A recent newsletter of hers contained a poignant moment with her father. Laura initially intended to go to law school — a direction approved by her family — but didn’t follow that plan after college. And it sounds like there was a good deal of friction regarding that decision over the years.

But recently, she had an experience that turned the Mark Twain story on its head. She writes of an exchange with her dad:

If I had stuck to my plan for me from when I was a high school freshman, I’d be miserable right now.

That’s because it wasn’t your plan for you, it was our plan for you.

Laura’s own journey allowed her to realize that a decision she made as a young woman was tempered with wisdom; and her father grew to understand that his daughter deserved to make her own choices in life.

There was undoubtedly pain in such a journey, for everyone involved. But it resulted in growth.

Our Uneducated President

Abraham Lincoln gets all the attention as a self-educated man, a backwoods youth who had little schooling and went to great lengths to borrow books and read them. But George Washington was another U.S. president who had very little education.

He took great pains to ensure his growth and endured plenty of pain as in a sense of insecurity that plagued him throughout his life, even after his presidency.

Washington was self-conscious of his relative illiteracy, particularly in comparison to other founding fathers, who were all educated in the classical tradition: Latin, Greek, and French from universities. He was provincial and received only a limited education before his father’s death.

It didn’t help that John Adams, who could be something of a snob, disparaged him as “too illiterate, unlearned, unread for his station and reputation.” But Washington “worked doubly hard to rectify perceived failings.” 1

But Washington was ambitious and earnest, and he appreciated practical wisdom over intellectualism. He applied the multiple lessons he gleaned and became one of our nation’s most respected leaders.

Wednesday in the Inbox with Stephen

The other newsletter I received this week is David Berkowitz’s Serial Marketer. It’s chock full of material for anyone in the world of marketing, and David’s essays are always thoughtful.

His most recent entry contained a tribute to Stephen Sondheim, widely recognized as a Broadway genius. But his success didn’t come without hard work and growth along the way. And he poured his own success back into those whom he could help.

It made me think about growth as a transformational journey — one that I think is poignantly reflected in Sondheim’s song “Being Alive” from Company.

The musical involves Robert, a single man unable to commit fully to a steady relationship — let alone marriage — five married couples who are his best friends, and his three girlfriends. Witnessing the pains of dedicated relationships, Robert is cynical about marriage.

As we reach “ Being Alive,” the penultimate song in the musical, we witness Robert’s growing realization that marriage, warts and all, is something to admire and aspire to.

The song opens with Robert mocking the negatives he perceives in married life:

Someone to hold you too close
Someone to hurt you too deep
Someone to sit in your chair
And ruin your sleep

But the observations he’s made throughout the musical and the exhortations of his friends culminate in the middle of the song, and Robert turns the lyrics around, instead using them as a plea of sorts:

Somebody hold me too close
Somebody hurt me too deep
Somebody sit in my chair
And ruin my sleep
And make me aware
Of being alive
Being alive

Growth is hard. It takes work. It requires resilience.

And such a journey awakens something in us — an awareness of sorts. It allows us to know ourselves better and to become more understanding of others.

Growth inevitably leads to empathy. And empathy is the secret sauce of leaders.

It may hurt to get there, but trust me — it’s worth it.

Thanks, and I’ll see you on the internet.