooked. I understood why it was critical to keep my eye on the strategic picture and pass that perspective on to my platoon. But I could do that only if I didn’t get dragged into the tactical details.

  There was a dichotomy here, and finding the equilibrium was difficult. I learned to detach myself from the details so I could more effectively lead. But a few weeks later, I learned the hard way that if a leader became too detached—too far removed from the details—critical steps were missed and the team’s performance suffered.

  I’d been slammed by this reality upon our return from one combat operation in Ramadi. We had been back at our camp, Sharkbase, for several hours when our leading petty officer approached me with bad news: Charlie Platoon’s lead SEAL communicator (or radioman) had informed him that we were missing a very sensitive piece of communications equipment.

  I was taken aback. “How can that be?” I asked, stunned. There were strict procedures in place to ensure we had proper control of such highly classified and essential gear at all times. These procedures applied to all branches of the U.S. military.

  I went to speak to my lead SEAL communicator.

  “What happened?” I asked him. He told me how he discovered the gear was missing. It was clear that he and our other SEAL radioman had not followed proper procedures. This was a serious incident and a major embarrassment for Charlie Platoon. Worse, it cast a negative light on Task Unit Bruiser and our entire SEAL Team.

  I had to go tell Jocko what had happened. He wasn’t happy. As a former SEAL radioman himself, he understood the strict procedures that must be followed and the clear lack of discipline Charlie Platoon had shown in violating them.

  I was furious with my SEAL communicators. They knew better. But more important, I was furious with myself. I was to blame. Casting blame on my radiomen was the opposite of Extreme Ownership. This was my fault, and I knew it. I had become too detached. I’d given my radiomen far too much leeway. I hadn’t periodically checked on them and ensured that proper procedures were being followed. I’d stepped too far back from the details of Charlie Platoon’s communications department.

  Initially, as Charlie Platoon began our training cycle the year before, I’d kept a much closer eye on our communications equipment procedures. But after a single early misstep, which we quickly rectified, my lead SEAL communicator routinely demonstrated he was on top of things. I felt confident in his ability to run his department, and I let him run it. I focused my attention elsewhere. And frankly, once we were on the ground in Ramadi, I had been pulled in too many different directions. I had gotten so busy that I hadn’t made time to check in with my lead communicator to ensure that he and the other SEAL radioman were in compliance with proper radio equipment–handling procedures.

  In About Face, Colonel David Hackworth wrote that he had learned this fundamental truth from his U.S. Army mentors: “An organization does well only those things the Boss checks.” Regularly checking up on procedures showed the team what I found important. Had I done so with our radio equipment, my SEAL communicators would have never gotten lax and they would have ensured proper procedures were followed. I hadn’t reminded them how critical it was for us to do so and what was at stake if we didn’t.

  Now, Task Unit Bruiser had to own this failure—my failure. There were also strict procedures to follow in the event such gear was lost, and I ensured we followed them to a tee. We immediately passed the word up the chain of command and told our higher headquarters what had happened. We sent out a military-wide electronic message informing everyone that we had lost the critical communications equipment. It was a big black eye for us—for Task Unit Bruiser, for Charlie Platoon, and for me in particular. But I had to own it. Most important, I had to make sure we would never let it happen again.

  We canceled Charlie Platoon’s combat operation for that evening. It would have been a good one, a mission we’d been planning for a couple of weeks, and I was disappointed not to be able to execute it. We almost certainly would have gotten into some Big Mix-It-Ups, killed a number of enemy fighters, and likely had substantial strategic impact in a volatile area of the city. Instead, we loaded up in our Humvees and returned to the U.S. combat outpost where we’d last utilized the missing equipment. A thorough search found nothing within the confines of the outpost’s perimeter defenses of concrete barriers and concertina wire. We then launched a foot patrol along the route we had taken previously—a road that suffered frequent vicious attacks from insurgents. It made for difficult searching, but we had enough SEALs covering with their weapons so others could scan the pavement and trash piles. After an extensive search of several hundred yards, we turned around to head back to the combat outpost.

  As we patrolled back, suddenly:

  YAK-YAK YAK-YAK YAK-YAK.

  Two insurgents opened up on us with AK-47s from an alleyway that ran perpendicular to the main road along which we patrolled. Several SEALs immediately returned fire, sending the insurgents running. Marc Lee, Chris Kyle, and I gave chase down the alleyway, using Cover and Move. But by the time we reached their previous location, the insurgents were long gone. They disappeared into the walled residential compounds of the congested urban neighborhood.

  It was time to wrap up and head home. We never found the missing equipment.

  As for me, I had
learned a valuable lesson about this dichotomy. In order to effectively lead, I had to detach. But I must never become too detached. I couldn’t obsess over the details, but I should nevertheless be attentive to them. It was a humbling lesson learned that I would never forget.

  Principle

  Naturally, leaders must be attentive to details. However, leaders cannot be so immersed in the details that they lose track of the larger strategic situation and are unable to provide command and control for the entire team.

  In combat, when you look down the sights of your weapon, your field of view becomes narrow and focused. Your vision is restricted by the small aperture of your weapons sight. You cannot see what is happening around you or the team. It is critical, then, to ensure that a leader’s default weapon position should be at high port—gun pointed at the sky, standing back to observe with the widest field of vision possible. This enables a leader to look around and even move around, where he or she can best provide command and control for the team. Most important, it allows a leader to keep the larger, overarching goals of the mission in perspective. The analogy applies directly to non-combat situations. It is no different in the business world, where leaders must ensure they don’t get sucked into the tactical details but maintain the ability to detach.

  In Extreme Ownership, chapter 7, “Prioritize and Execute,” we wrote:

  When confronted with the enormity of operational plans and the intricate microterrain within those plans, it becomes easy to get lost in the details.… It is crucial … for leaders … to “pull themselves off the firing line,” step back, and maintain the strategic picture.

  This key concept resonated with many readers and helped them improve their leadership skills. Detachment is also an ongoing issue with which many leaders struggle. Leaders cannot allow themselves to get so obsessed by the details that they lose focus on the bigger picture. It is essential for leaders to understand that this should be their default mind-set, so they can always be aware of it. If they don’t maintain a position above the fray, then leaders are failing their team and failing the mission.

  What we didn’t clearly articulate in Extreme Ownership is the need to balance somewhere between understanding the details and becoming completely submerged and overwhelmed by them. Leaders can’t get so far away—so detached—that they lose track of what’s happening on the front lines. Leaders must still be attentive to the details, understand the challenges of the teams executing the mission at the front echelon, and position themselves where they can best support their teams. This is the dichotomy that must be balanced: to become engrossed in and overwhelmed by the details risks mission failure, but to be so far detached from the details that the leader loses control is to fail the team and fail the mission.

  Application to Business

  “For some reason, I wasn’t thinking about this in my office yesterday,” said Rob. “But sitting here in the classroom today, it’s all of a sudden very clear where we as a company should be focused to improve our process and increase profitability.

  “Modularization,” Rob continued. “We need to be thinking modularization in everything that we do. This will help us reduce extensive man-hours on-site that generate huge costs. It will increase our efficiency and help project managers cut down operating expenses.”

  “That sounds promising,” I remarked. “It’s a great observation and one I’d like to dive into in more detail with everyone here. But before we do that, let’s pull back for a second and analyze why this is all of a sudden clear to you. Why do you think you weren’t thinking about this yesterday? Why is it so easy to see now?” I asked Rob.

  For the leaders in the room, understanding the answer to this question was paramount. The recognition and understanding of the Dichotomy of Leadership—the opposing forces that must be balanced—served as a powerful leadership tool to help each of them lead and win.

  * * *

  I stood in front of a classroom of fifteen senior leaders of a highly successful company. Echelon Front had been hired to run a Leadership Development and Alignment Program for their senior leaders. Most of the participants were division managers, with a wealth of experience and knowledge in their industry. The company had generated a record of success and built a solid reputation that enabled them to make substantial gains on competitors and increase their market share. As the company grew, the senior executive team wisely noted that they had no formal leadership training program for their senior leaders, and one was warranted. They asked Echelon Front to develop a program to help build into the culture of their team the principles of Extreme Ownership they’d read about. After an initial assessment with one-on-one interviews of participants and discussion with each participant’s boss, we launched the kickoff with an intensive, full-day training session. We then scheduled follow-on training events at rotating locations throughout the company’s operating region every few weeks.

  Here, at the third training session, a number of the leaders had traveled from their territories and the home offices where they spent much of their time. Independent of the content I presented and the questions and discussions generated, the requirement for each participant to pull away from his or her daily grind brought significant benefits. It forced them to detach. Removed from the details, pressures, and pressing deadlines of the front lines, they found it easier to see the strategic priorities with clarity and how best to achieve them. This concept of detachment was a critical leadership skill on and off the battlefield, in business, and in life.

  I repeated the question to Rob and for everyone else in the group: “Why do you think you weren’t thinking about this yesterday? Why is it all of a sudden clear now?”

  “Yesterday, I was making phone calls, dealing with immediate fires on a couple of different projects, and pretty much buried in my e-mail in-box,” Rob answered.

  “You were immersed in the details, down in the weeds,” I said in agreement. “And you have to be attentive to those details. You can’t pull back too much. But you can’t obsess about the details. Your job as a leader is to detach—stand back and see the bigger picture.

  “Attending this training session has pulled you away from those details,” I continued. “And as you sit here in the classroom, you’re detached. Now, what needs to be done is much clearer. It’s a key lesson that you must learn.”

  I relayed how I had learned this lesson in the SEAL Teams.

  On the battlefield, as a leader, when you look down the sights of your weapon, I explained, your field of vision is reduced from a hundred and eighty degrees or more around you to only what you can see through the small aperture of your scope or aiming device. The narrow view isn’t the leader’s job. The leader’s job is to look around and see the bigger picture. I recognized that in a SEAL platoon, which carried a massive amount of firepower, my rifle didn’t count for much. But if I wasn’t looking around, who was? No one. It was up to me.

  “Leadership in the business world is no different,” I explained. “All of you, as senior leaders, should be striving to detach so you can stand back, gain perspective, and recognize where your priorities should be focused.

  “But this is something you have to balance,” I continued. “You have to detach. But you can’t be so detached that you don’t know what is going on. Because if you don’t know what’s going on, you can’t help your team; you can’t lead.”

  To illustrate this dichotomy for the class, I told them how, as a SEAL platoon commander, I found myself struggling with where to position myself in the kill house during our close-quarters training, where the team practiced clearing rooms and hallways in an urban environment. In my previous platoon, I’d been told that as an officer, my role was to stand in the back of the train.

  “Why are you in the back of the train?” Jocko asked me, observing Charlie Platoon’s runs through the kill house from the catwalk above.

  “I thought that was where I was supposed to be,” I answered.

  “Can you tell what’s going on with
your guys at the front of the train?” Jocko asked.

  “I have no idea what’s going on up front,” I admitted. If I didn’t know what was going on up front, how could I lead? I certainly couldn’t help the team solve a particularly challenging problem, vector more resources to my shooters, or provide proper command and control.

  “If you don’t know what’s going on, you can’t lead,” Jocko told me. “You can’t be in the back, because you don’t know what’s happening up front. You can’t be all the way up front, because then you get sucked into every room clearance, and then you’re too far into the tactical details to provide proper command and control. Your position should be somewhere in the middle, with the bulk of your forces, close enough to the front to know what is going on, but far enough back that you aren’t in the weeds doing the tactical work.”

  It made sense. It was simple, but Jocko’s guidance was illuminating. I gained confidence and fully understood where I should be as a leader. Most important, I realized I wasn’t stuck in a particular position. I could move around to see what was happening and assist the team members where they needed it the most. It was an important lesson that I never forgot.

  * * *

  “To find that careful balance,” I told the company’s senior leaders, “make sure you don’t go to the extreme in either direction. I’ve seen SEAL leaders and a number of business leaders who have gone too far. You must maintain the balance: detached, but not so detached that you don’t know what’s going on and can’t lead.

  “Any leader, when things are going very badly for the team, has to step in and help them solve problems. I have seen some leaders who felt they were above solving problems. This is an extreme form of detachment, one we call ‘battlefield aloofness.’ It’s not a good thing. It can result in epic failure.”