Imagine it's dark outside. The moon has just slipped behind the mountains, revealing a diamond studded sky. It's cold. You've been hiking all day. You're exhausted, hungry, and looking for camp. But at this moment, camp feels about as elusive as the yeti you've heard about in these woods.
You and your group have been following the map, using the compass to help you navigate through the forest to your favorite fishing spot. Yet something feels off. You're not quite sure why, but the terrain you noticed before the sun went down didn't sit right. The map showed a stream on the right side of your path and the stream has disappeared. On the left, there's a peak that you typically use as a landmark, but it doesn't quite look right.
So, you keep going. Thinking it will look right in the next mile or so. Yet, the longer you go, the more lost you become and the more certain you are that the trail is just over the next ridge.
Eventually, you stop and realize you're lost. You have no idea where you are.
You're experienced. You have been here before. You have the equipment you need to spend the night. So, you decide the best option is to rest on it. You set up the tent, boil water, eat something and go to bed, knowing you'll have a better idea of where you are in the morning.
Morning comes. You wake up and the map is completely different from where you are. You can't find any landmarks to triangulate your position. The terrain is somewhat flat. You are completely lost.
I have worked with leaders who've been through IPOs and acquisitions. Some of them run large departments in multi-national firms. They understand their business. They understand their teams. Yet, somewhere along the way, they have lost a spark. Their self-perception doesn't quite line up with the way their teams see them. They're off the trail and can't seem to find it again.
Take one of them. He shows up for his kid's soccer game, but he's not really present on the drive to and from the game. Instead, he's thinking about a problem at work that doesn't seem to go away. Yet, at the same time, he can't recall the last time his son asked him to go outside and shoot hoops in the driveway.
He's at home for dinner every night. His relationship with his wife is fine. There's nothing wrong with it. They exchange details about the day. Where who will be and when. Yet, he can't recall the last time he and his wife went out to dinner – just the two of them.
What it actually costs
He isn't failing. That's what makes it hard to see. The metrics are green. Nobody has quit. His kids are fine. His wife is fine. But, there is nothing that ignites a spark inside nor is there anything that says things are broken. Everything is just. . . well, fine.
At work it looks like this. His team stops bringing him problems early. Not because they're afraid of him. Because the last three times they brought him something half-formed, he solved it in four minutes and moved on. So now they bring him problems late, when the problem is fully formed and mostly unfixable. He experiences this as his team getting worse at their jobs. It isn't. It's what he taught them to do.
At home it's quieter and more expensive. A kid who stops asking doesn't start again on his own. You can't wait for the invitation to come back, because it won't. You have to go get him. And the longer you wait, the further you have to go.
This gap between his perception and his reality grows each month. Why? Because things are fine. He sees no reason to exert extra energy towards change, because things are working out. Eventually, something will give. Something will stop working and things will go from "fine" to "broken."
The compass was wrong
Here's something you didn't know about the compass in the story above.
The compass was wrong. It wasn't broken. It was just wrong. You see, there was a magnet sitting against it in the pack. Not a big one. Just enough to shift the needle a few degrees from true and keep it there.
An error like this hides itself. A broken compass spins and you know immediately. A compass with a magnet next to it works perfectly, smoothly, and confidently. It just gives you a bearing that's off every single time.
So, you do everything right. You shoot a careful bearing. You walk it. You check it. You are disciplined and experienced and correct in your process, and you end up somewhere you didn't intend to be. And because the error is consistent, it compounds. One degree off doesn't matter in the first hundred yards. Ten miles later you're in a different drainage.
And, that's the gap I see in these men. Nobody is lying to him. He is not careless. But, the instrument he's using is biased in one direction, and unfortunately, it has been for years.
In his case, the magnet is generally something that was earned. Maybe it was a title. And, a decade of being right often enough that people just accepted the facts and moved on. Often, he's the most prepared person in the room. And, these are all good. But, at the same time, he's lost track of the great things in his life. His compass has been resting against a magnet in his pack without him ever knowing it.
It happens to me
Our seventeenth wedding anniversary happened this August. And, if you're like me, my wife and I had planned to do something, yet in the hustle and bustle of our daily life – she's in school to be a therapist. I'm leading the HR function for one of the fastest growing mortgage companies in the country, starting a business on the side, and serving in a busy church calling. The kids have their own things as well. So, to say the least, we are busy. A month ago, my wife mentioned that we needed time together away from the kids. Sure, we go on dates every other Friday or so, but we needed meaningful time together. And, looking at the calendar, we were booked each weekend through mid-November. I realized that if I didn't take time to make this a priority, I would miss the thing that matters most. So, we are going away this weekend. It's nothing fancy. But, we will have tonight and tomorrow to spend time together, just the two of us.
The problem is that I didn't see it on my own. My wife had to tell me because my compass said we were fine.
Stopping
When you're lost in the backcountry there's a moment where you have to stop walking. Not rest. Stop. Sit down, take the compass out, and check it against something you know is true – maybe it's the sunrise, the north star – something that will help you know whether your compass is actually pointing true.
What's hard is not checking to ensure you're pointed in the right direction. I think it's harder to actually take the time to stop. To reset. To see if things are where they need to be. Because, once you've stopped, it's easier to see where you're going. Every instinct you have tells you to keep going. To make it to the next ridge, yet that just adds more miles from your desired location.
The only way to check your read of yourself is against another person who will tell you the truth. Someone on your team. Your kid. Your wife. You ask, and then you don't explain or defend. You just write down what they say.
So this week, pick one of them. Ask one question: "What am I missing?" Write it down. And, then do something about it!
The problem I see is that most men never do this. Not because they're cowards. Because as long as nobody says anything, the bearing holds.
See you above the treeline.
PS - At the end of February I’m taking a small group of men to Ecuador. A week to stop and check the compass. A few spots left. Reply if you want the details.