[This afternoon, I welcomed the Darden Class of 2016 to the school. What follows are approximately my remarks.]

On vacation some years ago, I signed on as a crew member of a tall ship in the North Sea. This was a reproduction of an 18th Century frigate: three masts, a great deal of rigging, and cramped quarters. We stood watch, four hours on and four hours off, so it was impossible to get a good night’s sleep. When the wind changed, everyone was put to work hoisting sails or stowing them—this had to be done, in good weather and bad. I’m not wild about heights, especially when on a rope ladder high above a rolling ship. The food, prepared by a cook, was mediocre at best. By the end of the week I was exhausted.

When I returned from vacation, I told a friend that I had had a great experience. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “What was great about it? You’re a leader at Darden but you spent the whole week as an unpaid laborer who had to take orders from the captain. Lots of shouting; do this and do that. There was no rest and relaxation. What were you thinking?” My reply to him contains some ideas that are relevant as you embark on your own journey at Darden.

I should say that my reflections on that experience have continued over time. Ann Landers, the advice columnist, famously said that in school you get the lesson first and then the test; but in life, you get the test first and then the lesson. That sailing experience was a real test. And the learnings have followed.

In Herman Melville’s novel, Moby-Dick, the main character explains why he wants to go to sea as an ordinary sailor. The year is maybe 1850 and the voyage is to be on a whaler. It is hard and dangerous work. Why would someone do this? The lead character explains,

“I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. …for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it.”

Think about it. Melville is saying that the folks away from the seat of power know something more than do the leaders. To go down from the important place you are used to, to a place at the front of the ship teaches you things that you can’t get on the quarterdeck.

The post on the frigate that I liked best was standing watch at the bowsprit, the forward-most point of the ship. You are there all alone looking forward through the fog, trying to understand what you are sailing into and then communicating it in a way that the people back on the quarterdeck can understand. You are the first person to get a glimpse of the future. This is a view that can’t be had elsewhere on the boat. And the experience is magical. The playwright, Eugene O’Neill, wrote,

“I lay on the bowsprit, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight towering above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment lost myself. Actually lost my life. I was set free—dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm and the high dim-starred sky—I belonged within a unity and joy to life itself.”

To feel “lost,” “drunk,” and “dissolved in the sea” is akin to what many artists, athletes, and leaders have described as the sense of flow : fully immersed, energized, and feeling intense joy of being at the head of their field, the top of their game, at the point of the bowsprit. It’s easy to see why flow might happen at the bowsprit: it’s where one is looking out to the wider world, looking ahead, and indeed, looking inside oneself. At that kind of moment, you are fully invested in what you do.

Metaphorically, the bowsprit and forecastle represent the frontier of your field or your enterprise. It’s the place where one learns the most. Today, so much of what we value about business and capitalism—such as invention, efficiency, effectiveness, adaptability—depends on how organizations and people learn. Melville challenges us that the best learning may not be on the quarterdeck (at the back of a ship), but rather on the forecastle (toward the front).

The big idea here is that from time to time in one’s life, one must step down from the quarterdeck in order to take risks, get out in front, learn, and grow as a leader. The quarterdeck can be its own little world, freighted with tradition, security, and old assumptions about how the world works. From the back of the ship, it is certainly more difficult to look out ahead.

I’m telling you this because you-all are like me on the frigate: most of you have left interesting and comfortable circumstances to get out to the frontier of ideas and learning. You’ve been here one week and are probably wondering what you’ve gotten yourselves into.

This is the right time in your lives to be here. Many graduates have volunteered that Darden was a transformational experience; it changed their lives for the better. I believe you will say the same.

So, to conclude the story, what I replied to my astonished friend went something like this: “It was a great experience because of what I learned about myself and others; I grew in confidence. And I gained an incredible new perspective on teamwork and nature that couldn’t be obtained any other way. I learned that followers can lead the leaders. When you lose yourself in a worthy challenge, you can actually find yourself. And I found that the forecastle can be a better place than the quarterdeck. I had to live the experience to learn those insights.”

My experience on the frigate suggests the frame of mind you will need so that 21 months from now, you can say that Darden was a “great experience.”

  • Trust the process. Trust that the questioning by the professors is leading you somewhere. They want to help. And you came to study with the world’s best teachers. So, form a relationship with them that feeds your development. Don’t look for grandiose speeches, easy answers, or compliments; look for wise and candid feedback. Accept and admire professors who demand your very best.

  • Be present. I saw a sign once at a Las Vegas casino. It was hanging over the roulette table and said, “You must be present to win.” This meant that you could not place your bets and then leave the table to get a drink or see a friend, and return later to pick up your winnings. You had to be present when the winnings were declared, in order to get them. So it is at Darden. You must be present to win. “Being present” means being mindful: self-aware of your state of mind and your impact on others. And it means being socially aware of what’s going on around you. You can’t “zone out” and get the rich transformational experience that Darden offers. Mindfulness is one of the top attributes of high-performing leaders. So this is good practice for your future. When I describe Darden as a “high touch” community, I’m referring to a community where students, faculty, and staff are present and engaged actively in the learning process. “Being present” also means engaging others who may be very different from yourself—a different race, nationality, sexual orientation, or gender for instance. Make a serious effort to see the world through their eyes. Befriend those people. Share the Darden experience with them. If you find yourself drawn constantly to a few classmates just like yourself, you aren’t really present. If you don’t test your assumptions about people different from yourself, you aren’t really present. If at the end of two years, your comfort zone is no larger than it is today, you have not been really present.

  • It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourself. There are lots of enticing activities at Darden. And you don’t need to do them all at once. Find your sustainable stride and patiently head toward the finish line.

One final reflection: the bowsprit and forecastle are vivid metaphors for me yet today. As most of you know, in 11 months, I’ll make a transition from the quarterdeck of the Dean’s office to go back to the forecastle of faculty and staff. I’m content and think this makes great sense for Darden and for my life at this point.

So if I can model something for you this year, it is the virtue of periodically stepping down from the quarterdeck and moving to the forward-most point of your environment or enterprise. Being Dean has been tremendously fulfilling. And I’d like to get back on the bowsprit, looking forward through the fog. In the next 21 months, you and I will be there together.

I believe that you will succeed beyond your dreams if you commit very deeply to the experience ahead of you. Godspeed and good luck.