I’ve been a Dutch Marine for 3 years. Thirty years ago, and I still feel it. I still feel it, but not in a negative way. If I talk to an old colleague about the old days, we often also talk about what we do now and how we both miss the time when teamwork meant teamwork. As a Marine, you don’t have to tell your buddy to cover your ass; you know he does, just like any other member of the team; they all know what to do and what is expected.

The reason why we trained so hard to reach that level of cooperation is, of course, the danger that can be part of the job. I understand that, but I feel it is still part of me after 30 years. I often had and have too high of an expectation of the teams I worked in or led. I know that danger is not coming from the door in the corner of the office, but why don’t they close it when they know it’s a fire door? It sounds like a tiny thing, but for me, it is still a principle: attention to detail; in a combat situation, neglecting what is expected can harm you and others. I also understand the people who wonder why I bother; they have probably never bothered about things just outside of their reach. I have learned over the years to care less, but it eats at me.

As Marines, we were not told to become mindful, but we were made aware that it was expected and that if you did not have that quality, you would not be selected to finish the training. On our first day, we, as a group of around 30 Marines, had to build a large and complicated tent. You know how that goes: a few start pulling the bags open, others stand around, and one or two start telling others what to do. Pandamonium breaks out, and it takes more than an hour to finish the task with the level of attention and shouting you expect when a group of people who don’t know each other try to fulfill a task. Jump 6 months in the future, and a similar task was done in 20 minutes without anyone stepping up and trying to be a leader. Every person knew what to do and when and did the task that was next or not started yet. 

Call it training or a predisposition for mindfulness, but we had it. For me, mindfulness means to be aware of your surroundings and respond to the needs of others, the task at hand, and yourself. Most people I have worked with in the past 30 years are good at their jobs, and they know what they need to succeed in their tasks, but they often lack attention towards others and how what they do fits in the big picture. I realize that there is not much I can do about it. I know from talking to others that it is not just an observation I have. Maybe it would help if more people go through the training you get as a Marine, but the selection is hard, and a big part of what they look for is that predisposition for mindfulness.

As Marines, we also learned to think fast and adjust to the challenges of the situation. You might think the military is all about orders and someone telling you what to do, but the opposite is often true. It is often in civilian society that the people I am supposed to lead demand stricter guidelines and goals, orders, you might say. The lack of mindfulness makes it so that they often bump against a reality they didn’t see coming and complain about the fact that they were not warned about that possibility. 

The strange thing is that most people don’t want to be told what to do, but they also want to know where, when, and how far they can exercise their freedom because their attention only reaches so far. 

Pictures from an exercise at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, 1994. I was allowed to take the pictures, and the selfie in the helicopter is me.