very morning in basic SEAL training, my instructors, who at the time were all Vietnam veterans,
would show up in my barracks room and the first thing they would inspect was your bed.
It was a simple task — mundane at best.
But every morning we were required to make our bed to perfection.
If you make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the day.
It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task and
another and another.
By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed.
Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter.
If you can't do the little things right, you will never do the big things right.
And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made.
and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better.
I was in the boat with the tall guys, but the best boat crew we had was made up of the
the little guys — the munchkin crew we called them — no one was over about five-foot-five.
They out-paddled, out-ran and out-swam all the other boat crews.
The big men in the other boat crews would always make good-natured fun of the tiny little
flippers the munchkins put on their tiny little feet prior to every swim.
But somehow these little guys, from every corner of the nation and the world, always
had the last laugh — swimming faster than everyone and reaching the shore long before
the rest of us.
SEAL training was a great equaliser.
Nothing mattered but your will to succeed.
Not your colour, not your ethnic background, not your education and not your social status.
If you want to change the world, measure a person by the size of their heart, not the
size of their flippers.
Several times a week, the instructors would line up the class and do a uniform inspection.
But it seemed that no matter how much effort you put into starching your hat, or pressing
your uniform or polishing your belt buckle — it just wasn't good enough.
The instructors would find "something" wrong.
For failing the uniform inspection, the student had to run, fully clothed into the surf zone
and then, wet from head to toe, roll around on the beach until every part of your body
was covered with sand.
The effect was known as a "sugar cookie."
There were many a student who just couldn't accept the fact that all their effort was
in vain.
That no matter how hard they tried to get the uniform right, it was unappreciated.
Those students didn't make it through training.
Those students didn't understand the purpose of the drill.
You were never going to succeed.
You were never going to have a perfect uniform.
The instructors weren't going to allow it.
Sometimes no matter how well you prepare or how well you perform you still end up as a
sugar cookie.
It's just the way life is sometimes.
If you want to change the world get over being a sugar cookie and keep moving forward.
Every day during training you were challenged with multiple physical events — long runs,
long swims, obstacle courses, hours of calisthenics — something designed to test your mettle.
Every event had standards — times you had to meet.
If you failed to meet those standards your name was posted on a list, and at the end
of the day those on the list were invited to a "circus."
A circus was two hours of additional calisthenics designed to wear you down, to break your spirit,
to force you to quit.
No one wanted a circus.
A circus meant that for that day you didn't measure up.
A circus meant more fatigue — and more fatigue meant that the following day would be more
difficult — and more circuses were likely.
But at some time during SEAL training, everyone — everyone — made the circus list.
But an interesting thing happened to those who were constantly on the list.
Over time those students — who did two hours of extra calisthenics — got stronger and
stronger.
The pain of the circuses built inner strength, built physical resiliency.
Life is filled with circuses.
You will fail.
You will likely fail often.
It will be painful.
It will be discouraging.
At times it will test you to your very core.
But if you want to change the world, don't be afraid of the circuses.
As Navy SEALs one of our jobs is to conduct underwater attacks against enemy shipping.
We practiced this technique extensively during basic training.
But as you approach the ship, which is tied to a pier, the light begins to fade.
The steel structure of the ship blocks the moonlight, it blocks the surrounding street
lamps, it blocks all ambient light.
To be successful in your mission, you have to swim under the ship and find the keel — the
center line and the deepest part of the ship.
This is your objective.
But the keel is also the darkest part of the ship — where you cannot see your hand in
front of your face, where the noise from the ship's machinery is deafening and where it
is easy to get disoriented and fail.
Every SEAL knows that under the keel, at the darkest moment of the mission, is the time
when you must be calm, composed — when all your tactical skills, your physical power
and all your inner strength must be brought to bear.
If you want to change the world, you must be your very best in the darkest moment.
Start each day with a task completed.
Find someone to help you through life.
Respect everyone.
Know that life is not fair and that you will fail often.
But if take you take some risks, step up when the times are toughest, face down the bullies,
lift up the downtrodden and never, ever give up — if you do these things, then the next
generation and the generations that follow will live in a world far better than the one
we have today.
And what started here will indeed have changed the world — for the better.
Thank you very much.