Leap to Your Limits

  • Published
  • By Lt. Col. Oliver K. Leeds
  • 92nd Air Refueling Squadron commander
One of the lessons I carry around with me every day is something I learned from the jumping events in high school track and field. I was intimidated by the high jump. Unlike the long jump, where every leap into the sand pit could be measured and faults were not embarrassing, the high jump presented a daunting binary challenge: clear the bar or make an embarrassing spectacle!

Knocking the bar down could hurt if it landed between myself and the mat, and the groans from spectators could be ego-devastating! Some of my long jumps were better than others, but none felt like failures. In the high jump, however, failure was certain. Every competition has the same sequence: jump, succeed, jump, succeed, jump, fail. It was always there, stalking me. Eventually, my limits prepared me to announce to the world, "I failed!"

One day, at my more comfortable long jump pit, my attitude swung a 180. Simply put, I was discontented not knowing if I had done my best. Could I have run faster? Did I jump too far behind the line? Should I have waited for the breeze to shift directions? The second guessing went on and on. I didn't have this problem in the high jump. In the high jump I always knew I did my best, because I pushed myself until I failed. Eureka!

Had I found comfort in failure? Yes, because it assured me I had done my best, and removed regrets for not having tried.

My thoughts turned immediately to the sealed and addressed, yet un-mailed, envelope on my desk at home. It was college application season and I had been accepted to all four schools to which I had applied. But the application on my desk was different--it was to "the long shot school"--the school I would go to if I could, but seriously doubted I had a chance.

Wasn't it smarter to avoid failure? I could spend the rest of my life thinking I wasn't rejected, rather than apply and remove all doubt. But that day, 23 years ago, I glanced over my shoulder at an unusually inspiring high jump bar. I walked out of my uncertain sand, went home and mailed the application. Sure enough, two months later I was rejected. It was my first true failure in the road of life, but I have spent the decades since confident that I have done my best and grateful that I had learned to live a life without regrets.

Some of my fellow Airmen surprise me for not seeing that lesson. I have known people not to apply for jobs for fear of rejection. I've known noncommissioned officers and officers alike to retire before finding out if they were selected for a promotion. All kinds of challenges declined for some form or flavor of failure-avoidance.

Life is short and an Air Force career is fast. Not failing does not mean you are successful; it means you traveled too cautiously. Leap to your limits, learn from failures and live without regrets. That is a successful journey!