When I was a boy in Maine, my dad used to take me hunting every year in the northern Maine woods. One year, when I was just fourteen years old, we set off from the hunting camp into a cedar swamp. It was snowing, and the sun was nowhere to be found. We walked a long distance, or at least it seemed that way to me, but we saw many deer signs along the way. The swamp was beautiful but eerie and quiet under the winter snow.
Early in the afternoon, we stopped for a break. My dad had been quiet for a long time. Suddenly, I felt a little uneasy and asked if there was anything wrong. He pointed up at a tree with a piece of sheet metal hanging from it. It looked like it came from an airplane.
"Do you see that piece of metal?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied hesitantly.
He added, "We walked in a big circle. You see, without the sun, you may think you are walking in a straight line, but with no horizon or point of reference, the tendency is to walk in a circle."
My dad was a great woodsman and hunter. Oftentimes, he relied on his instinct to traverse through the woods, and it truly amazed me. On this day, however, he left an important piece to his navigation instincts in his pocket: his compass. After smoking a cigarette, his compass miraculously appeared, and several minutes later, I could see he had formulated a plan. He drew out a map in the snow and pointed to a spot with a stick.
"I think we are about right here," he said. "So follow a few yards behind me. We are going to walk south. I think we can reach the logging road that the camp is on by dark."
In November, the Maine sun would begin to set just before four p.m., and by five p.m., it was dark—I mean really dark. "If it gets too dark to walk safely, we are going to stop and build a fire for the night."
Yes, I was scared, but I followed along. I trusted my dad, and he was now trusting his compass. It got dark about an hour and a half later, and I was certain he was going to stop to build that fire any minute. As we came through an area of thick alders and down a little knoll, the logging road appeared. We had come out about two miles from the camp, and now he and I knew exactly where we were. Although we had a long walk in the dark with our flashlights, we didn't care. The rest of the hunting party was already long since back at the camp and were now firing shots in the air about every ten minutes in hopes we would follow the sound.
That day was a valuable lesson I never forgot. In life and in business, we need only trust our compass. It will always lead us safely on our journey. Sometimes you may be on the road less traveled, and you find yourself as I did with that pit in your stomach, uncertain of the future and which direction to go. The compass I speak of, while not quite the same as the one you hold in your hand, works much the same way. This is your internal compass. It is held close to your heart and is as accurate as the trust you have in yourself. It's not easy to trust yourself, especially when others are depending on you.
My dad trusted his compass.
He knew he had to keep me safe, and I'm sure that weighed heavily on him that afternoon, which is also why I believe he took the time after his initial error (not using his compass) to think through his plan and get us out safely. If you are in a leadership role, your followers are looking to you for direction. Sometimes business can be like the cedar swamp on that November afternoon or a mountain battling the elements. Don’t make the mistake of setting off in a direction without setting your course and referring back to your compass often. Each step you take may lead you farther from your objective if you don’t check your compass.
It's okay to accept help along the way, but ultimately you have to trust yourself. Leadership is oftentimes lonely, but demonstrating great leadership is also trusting yourself, trusting that your compass will bring you home. As a fourteen-year-old boy, I trusted my dad. He was a great leader. He made mistakes, but ultimately he demonstrated the quality that the followers of leaders look to: belief in self, trust, and the confidence they are keeping us on course with course corrections along the way.
By: Gerry Savage
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