Character – Grandpa Bob Encouraging Leadership

Teachers, Mentors, and the Grace That Carries Us

“There is no Frigate like a Book / To take us Lands away.”

Emily Dickinson wrote these words in her quiet room, understanding something I didn’t grasp for decades. The greatest journeys begin within.

I know her poem only because of my 11th grade AP English teacher, Mr. Cox. As a rambunctious and cocky 11th grader, would I have taken any of my “super valuable” time to read poems, sonnets, short stories, even books? No way.

But because of his work (and the work of countless other teachers along the way), I did read. A lot. I learned tons of material and information that didn’t matter to me at the time…but matter a lot today.

My focus back then was simple. Be the best student, get the highest test scores, pass as many AP tests as possible, and earn varsity letters in multiple sports. Mostly, I wanted to beat everyone else, pure and simple. It helped that I was blessed with an almost photographic memory and could recall facts and formulas with ease (sadly, not so much nowadays).

I carried that mindset into college. I loved being the student who defined the grading curve for the class. I was annoyed if I didn’t get every single point on an assignment, midterm, or final. I had an almost uncontrollable drive to outshine everyone…as if that was all that mattered.

I was completely wrong.

On the bright side, that drive and motivation made me a successful student and propelled me into my early career.

On the other hand, seeing everyone as my competition, and less as people, meant I probably missed out on a lot of fun. And lots of friendships that never happened. I was so focused on the destination that I forgot to notice who was traveling with me.

That realization connects me back to Dickinson’s frigate in ways I never expected. She saw the book as a vessel capable of carrying anyone, anywhere, without cost or permission. But what I’ve learned over nearly fifty years since high school is that I was asking the wrong question. It was never “How far can I go?” It was “Who am I becoming, and who’s helping me understand?”

My journey from that hyper-competitive teenager to what I hope is a much more caring, thoughtful, empathetic, nuanced, and life-giving person has been propelled by those same teachers I mentioned earlier, and a longer line of guides who keep showing up at the right time in my life.

I didn’t realize it then, but those books, poems, and teachers were all part of my fleet of frigates. Each one quietly helped me close the distance between knowledge and understanding, between my ambition and wisdom.

My mentors, family, and friends have all been vessels that carried me through changing seas. Some taught me to sail straight into the wind. Others reminded me that drifting for a while can be part of my journey as well. Each lesson mattered, even the ones that didn’t make sense at the time…especially those.

Over time, life has a way of sanding down our sharper edges, revealing something deeper underneath. My focus slowly shifted from being the best at something to becoming the best version of myself.

Now, when I think about Emily Dickinson’s frigate, I picture something far greater than a book. I picture a lifetime of learning, carried by the people who invested their time, wisdom, and patience in me. Mr. Cox, and others who gave freely of their time and wisdom, helped me see that the destination isn’t solely becoming the top of the class. It’s finding a profound depth of understanding, the expansion of empathy, and the ability to see beauty and meaning in small, unexpected places.

If I could go back and talk to that 16-year-old version of myself, I’d tell him the real tests aren’t scored on paper. They’re graded every day in how we treat people, how we listen, and how we show grace.

I’d tell him that the frigate he thinks he’s steering alone has always been guided by grace. The true measure of his voyage will be how much space he makes for others to come aboard.

We’re all learning to sail, carried by the steady hand of God.

We never really travel alone.

Photo by Rafael Garcin on Unsplash

The Gift of Grace

There are times when we are firmly in the right. The facts are clear. The other person made a mistake or caused harm. In that moment, we face a choice. We can leverage our position of strength and press our advantage. Or we can give grace.

Grace is the strength to let go of proving a point. The willingness to give someone space to recognize what went wrong and find their way back. Every one of us needs that space, because every one of us makes mistakes.

Grace holds truth in one hand and love in the other. It sees what happened and names it honestly. It also holds out the invitation to begin again. In this way, grace strengthens relationships and helps keep them whole.

Grace looks to the future. A person rarely grows when held down by another’s righteousness. They grow when they feel the freedom to face their mistakes with dignity. Grace creates space for that freedom.

The flow of grace is a gift that we depend on. It honors truth. It protects relationships. When we give grace, we often find that it changes us as well.

We may discover that the person we extend grace to carries burdens we never knew about. When we choose grace over vindication, we become more human, more aware of our own weaknesses, and more capable of genuine compassion.

“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if one has a grievance against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do.” – Col 3:12–13

Photo by Mrugesh Shah on Unsplash

Reflections on Campo Sahuaro

At kilometer 32 just south of San Felipe,
where warm breezes wandered,
and stars blanketed the sky —
more stars than anywhere I’ve ever been.

Off-road racing brought us there,
wide sandy beaches just a short walk away,
bathtub-warm waters stretching out forever,
the tides carving their quiet stories in the sand.

Under their shady palapa,
watching the sun rise and fall on the horizon,
Mom and Dad built their place from scratch,
one humble project at a time.
It was luxury camping at its very best.

Their place was just across the arroyo from the beach,
where Dad taught Julianne to drive a stick shift
on the wide-open sand.

How I long to beam back there.
To see them again.

To hear their voices busy with new plans,
to see what they’ve been working on,
to sit with them in the shade at cocktail hour,
chips, salsa, and all the shrimp we could eat,
as the afternoon melts softly into evening.

I’d love to hear who’s come to visit lately.

Both are gone now, but the memories remain.
Their laughter rides the breeze,
as fresh as the salty air,
that still stirs in my heart.

Backstory: A Campo Sahuaro Adventure

When Mom and Dad bought their lot around 1988, it was nothing more than a small concrete slab and four stakes marking the corners of their sandy “oasis.” What made this campo special was its access to a fresh water well…rare in that part of Baja.

Their lot sat on a bluff overlooking an arroyo, with the Sea of Cortez just beyond the sandy beach. In Mexico, buying a lot like this meant purchasing a long-term lease from the property owner. As long as you pay the annual lease (which was under $1,000 per year) you control the land. Anything they built on it was theirs.

Because Mexico has nationalized property in the past, many Americans build semi-permanent structures that can be dismantled and hauled away if needed. That kind of caution remains, even though nothing like that has happened in a very long time.

Being a concrete guy, Dad’s priority was pouring a lot of concrete. He laid down a huge patio that would become the base for everything else, including one of the largest shade structures I’ve ever seen. It didn’t happen overnight. This was a multi-trip (multi-year) endeavor, often coinciding with supporting Team Honda’s off-road racing efforts. They’d haul supplies and tools down along with pit equipment. In the early ’90s, sourcing building materials in Baja was still hit or miss so they brought most of what they needed with them.

By around 1991, Dad was ready to build a workshop. It would be like a shipping container, made of wood, with big swing-down doors on each end that doubled as ramps. He welded little leveling stands to the top of each door so they could serve as sleeping platforms when opened. I slept on those doors under the stars every chance I got.

As with everything at Campo Sahuaro, there’s a story behind that build.

We were down there pitting for Team Honda, which meant several fellow pit crew members were staying at my parents’ place. At that point, it was mostly a shaded patio and a small pump room. Many of the guys were carpenters, so they brought their tools and were ready to build.

Dad’s motorhome was packed. The center aisle was filled with 2x4s, stacked at least five feet high. Getting around inside was nearly impossible. Behind the motorhome, he towed a converted motorcycle trailer that he’d built at least ten years earlier. It was loaded with a perfectly stacked cube of 4×8 plywood sheets. The walls of the future workshop.

I happened to be traveling with them on that trip, ready to help with both pitting and construction. About 50 miles from the campo, we heard a loud crash and scraping noise. We were driving across a dry lakebed, the road raised 15–20 feet above the flat terrain. I looked out just in time to see the trailer tumbling down the embankment.

Dad got the motorhome stopped, and we rushed out to assess the damage. The trailer tongue had sheared clean off under the weight of the plywood. Thankfully, it hadn’t failed earlier, during high-traffic sections of our trip. The trailer was upside down in the lakebed, still lashed to its cargo. That cube of plywood was completely intact.

Within minutes, two vans carrying some of our crew pulled up behind us. We counted heads — at least ten of us, including a few high school football players. It wouldn’t take long to relocate all that wood.

A chain gang formed. We passed sheet after sheet of plywood up the embankment and loaded it onto the vans, lashing them down with tie-downs and ropes we’d salvaged from the trailer. We even hauled the trailer carcass back up the hill. At the very least, we figured we’d salvage the tires and axle.

That’s when an old Toyota pickup rolled up. A local man hopped out. I greeted him with my high-school-turned-Baja-race-pit-guy-Spanish. Lots of smiling, gesturing, and broken sentences later, we learned he was a welder and fabricator. He was heading to San Felipe to visit family and watch the race.

He looked over our trailer, nodding thoughtfully. He said he could take the trailer on his truck bed along with the remains of the tongue and hitch. He’d rebuild it and leave the rebuilt trailer at his brother’s restaurant in San Felipe. We asked him how much he’d charge us for that service. His response was $20(!).

I confirmed that his plan was to haul our trailer back to his shop (about 40-50 miles back), rebuild it, and then he’d tow it all the way down to San Felipe for $20. We told him there was no way we’d let him do that for anything less than $200. His eyes got real wide. I don’t think he believed what I was saying. I said that we’d gladly pay him that amount for all that he’d be doing for us.

We loaded the trailer carcass onto his truck bed, shook his hand, and paid him the agreed $200. We wouldn’t be able to see him at the conclusion of the job, so pre-payment was our only option. He turned around with his new load and headed back to his shop.

We mounted up and continued to Campo Sahuaro, wondering if we’d ever see that trailer again.

The Workshop Rises

The race went great. The workshop was built in a day or two with the expert help of our crew. The carpenters led the way and the rest of us did our best to help and stay out of their way. Copious amounts of alcohol were consumed around the campfire, many snacks and excellent meals were eaten, heroic stories (some of them true) were shared with lots of laughter along the way.

On the way home, we stopped at Baja 2000, the restaurant where our mystery welder said he’d leave the repaired trailer. And there it was.

Not only had he fixed it. He’d reinforced it, straightened the bent parts, and welded it all back together better than before.

Legacy

Over the years, I visited Campo Sahuaro many times, sometimes with my wife and daughters. As mentioned earlier, Dad taught my oldest daughter to drive a stick shift truck on the beach in front of their place when she was probably 12 or 13 years old.

I loved knowing the stories behind everything built there. Most of the stories involved improvisation, imagination, and always perseverance. There were a ton of lessons at their property about staying focused and overcoming obstacles in the pursuit of your goals.

I loved sleeping under that blanket of stars, watching satellites traverse the sky (there’s a lot more of them up there nowadays). I loved swimming in the warm ocean. Most of all, I loved being with Mom and Dad, sharing good times and making memories with them at their special place, 32 kilometers south of San Felipe.

p/c – I asked ChatGPT to make an image of a starry night on the beach based on my story. Amazingly, the image it rendered is mostly how I remember it…except for the houses on the front row (Mom and Dad’s place was on the second row), and the dry-docked fishing skiffs that used the campo as their base of operations.

Lessons in Failure – the Mark of a True Leader

There’s a saying that often floats around in entrepreneurial circles: “Fail fast, fail often.” While the origins of this phrase are up for debate, its lesson is clear. Failure isn’t just an inevitable part of leadership. It’s one of the most defining. How a leader reacts to failure (their own or their team’s) can reveal their true character and shape the trajectory of their future success.

But here’s the thing: writing about failure and leadership can quickly sound like a series of cliches. We’ve all heard the platitudes about “learning from mistakes” and “rising stronger.” But there’s a deeper message about what truly separates those who lead with integrity and vision from those who crumble when things go wrong.

When failure strikes, leaders face a choice. They can own it, adapt, and come back stronger. Or they can point fingers, wallow in resentment, and stall out. The decision often happens in an instant, but its impact can last a lifetime.

Great leaders take ownership of failure, even when it’s not entirely their fault. Why? Because owning failure builds trust. When a leader says, “This didn’t go as planned, let’s discuss what we’ll do to fix it,” they inspire confidence. They create a culture where the team feels safe to take risks, knowing that mistakes are part of growth, not reasons for punishment.

When leaders blame others, they erode trust. Pointing fingers, whether at the team, external circumstances, or bad luck, signals an unwillingness to reflect and adapt. Over time, this creates a toxic environment where innovation dies and progress stalls.

“Fail fast, fail often” isn’t about being reckless. It’s about embracing experimentation and accepting that not every idea will succeed. Failing quickly means you can pivot sooner, learn faster, and ultimately get to a better solution.

This idea requires two things:

Humility: The willingness to admit when something isn’t working.

Agility: The ability to adapt and try again without becoming paralyzed by setbacks.

Elon Musk is a great example. From continual iterations of experimentation and failure at SpaceX—including multiple RUDs (rapid unscheduled disassembly in rocket speak)—to the challenges Tesla faced in scaling production and support, he’s built companies on the idea of learning through failure. Musk doesn’t see failure as an end point. He sees it as feedback. A necessary step on the path to success.

To handle failure effectively, leaders need more than optimism. They need a process. Here’s a simple approach that works (notice I didn’t say it’s an easy approach):

-Recognize the failure and what it means. Be transparent with your team.

-Reflect on what went wrong without assigning blame. Focus on systems and strategies, not personal shortcomings.

-Identify key takeaways. What worked? What didn’t? What’s worth trying again?

-Adjust your approach based on lessons learned.

-Recommit to the goal with a renewed focus and determination.

Failure doesn’t only teach leaders how to solve problems. It shapes their emotional intelligence (if they allow it). Leaders who’ve faced setbacks tend to have more empathy and patience. They’ve had to overcome multiple failures themselves, so they know how challenging failures can be for their teams.

When leaders normalize failure, they create cultures where people aren’t afraid to take risks or push boundaries. That’s where breakthroughs happen.

The mark of a true leader isn’t perfection. It’s how they handle failure. Whether they embrace it as a teacher or fear it as an enemy. The choice of owning mistakes, adapting, and persevering defines not just their success, but the success of everyone they lead.

The next time failure arises, ask yourself: Will I let this moment shape me for the better? Will I lead my team through it with grace and determination? Will we learn from this failure?

The answers will set the course for everything that follows.

Photo by David Trinks on Unsplash

Why Manners Matter

“Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon them, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law touches us but here and there, and now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in.” – Edmund Burke

-Why do we say Please and Thank You?

-Why do we hold the door for the next person?

-Why do we show respect for our elders?

-Why don’t we interrupt someone when they’re speaking (at least, most of the time)?

Mostly because we were taught these behaviors by our parents, or someone in authority, when we were growing up. We may have learned by being told explicitly, or by watching others that we admire acting in these ways.

As Burke points out, manners are more important than laws. They are fundamental in establishing the boundaries of our behavior, of integrating us within our community.

Manners show our respect for those around us. They create a standard for how we work with others.

Consider the manners (customs) that are in play where you work. It doesn’t matter if you work in construction, nursing, information technology, or any other field. If you work with people (which you always do whether they are your co-workers, your customers, or both), your manner of behavior will be critical to your success. Good manners create a positive environment, build strong relationships, and foster a culture of respect and professionalism.

Since we are creatures of habit, it’s easy to establish either a habit for lacking manners, or for having them. The disciplined decision to operate your life within the bounds of good manners is a decision that will pay consistent dividends. Good manners can be the foundation for a disciplined approach across all areas of your life. When we are polite and considerate, we remind ourselves of our values and our commitment to treating others (and ourselves) with dignity.

The simple act of saying “Please” and “Thank You” (and meaning it) shows our vulnerability to others, and at the same time, our appreciation for what they have done for us. Powerful ways to remind us of our humility and gratitude many times each day.

Edmund Burke observed, “Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn at no other.” Our behavior and proper manners will be a teacher to those around us, whether we intend it or not. Our actions, grounded in good manners, can inspire those around us to adopt similar behaviors.

It’s easy for each new generation to look at the rules and traditions of prior generations (manners) as archaic, overly formalized, and irrelevant in their “new modern era.” They may rationalize away the need for good manners on this basis. However, dismissing the importance of manners can lead to a breakdown in social cohesion. Our challenge is to adapt the principles to modern contexts while preserving the core values of respect and consideration.

Manners are a timeless currency that never loses value—so spend them generously and watch how rich life can become.

p/c Robert Collins on Unsplash

Leadership Pitfalls: Don’t Be a Don Henry

Early in my career, during my time as an internal auditor, I learned a lot about people. I spent countless hours observing and interacting with individuals at all levels of organizations, from front-line employees to CEOs. This unique vantage point taught me a foundational lesson: the success of any organization usually hinges on the character and behavior of its leaders.

In our small audit teams, we developed a shorthand to quickly convey our impressions of the people we interviewed. We’d use these labels —like Adam Henry and Don Henry— to help summarize complex personalities in a few words. After interview meetings, we might describe our interviewee as a good guy, a solid operator, an Adam Henry, a Don Henry, or perhaps someone who was DUP, or DUC.

Let me translate those last four:

Adam Henry – Asshole
Don Henry – Dickhead
DUP – Definitely Unpleasant (not quite an Adam Henry)
DUC – Definitely Unclear (meaning they seemed like an idiot)

What’s the difference between an Adam Henry and a Don Henry? While both are problematic, the distinction lies in their approach and the impact on those around them. Adam might be uncooperative and arrogant, but Don takes it a step further—using their position to intimidate others and make them feel as dumb as possible. Don loves to belittle people and fosters a toxic environment that stifles collaboration and creativity.

Were our shorthand judgments fair? They may not have been, but they were usually quite accurate based on our interactions. Remember, most people are on their “best” behavior when talking to an auditor (even though most of us would rather not talk to auditors). Imagine if they weren’t on their best behavior.

These judgments, though informal, often reflected deeper truths about the individuals we encountered. A company with too many Don Henrys, for instance, might struggle with low morale, high turnover, and a lack of innovation—challenges that will cripple long-term success.

There was nothing special about us, as auditors, making these assessments of the people we were interviewing. All of us make these assessments as we work with other people. These same assessments are being made about us by other people all the time.

Is this person a good guy, a strong operator, a pleasant person, a team player? Or are they on the opposite end of the spectrum? Should I trust this person to have my best interests at heart, or are they solely in this for their own gain at all costs?

Companies of all sizes, no matter the industry, are made up of human beings, working as a group (hopefully as a team, but not always) to achieve key goals (hopefully the organization’s goals).

If the people who manage a company are Adam Henrys, or worse—Don Henrys, that organization will have difficulty succeeding. They might succeed in the short term, but over a multi-year time horizon, these negative traits in the people managing the business will lead to poor morale, declining creativity, declining teamwork, and declining execution.

Recognizing and addressing “Don Henry” behaviors is crucial for any organization aiming for sustained success. Leaders who prioritize their team’s well-being, encourage collaboration, and foster a positive work environment are far more likely to achieve lasting results.

The next time you’re interacting with colleagues, ask yourself: Am I being an Adam Henry, a Don Henry, or something better?

p/c – Ben White, Unsplash.com