The problem had never been that I could not learn.

I was learning a new language while also learning how to be a student. Once the language began to make sense, the material began to make sense. Once I stopped treating confusion as proof that I did not belong, I could concentrate on what I needed to learn.

I was not stupid.
I was new.

Being new meant I had work to do. It meant accepting that someone else might understand the material faster than I did. It meant asking for help when my pride would rather pretend. It meant struggling in front of other people and returning the next day anyway.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I understood that being behind did not mean I had to stay behind.

—From Chapter Three, “Becoming Small on Purpose”

The questions were simple: Why does the enemy do what he does? What will he do next?

Answering them was hard.

I needed to understand what he believed, what he feared, who influenced him, and what choices he thought he had. That took research, patient observation, and deep thought. I had to question my first explanation, look for evidence that challenged it, and admit when I had misunderstood. I did not develop that discipline overnight.

I came to measure my effectiveness as an intelligence officer by how well I could understand an adversary’s world and anticipate his next move. I had to learn to see through his eyes without losing my own judgment.

We made mistakes. Some had fatal consequences. I cannot tell the story of getting better without acknowledging that.

That lesson reaches beyond combat. Across a kitchen table, you may be certain that someone’s actions make no sense. Before settling on that judgment, ask what you might be missing. What does he believe is happening? What choices does he think he has? Listen long enough to understand the answer.

You can hold someone responsible for his choices and still make the effort to understand them. Sometimes that understanding is what allows you to help.

—From Chapter Twelve, “From Method to Machine”

I sometimes told myself that I would slow down later. When the company became more stable. When the financial pressure eased. When my youngest daughter graduated from high school.

There was always another point in the future when being present would become easier.

But fatherhood does not allow you to store time for later.

My daughters needed security and opportunity. They also needed their father to hear them the first time.

Neither responsibility cancelled the other. Providing for my family did not excuse being absent from them. Being present did not remove my responsibility to provide.

I had to learn to carry both.

I am still learning.

I still become distracted. My daughters still catch me. I still have to apologize, put the problem aside, and return to the conversation.

The difference is that I no longer want to call postponement a plan.

—From Chapter Fifteen, “Choosing the Man You Will Become”

He was willing to step forward, but willingness did not make him wise overnight. He could be courageous in one moment and frightened in the next. He made promises his courage could not yet support. He spoke when he should have listened. He failed publicly and had to face the truth about himself.

But he kept following.

Jesus did not wait for Peter to become a finished man before calling him.

He called Peter and then began forming him.

—On Peter, from Chapter Sixteen, “Why the Apostles Matter”