I had been told that if you are going to mess up, then mess up one hundred percent. I didn’t really understand what this meant until I messed up—big.
That’s when it clicked. Don’t train (or operate) with the intent of not making a mistake. Train to win. And when mistakes happen, learn from them and move on.
We were deep into our several-month CQB and raids training package. The platoon was nearly finished clearing the objective (a live-fire shoot house with paper targets—thankfully, no one shooting back). We had dual breach points, meaning the teams would soon link up, given how deep we were into the building. My team was moving down a hallway, exhausted after weeks of this.
I stumbled. The assaulter in front of me called out the link-up word—the phrase used to signal friendly forces are near to avoid friendly fire. Because I stumbled, I missed it. I thought he was linking up with a friendly element in the room beside us, so I casually stepped into the room on my left, weapon at the low ready, expecting to see friendly assaulters from team two. The room was full of targets. The other element he was linking up with was down the hall, not in the room I’d entered. It takes no imagination to know what would have happened if this hadn’t been training.
Because of my mistake, my whole team became simulated casualties. Trying to get that many people aid while moving them to the extract vehicles overwhelmed the rest of the platoon. The embarrassment of making a huge mistake, getting dragged through the mud to the extract point, all while seeing the look on my team’s faces wasn’t the extent of my punishment. I got absolutely obliterated by the instructor staff—a group of seasoned operators that any junior guy would want the approval of. I was sure I'd be dropped from the course, and consequently dropped from my platoon and team. The chief instructor pulled me aside. The only specific words I remember him saying were, “...I’m not going to drop you. Go home and get some rest. Come back with your mind right in the morning.”
The words I actually do remember were from another instructor who ripped into me in front of the entire platoon. They can be boiled down to this: “It is extremely clear that you aren’t here to fight! You’re just out here going through the motions. Your mind is not in this, and there was zero aggression in what you did! In combat, you would have gotten your team killed. If it was up to me, you would be out of here!” ...Those are just the spark notes. The real event was a bit more colorful.
I was embarrassed. And pissed. Up to this point, I wasn’t the sort of guy who made huge mistakes like this. It felt unrecoverable. But the next day came —and it was a good day of training. My team still treated me the same as they had before. More good days of training passed, and no one even mentioned the incident. After a while, I realized two things: the world doesn’t end just because you make a mistake, and that instructor was exactly right. My mind wasn’t in it—not in the right way, at least.
I was training to not make mistakes. I wasn’t training to win. There’s a big difference.
Up to that point, I was so focused on executing the ‘rules’—like going right if the guy ahead goes left, and what to prioritize if you go left and there are two open doors and... —that I missed the point. The point wasn’t to simply clear rooms by perfect procedural movements. The point was to step through the doorway and win, no matter what was on the other side. I had been so caught up in the mechanics, rules, and procedures of how to clear a building that I missed the bigger picture.
After internalizing this, I walked away with key lessons. The first is that no matter how hard you try, you’re going to make a mistake. Everyone does. So don’t do things only with the mindset of not making a mistake or being the sort of person that always does well. Do them with the intent to win. When I finally stopped worrying about making a mistake, it freed up my mental bandwidth.
By breaking that mental barrier, I was no longer burdened by the fear of failure, and I noticed a huge improvement in my performance. I could now focus on executing the important procedural parts effortlessly, without overthinking or hesitation. This shift allowed me to perform better and with more confidence.
Second, when you make a mistake—and you will—the world keeps turning. Yes, there are consequences, but that doesn’t define you. My mistake didn’t cost me the respect of my teammates.
Third, perform to win, regardless of mistakes or consequences. Pay attention to the details and procedures, and do things the right way, but when it's time to act, go all in. If you make a mistake, make it one hundred percent. If you’re on a good team, they’ll pivot and still respect you.
Fast forward two years, and I’m back in that same shoot house as an element leader. I don’t remember all the details, but during a run, we entered a room where one of our assaulters hesitated at a target that seemed out of place—an old, shot-up target left on a couch. For context, targets in a shoot house are set up safely, with ballistic rubber positioned to catch rounds. A misplaced target, like one in front of an open window, can be dangerous.
After dealing with another target, I noticed the hesitation. It reminded me of my past mistake. Seeing that it was safe enough, I dumped as many rounds into the target as I could while closing the distance, then threw it to the ground. Same shoot house, same rubber walls, same paper targets—but a completely different mindset.
- Force Recon Marine.
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