NEURON SECRET ONE

The Principle of Prosperity: To prosper, you must love yourself by being humble and teachable.

Captain E. Royce Williams grew up in the small rural town of Clinton, Minnesota. He got a taste of the military life in high school by becoming a corporal in the Minnesota Guard. He recalls living through the depressing years of the Great Depression and hearing his mother and father whisper with worry about keeping food on the table. Scarcity became a way of life, and Royce's parents often admonished him to be frugal and stay alert—the latter to ensure he did not make mistakes that could cost them money they did not have. Royce learned early on to listen to and respect his elders, and to remain humble and teachable.

When Royce was 11, one of his idols was a man named Ted Swank. The man owned a local gas station and used his profits to buy fast toys. Swank bought a motorcycle and charged people for rides around the town. One day Royce climbed onto the back of Swank's bike and strapped on a helmet. When Swank punched it, Royce almost fell off the back. Then he grinned.

“I think I always had the need for speed,” said Royce, “but once I got a taste of it on Ted's bike, I knew I could never lead a slow life.”

Swank tired of his motorbike and decided to buy a plane. He invested in a World War I Navy Aircraft Factory N2N biplane. It came with two open cockpit seats and no canopy. When Royce saw it, he fell in love and his desire to someday be a pilot climbed toward the sky. He quickly cut a deal with Swank: He'd sell plane ride tickets to locals in exchange for free rides for himself. Swank and Royce shook hands, and Royce went to work.

“I was motivated to sell tickets because I really wanted to ride in that plane whenever I got the chance,” said Royce.

Swank had a wild streak and thrived on “pushing the envelope.” He cut corners and took risks that others thought were far too daring. To satisfy his thrill‐seeking nature, Swank became a “barnstormer” and performed aerial acrobatics at shows in the area. He soon earned a reputation for his wild antics, and whenever Royce rode in the second seat of the N2N, he asked Swank to show him a trick or two.

“Swank liked to bring a big roll of toilet paper with him in the plane,” said Royce. “He'd throw it out the cockpit and then spin around in circles to slice the paper into dozens of white ribbons that fluttered and floated to the ground. It was a hell of a thing to see.”

Royce recalls that while Swank was a talented pilot, he was also a little cocky. He thought he knew it all and didn't need any advice. When other experienced pilots tried to give him pointers or admonish him to be more cautious, Swank just laughed and told them to get lost. He was not at all humble or teachable, and that attitude almost got him killed.

“He used to fly with a buddy in the back seat,” said Royce. “His friend carried a rifle, and Swank would swoop down low enough so his buddy could shoot wild coyotes. They'd later collect the pelts and sell them to traders.”

One day, when Swank wasn't being cautious enough, he crashed his plane into a remote field. When the N2N hit the ground, one of Swank's legs broke and a splintered bone drove into the hard ground. His buddy in the back seat almost died on impact. Swank was trapped in the cockpit for hours with his leg bleeding and the engine sitting in his lap. He lived, but he never flew again.

That incident taught Royce three things: (1) be humble and don't assume you know it all, (2) be teachable and listen to other experts who may know more than you, and (3) you need to love yourself enough not to take unwarranted risks.

Those lessons helped save his life many years later when the bullets started flying.

Royce enlisted in the Navy in August 1943 and attended flight school in Pensacola, Florida. One of his flight instructors was an old crop‐dusting pilot who'd flown during World War I. At first Royce thought the guy's flight training knowledge might be a bit dated. When his instructor showed him a few maneuvers that he'd learned as a crop duster, Royce rolled his eyes and started to question whether he should listen. Then he recalled his father's words about being humble and teachable. He also remembered how Swank had done just the opposite and almost died. Royce decided to open his ears and learn. Years later, he was glad he did.

Royce Williams earned his wings in November 1945. He flew various propeller‐driven aircraft, and then his need for speed was assuaged when they handed him the keys to a modern jet fighter. During the Korean War, Royce was assigned to Navy Fighter Squadron 781 and flew F9F‐5 Panther jets off the aircraft carrier USS Oriskany. His missions included combat operations over North Korea to thwart attacks against the South Koreans.

“We strafed a lot of ground targets and conducted close air support missions,” said Royce. “We blasted ground troops and weapons platforms but never had any dogfights because the North Koreans didn't have much of an air force. We knew the Soviets were helping them and were flying some MiG‐15s in the area, but we'd never seen any.”

On November 18, 1952, the Oriskany received orders to operate near Chongjin off the northern coast of Korea. Their operating area placed them near a Soviet airbase in Vladivostok, Russia. That morning, the weather near the carrier turned sour. Dark clouds created a thick overcast at 500 feet, and blowing snow dropped visibility down to around two miles. Bad conditions dictated radar approaches and departures for all flight operations.

Royce strapped in to his Panther and felt the jolt as the catapult rocketed him off the deck of the carrier. He pulled back on his stick, shot upward, and joined his squadron of three other Panthers. Their orders were to rain down hell on North Korean industrial targets near the Soviet border.

“We lined up with our targets and descended for our runs,” said Royce. “We were expecting some heavy anti‐aircraft fire, but we didn't get much. We made several bomb and strafing runs and headed back to the Oriskany.”

Royce landed on the deck, grabbed some chow, and prepared for his second mission of the day. He'd been assigned to a CAP mission around the Oriskany along with three other Panthers. If any bad guys approached the carrier, Royce and his team had orders to repel them by flying close enough to warn them away. If they didn't get the message, the Panther pilots had permission to shoot them down.

“We'd flown a bunch of these CAPs and had never seen a hostile bird, let alone an enemy aircraft,” said Royce. “I was planning on a routine and boring flight when I launched off the deck for the second time that day.”

Fate had other plans.

Royce and the three other Panthers in his section climbed toward the clouds at around one in the afternoon. They broke through the grey cover and found clear skies above 12,000 feet. The sun glinted off Royce's canopy and splashed beams of yellow that flickered across a clear blue backdrop. He recalled the excitement he'd felt when he'd climbed into the backseat of Swank's N2N. He remembered the rattle of the biplane's engine as it rolled down a makeshift runway and the feel of freedom when Swank propelled them toward the heavens. Ever since those days, Royce had known that the sky was his home, his domain, his sanctuary.

While in his element above the clouds, Royce had been hammered by guns and rockets from the ground, but no one had yet challenged him in a dogfight, and he was beginning to wonder if they ever would.

“My radio lit up with an excited voice,” said Royce, “The radar controller on the Oriskany blurted out a frantic report. They had spotted several bogies only eighty‐three miles north of us and the bad guys were on a direct course for the carrier.”

Royce and his team were ordered to intercept and repel. They ascended to 16,000 feet and scanned the horizon. Nothing. Royce looked up and down and craned his neck in a circle. Still nothing. He started to wonder if the radar contact had been a false‐positive signal. He glanced upward again and spotted the smoky contrails of jet fighters. Seven of them. His adrenaline surged. Then his heart raced when he saw rays of sunlight glitter off the sides of seven silver‐shiny Soviet MiG‐15s. They were high above him at about 35,000 feet.

Royce forced himself to remain calm. He knew that the North Koreans only had World War II–vintage Soviet propeller‐driven airplanes. They did not have jets. The Soviets had tried to fool NATO forces by painting Chinese or North Korean insignia on MiG fuselages, and disguising their pilots by having them wear false uniforms. The trick had not worked. NATO had little doubt as to who was flying those planes, and Royce was also certain that these seven MiG‐15s were being flown by experienced Soviet pilots.

“I knew that MiG‐15s were faster and more maneuverable than our Panthers,” said Royce. “I was really hoping we could scare them off because I didn't think we'd survive a head‐to‐head dogfight.”

Royce's radio crackled again. He heard his flight leader, LT Elwood, call down to the Oriskany and report that his fuel pump warning light was on. A radio operator in the Combat Information Center (CIC) on the carrier gave Elwood a green light to return to the Oriskany. Elwood handed off command to Royce and descended back through the cloud cover. Royce acknowledged and turned his head to the left. He saw the outline of another Panther as it banked and followed Elwood downward. He knew that LTJG Middleton, Elwood's wingman, was obligated to stay with his boss and also return to the carrier.

“I felt my heart flutter,” said Royce. “I suddenly realized that if things turned hot, the odds had just dropped from four against seven to only two against seven.”

Royce glanced to his right. From the cockpit of another Panther, wingman LTJG Rowland flashed him an okay sign. Royce looked upward as the seven MiGs screamed overhead and made an about‐face to head back toward Vladivostok. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the Soviets were heading home.

The MiGs had closed to within 45 miles of the Oriskany, well inside the threat zone, before heading away. Not wanting to take any chances, Royce and Rowland climbed up to 26,000 feet to shadow the Soviets and warn them off. They'd only gone a short distance before the MiGs made a sudden about‐face.

“I saw their burners ignite as the seven MiGs made a sharp turn back toward the Oriskany,” said Royce. “They broke into two formations of three and four aircraft each and dove toward the carrier. As they passed through the cloud cover, their vapor trails vanished and we lost contact. I radioed the Oriskany and called out ‘lost contact’ to warn them. They radioed back and said that the bogey blips were no longer visible on radar.”

Worried that they might attack the carrier, Royce dove toward the last known position of the MiGs. Seconds later, four of the Soviet MiGs burst upward through the clouds and started firing at Royce and Rowland. Their cannons flashed orange as 23‐ and 37‐mm rounds raced toward the Panthers. Instinct kicked in and Royce banked to avoid the gunfire. Then anger flushed his cheeks. He focused his eyes on the lead MiG and dove. He clicked his guns and fired a burst. A stream of 20‐mm rounds shot from his cannon and pounded into the MiG's fuselage.

“The MiG's pilot jerked left and right to avoid my cannon fire, but not in time,” Royce said. “The guy fell out of formation trailing black smoke and a spray of airplane parts.”

Royce's wingman saw the lead MiG break away and followed him downward to 8,000 feet to ensure he didn't crash into the carrier. Rowland tried to fire his guns at the MiG to finish him off, but his gun jammed. He finally broke off and turned upward to rejoin Royce.

The three remaining MiGs in the formation of four wanted retribution. They pointed toward Royce and blasted him with more cannon fire. Royce heard a dozen rounds pound into the metal of his Panther. For a fleeting moment, he felt a wave of panic well up inside his chest. Rowland had not yet returned. Royce was all alone and now faced three superior aircraft. They were racing toward him with guns blazing and Royce wondered if his first dogfight would be his last.

He took a deep breath and recalled his training. The old crop‐dusting instructor he'd once doubted had taught him a few tricks. Royce let his muscle memory take control as he rolled and jinked and banked. Just when he thought he might survive the day, the three MiGs from the other sortie broke through the clouds to join their cohorts.

“One MiG managed to get behind me on my six,” said Royce. “I used a trick I'd been taught to make him overshoot my position. Then I did a loop and got on his six. I locked on and fired.”

The Panther's high‐explosive armor‐piercing rounds detonated against the MiG's shiny fuselage. The plane disintegrated. Parts flew into the air and forced Royce to dodge the debris. Using a few more ruses he'd learned, he lined up on another MiG and fired. The Soviet plane broke away as the rounds appeared to hit, but Royce didn't follow to verify. He was too busy trying to shake two more Soviets off his six. Yellow tracers from cannon fire raced passed Royce's cockpit as he executed rollercoaster maneuvers to avoid the rounds. He heard several hit with dull thuds. He held his breath and waited for his plane to explode into a ball of fire.

When it didn't, Royce went after another MiG and pounded it with 20‐mm cannon fire. The MiG broke off in a trail of smoke. Then he heard several more rounds slam into the side of his plane. He felt the Panther shudder and knew instantly that he'd lost most of his rudder and aileron control. Only his elevators were still functioning normally. Then his low fuel light lit up.

“I didn't have any choice at that point,” said Royce. “Due to the patchy cloud cover, Rowland had not been able to find me again, and I was badly damaged. I had to break off and return to the Oriskany.”

With 37‐mm rounds whizzing past his canopy, Royce dove his wounded plane toward the dark cumulus cover. He raced past 12,000 feet and struggled to keep his plane pointed toward home. He broke through the clouds and searched for the carrier. Nothing. Only empty ocean filled his view. He began to wonder if he'd crash into the cold ocean and drown in the Sea of Japan before they could rescue him. He shook off the thought and glanced downward.

He saw a formation of U.S. warships and dropped down to 5,000 feet. A few of the ships did not at first recognize his aircraft, which had been badly damaged. They opened fire. Royce almost laughed at the irony. They finally stopped firing when they realized he wasn't a MiG.

Royce clicked his radio and reported his situation to the Oriskany's CIC. He informed them that his plane was barely controllable above 170 knots and that, with his damaged controls, he did not believe he could properly line up with the carrier for a landing. By then he was flying too low to eject.

Any carrier landing is a bitch. If you don't line up right, you could die. If you come in too fast or too slow, you could die. Or, you could just die. Landing with a damaged plane is a bitch on steroids. You lack the ability to make small adjustments as the deck pitches and rolls and surges up and down in the roiling sea. Fortunately, the captain aboard the Oriskany made the course corrections needed by moving his ship into position and by adjusting as required to allow Royce to land.

“My Panther nearly slammed onto the deck and skidded from side to side when I hit the tailhook, but she held together,” said Royce. “I climbed out of the cockpit and thanked God that those Soviet pilots hadn't been better shots. I still don't know how I made it back in one piece.”

Royce hadn't made it back in one piece. The next day, the deck crew circled all the holes on Royce's plane. Some were made by 23‐mm rounds, others by 30‐mm cannon fire, and others by parts that had broken loose and ripped through the metal. Royce climbed up on one wing while someone snapped a photo (Figure 4.2).

“They counted 263 holes in my plane,” said Royce. “It's a miracle she held together long enough for me to get back to the Oriskany.”

Sometime later, Vice Admiral Robert Briscoe informed Royce that he'd shot down at least three of the MiGs, but he was cautioned that he could tell no one about the encounter. Details of Royce's 35‐minute dogfight with seven Soviet MiGs remained top secret for another 50 years. When Russia finally declassified the incident, they reported the names of the four lost MiG pilots.

“I feel bad for those guys I shot down,” said Royce. “They were just pilots doing their job, just like me. But I'm damn glad I survived that day. If I hadn't remembered what I'd been taught, I wouldn't have. My advice to leaders, and to anyone, is to be humble and teachable. You never know if it might one day save your life.”

When I visited Royce at his canyon home in Escondido, California, he met me at the door with a grin and a glass. He asked if I wanted to join him for a drink. I said I'd have whatever he was having.

He said, “Well, I used to drink Bourbon until President Eisenhower told me he had some damn fine Scotch and that I should consider switching. I've always tried to be humble and teachable, so I did.”

Today, spry at the age of 92, E. Royce Williams is one of only 200 members who belong to an elite club of the finest aviators in history called the Golden Eagles. Photojournalist and screenwriter C.J. Machado is spearheading a project to document Royce's story in a short film titled The Forgotten Hero of the Forgotten War. Visit www.loveamazinglyproductions.com/sd‐ride‐for‐vets.html for more information and updates, or to provide support.

PHILAUTIA LOVE

Captain Williams's story illustrates the First Neuron Secret: The Principle of Prosperity: To prosper, you must love yourself by being humble and teachable.

The Greek word for prosperity is euodoó, pronounced as “you do,” which seems apropos. In its purest sense, euodoó means “to have a prosperous journey.” A sibling to euodoó is the Greek word sozo, which translates to “save, deliver, protect, heal, preserve, do well, and be made whole.”

In an earlier chapter, we mentioned another Greek word, arête, which is a close cousin to euodoó. Translating arête into English requires some creativity. Some translators call it “excellence,” while others say it means “goodness.” A few believe it stands for “virtue.” The most common reference, and the one most relevant to our discussion, is “becoming the best that you can be.”

In the epic tale The Iliad, the Greeks used arête to depict the brave warriors who exemplified the best physical skill and fortitude on the battlefield. The ancients cherished heroes like Hector and Achilles and told and retold their stories time and again. The Greeks honored the examples of humanity and courage these champions brought to bear against all odds, and against the backdrop of a brutal, tribal society.

The Greeks also gave us Odysseus in The Odyssey, in which arête is used to show the embodiment of resourcefulness, cunning, and courage. Odysseus's wife, Penelope, depicts the female side of arête when she shows us that even while enveloped in disaster, turmoil, and grief, we can still raise our chins and exhibit excellence and mettle.

The Athenian Socrates lived during the fifth century BC and stood as a shining example of someone who strived to attain the highest degree of intellectual and moral excellence.

What can we learn from the examples set by Socrates, Odysseus, Penelope, Hector, and Achilles? As leaders, we should seek to attain arête in all our endeavors and encourage our teams to do the same. By doing so, we can become the best leaders we can be, and we can also become shining examples for others to follow.

Before others will believe in us, and therefore follow us, we must learn to love ourselves by embedding arête into our psyche. The Greeks described self‐love as philautia. They divided this into two categories: selfish and selfless. The former describes an unhealthy narcissistic type of self‐love. The latter embodies selfless philautia, which reflects arête.

The Greeks believed that our capacity to love ourselves constrained our capacity to love others. They believed it was impossible to reflect love and kindness to others if you did not first love yourself. The only way we can truly love ourselves is to be humble and teachable enough to learn and practice arête. If we are not humble, we are instead arrogant, pretentious, and conceited. If we are any of these, how can we love ourselves? And if we are not teachable, we will never learn how to be humble.

Philautia is emotional, instinctual, and logical all rolled into one. Loving ourselves requires knowing ourselves. We must open our hearts and minds and let go of our fears to adopt philautia into our lives. In the beginning of this book, I referred to leadership as an “inside job.” This is philautia. We can lead no one if we can't lead ourselves. We can't lead ourselves unless we learn to love ourselves.

Philautia love means setting aside our egos, being honest with ourselves, and taking better care of ourselves so we can be better leaders whom others will emulate. Every day, every hour, and every minute your team will observe what you do and how you lead. If you set a great example, you will have a great team. If not, chances are, you will eventually have no team at all.

Aristotle once said, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not an act, but a habit.” What are your daily habits? Are they healthy or unhealthy? Do they propel you toward your life's passion and purpose or toward the rocks of doom? If the latter, your team will do what you do and follow you there.

Some historians called Musonius Rufus the “Socrates of Rome.” He was a famous Stoic philosopher, who taught his followers to form good habits. He believed that one could not just study a discipline, such as ethics, but instead must live it every day. In fact, the ancient word for ethics is synonymous with habits. Rufus believed that you could not rely solely upon intuitions, as they could be wrong. He advised tracking progress toward better daily habits by writing them down in journals. You may wish to attain leadership arête, but unless you track your journey daily, how will you know if you're making progress?

CHIEF EUDAIMONIA OFFICER

In my opinion, the word that all leaders should memorize is eudaimonia, which the ancient Greeks used to indicate a state of being happy, healthy, and prosperous. Also, having good “indwelling spirit,” which we can attain by practicing arête. I believe that the true function of every leader isn't just to ensure a properly functioning firm, as in a “well‐oiled machine,” or to solely ensure a profitable organization with a high EBITDA and stock value. It is to embody philautia by striving to attain arête and create an atmosphere of eudaimonia.

The chief executive officer of any company should also be the chief eudaimonia officer. We live in a capricious world. Most people judge leaders based on logical values. Quarterly growth, P to E valuations, profits, market share, cost cutting, and so on. They take out calculators and form opinions based on a set of numbers, statistics, and percentages. They judge the book by its cover.

Do you buy a company's stock based solely on a set of numbers, or do you “crack the book” to see what's inside? Do the company's leaders care more about people than profits? Do they strive to create an atmosphere of eudaimonia? Do they attract the best talent by building a reputation for fairness, trust, mindfulness, autonomy, altruistic endeavors, “families first,” and prosperity in all aspects of life?

If not, how might that affect their long‐term performance?

Wall Street hates the word eudaimonia. At best, they are indifferent to its meaning. Workers are slaves, right? They are only means to an end, which is to drive up stock values. If employees don't like where they work, they can quit. If a CEO wants to write a personal check to save a whale, go for it, but forget about doing so from the company's checkbook.

Obviously, investors with such attitudes have not done their homework. They have not yet discovered that Conscious Capitalists lead companies that are an order of magnitude more profitable on Wall Street. Stockbrokers should be encouraging that CEOs live by the definition of eudaimonia.

In the introduction to this book, we learned that most workers are checked out and are just trying to muddle through each day at the office. Recall that Gallup's State of the American Workplace report determined that 20 percent of respondents were actively disengaged. These employees hate their jobs, complain continuously, do just enough to keep from getting fired, and frequently surf the Internet in search of another job they can hate. Another 47 percent of workers are mostly disengaged. They report to work but are lackluster in their daily efforts. They are not inspired by their managers. Leaders offering free lunches, nap rooms, massages, and other benefits fail to engage these workers.

The implications and consequences are far reaching. As noted earlier, the hit to the world's economy is around $1 trillion each year. If this does not herald the need for better leadership, what does?

Perhaps we measure our everyday leadership accomplishments in terms of graphs, charts, numbers, statistics, accolades, and wins. Maybe the arrows point upward most of the time, but sometimes our success feels empty. Maybe, if we're honest with ourselves, we're one of the 67 percent who's not fully engaged, motivated, or inspired. Perhaps we're showing up just to earn a living so we can enjoy life outside of the office. We want to be one of the 33 percent that's fully engaged, or even part of the top 5 percent that's inspired, motivated, and fulfilled by our profession.

We're just not sure how to get there.

THE BUCK STARTS HERE

When Dorothy was in her dull and gray ordinary world at home, she didn't really appreciate what she had. She wasn't as grateful as she could have been because she didn't love herself unconditionally. Then she got swept up by a tornado and landed in the Land of Oz. Initially she saw it as an adventurous departure from her ordinary world. She met new friends, explored interesting new surroundings, and got caught up in a worthwhile quest. Then scary and strange things happened. The witch got bitchy, monkeys attacked, the wizard helped Dorothy's friends get a bunch of cool stuff they already had, and Dorothy finally had to eat some humble pie. She had to admit that her previous dreary thoughts about home were unfounded. She hadn't been humble and teachable by those in her ordinary world. She also didn't love herself enough to love her life. Finally, she clicked her heels three times and discovered that “there's no place like home.”

Many of us, fresh out of college or the military or whatever, embarked on our career paths full of “piss and vinegar” as they say. We were determined to change the world. Decades later, many of us have discovered that there's no place like home. Along the path of our own journey, we found the elixir and decided to come back home to offer what we've learned to others. What was the secret we discovered along our path?

We learned that Leadership is Love.

In fact, it's seven forms of love. To incorporate all seven forms into our lives and professions, and to embrace the Seven Secrets of Neuron Leadership, we must start with the first form. We must learn how to love ourselves unconditionally. To do this, we must undertake a Hero's Journey.

Author Joseph Campbell adapted this ancient format of storytelling, which has underpinned human interaction since the dawn of our species, and delivered it to the world as a monomyth—a pattern that we all recognize and try to emulate in our own life journeys. With the Hero's Journey pattern, one that we've experienced in nearly every book or movie, we start with a hero found in a mundane and normal “everyday” life.

For the purposes of our journey from where we are to where we want to be, we must place ourselves in the role of the hero. We are now standing on the edge of a large ocean. We can't see the other side, but we know the shore we stand upon today is not where we belong. Something tugs at our heart, whispers in our ears, and shoves us closer to the edge. Perhaps we are afraid. Maybe we're tired from the deluge of our daily struggles. We may have found comfort in the familiar, much like our favorite childhood blanket or those cozy faded jeans we cherish. We must be willing to step out of our comfort zones and find the courage to board the ship of dreams and sail to a new land.

Campbell describes the impetus to embark on the Hero's Journey as an act of volition akin to Theseus when he heard about the Minotaur, or Odysseus who was swept away by a malignant agent, or as a “mere blunder” when our hero stumbles across an event or person that pushes him or her toward the edge. In our case, as the hero of our story, we must mimic Theseus and be willing to undertake our adventure of our own free will. We must set aside fear, pride, sloth, repose, and the advice of well‐meaning friends or loved ones and risk stepping out of our comfortable world. We must learn that a hero is anyone who has survived pain and overcome obstacles and has been transformed by his or her struggles.

A true hero is willing to learn how to love themselves unconditionally, warts and all.

In the book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum describes Dorothy in her ordinary world before the tornado whisked her and Toto away to the Land of Oz:

Dorothy was obviously not happy in her gray home, but she was also reluctant to leave because, after all, it was her home. In truth, it was not the dull house or gray land that Dorothy dreaded, it was the perception of the ordinary world that she had created between her own two ears. In truth, she was unhappy with herself.

Finally, a dark and ominous tornado launched her house into the air and hurled her toward the Land of Oz so she could begin her Hero's Journey.

There are three phases in the Hero's Journey: Departure, Struggle, and Return. In the Departure phase, our hero usually refuses the call. It's natural for us to be reluctant, to question whether a new path is right for us, or to wonder if we should take any risks at all. If our pain or desire is not high enough yet to overcome our trepidation or to motivate us to do something to attain the life we've always wanted, to become the leader we were meant to be, to find the true purpose for our life, then this book may not be right for us—at least not yet. However, if our desire is high enough, then it's time to start our journey.

When we muster the courage to step outside our comfort zone and change from the inside, we can finally depart on our journey.

As we do our exercises and work on changing our attitudes and our ability to improve our situations and relationships, we will be in the Struggle portion of our journey. This will not be easy, but it will be enlightening, uplifting, renovating, exciting, and fulfilling. We will learn things about ourselves we never knew, and accomplish things we never thought possible. We will see miraculous changes, some subtle, some eye‐opening, all necessary. We will become more emotionally and professionally healthy, and become ready for the Return.

In the final phase of our journey, we can return with the “magic elixir” of wisdom we've discovered and impart that gift to others—perhaps to our subordinates, colleagues, or even our boss. We will be grateful for our situation, our profession, our income, our responsibilities, our challenges, our subordinates, our colleagues, our opportunities, our abundance, our friends, our team, our loved ones, and, most importantly, ourselves. We will be thankful each day we are granted another sunrise on this planet, for our journey is never at an end.

As Campbell says, the hero is the champion of things becoming, not of things become.

ILLUSIONS

To depart and cross the Hero's Journey threshold from our ordinary world, sail upon the turbulent ocean of challenges and tests we must face to reach the other shore, and finally return with the elixir that will take us to new levels of success, we must be willing to let go of the things we learned to hang on to—mainly our illusions. The first illusion is control. Even the strongest of us needs to be “big” enough to admit that we fear losing control. We do not need to be ashamed of our control illusions. In fact, they are merely a part of our survival instincts, deeply engrained in our instinctual brain. We all feel the need to be in control, to varying degrees, to survive.

Although some of us may thrive on chaos, even the most chaotic must admit they prefer to fashion some form of control out of the chaos. We all fear the loss of approval, a lack of recognition, or being forced into battles we did not create. Mostly, we fear letting go and letting the coin fall to one side or the other. When we want “heads,” we really want heads, not tails. We want to manipulate outcomes to our benefit, or better phrased, to our perceived benefit. What we may not realize is that what we want is often not what we need, and may be to our detriment.

As difficult as this may sound, we must learn to let the flipped coin fall where it may without interfering. The more we try to force our will on circumstances and other people, the more the universe and others will rebel against us. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Do we really want to continue fighting the currents of life and exhaust ourselves by paddling upstream? Could it be that our desire to manipulate and control ourselves and others will lead to the wreckage of our craft along the shores of life? Often, trying to control people, places, and things is a path to disaster more than bliss.

Rather than trying to bend every outcome to our will, can we be willing to let go of our illusions and set aside our fears over outcomes we are usually powerless to control? Chances are, we will be surprised and delighted when, after we let go and let things be as they should be, we are even more pleased with the results. We may see that what “was meant to be” is far more to our liking than any envisioned conclusion that our limited imagination could possibly have perceived.

When Epictetus was a young boy, he was a slave to Roman aristocrats. While in bondage, he could have been beaten or killed by his owners. He later shed the shackles and became a Stoic philosopher. Although a free man, he still lived on the edge of a knife. As a philosopher, if he rubbed an imperial Roman authority the wrong way, he might have wound up in chains. In fact, he was later exiled because of his views.

Epictetus dealt with both of these precarious situations by focusing on what he could and could not control. He advised that we can only have control over our own beliefs, thoughts, attitudes, and actions. Everything else, despite our well‐meaning desires or constant forcing and meddling, is not controllable.

The U.S. Army apparently understands this concept given that they incorporate it into their Master Resilience Training Course, which is designed to produce platoon and squad leaders. Soldiers learn why resilience is critical for success and well‐being and about factors that predict resilience, with a specific focus on change. They are taught that even in adverse conditions, they may not have control over the circumstance, but they do have control over their tongues and actions.

If we are humble and teachable, we can learn how to better discern what we can and should control and let go of any expectations over what we can't. Once we know just how far our arms and legs can reach, we can learn to love ourselves unconditionally.

HUMBLE AND TEACHABLE

Despite being the class valedictorian, Greg Keithley decided to enlist in the Navy after he graduated from high school. Over the next 31 years, inspirational and impactful leaders motivated and helped Greg earn a master's degree, earn his wings, fly F‐14 and F/A‐18 fighter aircraft, graduate from the Navy's famous TOPGUN training program, become a tactics instructor, complete five combat deployments, command a Strike Fighter squadron, and command the Navy's West Coast Strike Fighter Wing. Along the way, he gained the nickname call sign “Chaser” and retired as a captain.

When asked to define the meaning of leadership, Chaser said, “It's simple but not easy. Leaders must have the ability to inspire and impact others.”

During his first few years in the Navy, while working as a hull maintenance “welding” technician, Chaser was inspired and impacted by Chief Roque, a Filipino who had enlisted to earn his U.S. citizenship.

“Chief Roque invested in me and took the time to know me. He encouraged me to stay in the Navy. When I asked him why he cared so much about others he said, ‘show somebody you care and watch what happens.’ Roque cared for others, but he did not coddle them. Instead, he used tough love to push them beyond self‐imposed boundaries.”

After Chaser graduated from the University of San Diego, he earned his commission and was accepted into Navy flight school. During the six‐month wait for flight training, he reported to the Naval Air Station at Miramar in San Diego, California, and worked for Commander John “Bug” Roach—a legend in the fighter community.

“What became obvious to me from the first day I met Bug was how many people gravitated toward him. He cared for everyone, including me, even though I was a green ensign who hadn't yet been to flight school. He was the epitome of a leader who inspired and impacted others.”

Not long after Chaser started F‐14 flight training, Bug was lost in an A‐4 accident off the coast of San Diego.

“I saw him that morning,” said Chaser. “He was riding his motorized scooter. He pulled up next to me and asked about my schedule for the day. I told him I had two simulators to complete. He just grinned and said he was going flying in an hour and that one day I'd get to fly the real thing, too. His said, ‘come get me after I land and we'll go to the club.' I completed my second simulator and walked down the hallway at the Wing. I wondered why everyone was so quiet and somber, and then I learned that Bug was gone. I had a hollow feeling in my gut that I carry with me to this day.

“I could write a book about Bug, but what I remember most is how he treated people with respect and kindness. For the rest of my career, that's what I looked for in a leader, and what I tried to emulate when leading others.”

Years later, after earning his wings and a few more stripes on his sleeve, Chaser was thrust into a change management leadership situation where the ugly cancer of apathy and discontent had taken root.

“I was given command of an airwing aboard an aircraft carrier,” said Chaser. “We were headed toward a war zone, and my orders were to get my team ready for action. That was a tall order because they were disheartened, unmotivated, and lacked confidence. On one bulkhead, they'd hung a big sign that said ‘We Suck.’ At first I thought it was a joke. Then I learned that they actually believed it.”

Chaser encouraged his guys to open up and talk freely. He allowed them ample time to vent, complain, and bitch without interruption. When chests were finally clear, he asked them one simple question: “where do you want to be?” He asked if they wanted to remain where they were, in a dismal and miserable state, or if they wanted to change. When most expressed a desire to change, he helped them create a vision of where they could be if they worked together as a team. He then explained that to attain their vision, they all needed to be humble and teachable and focus on what they could impact.

Chaser had to make some difficult decisions to transfer out individuals he knew would never embrace the vision or cooperate with the team. Over time, he earned the trust and respect of the rest of his team, including his department heads. By doing so, he gained the cooperation he needed from the commanding officer of the carrier and others onboard who could assist. Chaser frequently listened to his team and tried to remain humble and teachable enough to set aside his bias and ego and implement their suggestions when it made sense to do so.

Chaser's airwing removed the “We Suck” sign. Over time, with his guidance and leadership, they began to see that each of them brought something unique and important to the rest of the team, and they were stronger when they worked together. Within a few years, they turned things around and earned every top performance award available for safety, maintenance, and battle readiness.

For Chaser, the idea of leadership is an all‐in proposition. If you can't commit to immersing yourself into the human aspect of an organization, you shouldn't be surprised when it never takes off.

“Virtually everyone wants to be inspired. If that essential element of life is lacking, your soul aches and you feel unhealthy and malnourished, almost as if you're dying inside. It's easy to get sidetracked by administrative tasks in a pressure‐packed environment that operates at the speed of ‘send.’ The challenge for every leader is to ensure they are personally engaged with their team. Using a keyboard won't cut it. I can't remember a single time where I was impacted by a leader's virtual presence.”

Chaser is now the executive director of the Tailhook Association. When asked why he went to work for a nonprofit organization after retiring from the Navy, he said, “Anyone who has been involved with flight operations on aircraft carriers, from pilots to aircrew to deck crew personnel, is automatically qualified to join the Tailhook Association. We have a long and proud reputation across many decades, and our membership includes some of the best pilots and crewmembers in the world, including aviators who fought in World War II, the Korean War, Vietnam, and the Iraqi wars. When I looked at my options after retirement, I wanted to stay connected with those who had inspired and impacted me over the years. The Tailhook Association has almost 9,000 members. Most are current or aspiring leaders, and I feel honored to be a part of this outstanding organization.”

Chaser is motivated to ensure that the name Tailhook connotes a positive image in the minds of all who hear it. He feels it is vitally important to honor and respect the heroes who have risked everything to complete some of the most dangerous and daring missions in history.

Most importantly, by serving his country and leading others, Chaser discovered the importance of learning to love yourself by being humble and teachable.

TEN PHILAUTIA LEADERSHIP REVIEW POINTS

1. The First Neuron Secret is: The Principle of Prosperity: To prosper, you must love yourself by being humble and teachable.
2. This principle is about self‐love as defined by the Greek word philautia.
3. Philautia is emotional, instinctual, and logical all rolled into one.
4. Embracing philautia requires creating an atmosphere of eudaimonia.
5. Eudaimonia is a Greek word that refers to a state of being happy, healthy, and prosperous.
6. Many leaders have learned that the true definition of leadership is love.
7. To improve our leadership abilities, we must be willing to undertake our own Hero's Journey.
8. We must also be ready to let go of the illusions that have previously plagued our journey.
9. To learn how to better love ourselves, and become better leaders, we must be humble and teachable.
10. This principle can be summed by these two words: be humble.

THREE STEPS TO PHILAUTIA LEADERSHIP

1. Policy: Leaders and teammates should be encouraged to be humble and teachable by spending one hour each week assuming the duties of one person on their team. For example, Herb Kelleher, founder of Southwest Airlines, often helped baggage handlers load luggage.
2. Procedure: The firm should pay for ongoing leadership training and third‐party coaching to help leaders improve their team leadership knowledge, skills, and practices. Included should be an exercise for individuals to honestly evaluate themselves, recognize and accept character assets and deficiencies, and love themselves despite any shortcomings. Management by Objective (MBO) rewards should include items for how well leaders are teachable and readily adopt what they have learned in training and coaching programs.
3. Practice: Leaders should set aside one hour each week for one person to teach others on the team. For example, a sales rep might be encouraged to do a presentation on a customer case study to discuss the situations, problems, and solutions she and her team delivered. She should include the good and the bad aspects (areas of improvement) and ensure others are recognized for their contributions. This will reward the team for their success and inspire others to emulate the actions.

ONE PHILAUTIA LEADERSHIP EXERCISE

Our first exercise is short, but not necessarily easy. Take out a notepad or fire up your PC or iPad and answer the question below. Think about each numbered item for some time before writing your answer, and be as thorough as possible. You should write at least one paragraph for each number. If you skimp on this, the NSA will know and you'll receive an “F” for this exercise.

1. Being humble and teachable
2. Encouraging playfulness and fun
3. Being generous
4. Having passion and purpose
5. Being courageous and committed
6. Exercising authority
7. Showing patience and wisdom

Life has its beginnings,

    each with its own

Special promises,

    each a door opening

To some new wonder,

Each a unique melody fashioned

    in our hearts,

Each a personal adventure

    even as at time's beginning

When darkness was dispelled

    and the sun and moon

Were first appointed to guard

    the heavens and lovingly

To guide the day and night.

Such beginnings are a renewal

    of our very being,

A sometimes fragile gift

    that must be tended and loved,

    nourished and understood,

Until all that can be, will be,

And life continues to be

    a joyful creation

Of promises and original melodies

    and endless new beginnings.

—Dr. James Kavanaugh, from Quiet Waters