"Mom: Trust."
The kid-size paw was placed on top of my resting, palm-down hand with a firm
but gentle pat, loaded with an unexpected surge of wisdom, placed there by my
14-year-old who was teaching me the latest Gen-A slang.
I've been particularly in tune to his little fingers lately as the rest of him
sprouts into a man with uncanny emotional intelligence, whom we suspect will be
taller than his father in the next 18 months.
Picturing that gesture and the accompanying word has become
a theme for me lately. I don't think Drew knew in that casual moment how
many times I would recall it.
"Trust."
I'm reading The Speed of Trust by Covey
Jr.
Covey presents that Trust in teams directly affects cost and time.
High-trust organizations are effective faster and at a lower cost; low-trust
organizations make progress more slowly and at a higher cost.
It occurred to me while reading this that in my experience
with Naval aviation squadrons I was blessed to be immersed in a high-trust
environment. As a group, military aviators tend to work together quickly,
efficiently and at a low cost -- in this case, 'cost' being time wasted and
even emotional tax on employees. We trust each other. We get
along. We agree on what the big, important things are. Lack of
competence kills people so the bar is high and consistent. Assumptions are made favorably regarding
competence and character, until proven wrong.
No wonder I've felt adrift since then as I navigated other
parts of the Navy for the last 7 years: an overseas admirals' staff, the big
world of the Navy Reserves, and my final duty station on staff at the
Leadership & Ethics Center.
Among peers of mixed designators (Navy job types) I found – among a few gems - a
buffet of officers concerned about promotion, pleasing superiors, pointing
fingers, trivial minutiae, and doing as little work as possible. I found
shocking few who can deliver and accept feedback with courage. I found only a smattering who remember how to
accomplish old-fashioned, cause-and-effect work.
These were low-trust environments, and their results are marginally
effective and at a high cost -- cost being our warfighting readiness and, more
importantly, the buy-in of our people.
The Kissells have taken some leaps in 2025. We bought
the Estate and I've committed to retiring from the Navy. I jumped back into
the helicopter cockpit with both feet, flying a part-time dream job. All
of this has required a lot of faith, but only recently did it occur to me that
it requires a renewed trust in other people.
“Trust.”
I'm taken aback by the brazen trust my new employers put in
me. I was pulled in by a friend, flashed them my resume, and
interviewed... and they've sunk a substantial investment into my training for a
return of only 6-8 days per month and no written contract.
I'm embarrassed to say that it took me a little while to get on board with the
same level of trust for them. During hiring I wondered if they
would come through on our conversations. Working up to my check ride I
wrung my hands in private, worrying that the gap in my flight experience would
make a fool out of me.
One windy afternoon, on short final to a 150-foot helipad atop a gnarly-looking
ship nestled up next to a 500-foot tall wind turbine over the water, the right
seat pilot said, "this looks like a left-seat landing" and
matter-of-factly handed over the controls.
They believe in me. The very least I can do is hand over my trust in
return. It's the only way this is going to work.
“Trust.”
At home, we've handed over the cabin renovation project to
New England Tiny Homes. When we realized what we were really looking at
(at the root, foundation issues and substantial framing work), we added up our
a la carte expenses and compared the total to the quote Tiny Homes had given
us. We realized we weren't saving much by trying to string this project
together ourselves, so we put down a deposit and are now passengers on someone
else's project timeline.
This is hard. The advertised "1-2 month design phase" feels
like an eternity when I'm accustomed to picking away at research and progress
weekly. There's been a tarp in place of the cabin’s rear wall for three
months. It feels like nothing is happening.
But I must remember: This was a calculated move. We gave them our
money. I have to trust this hired team or I'm going to
drive all of us crazy.
“Trust.”
I don’t remember the topic of the sermon, but our paster
recently posed the question, “What is it that you think God wants you to start
doing right now?”
“Trust people again.” That’s what jumped
to the front of my mind.
When did I lose that?
When did my trust become so hard-won?
…Was it when my competence was questioned at my last
squadron, where I was the only female? (This
wasn’t a consistent occurrence, but once or twice is enough to leave a mark.)
…Was it when my boss on admirals’ staff sold me down the
river on accusations and assumptions, fundamentally spitting on my character?
…Was it when I watched my role model get relieved of command
based on unfounded questions that our top leaders didn’t want to dirty their
hands with?
…Is it when subcontractors try to rip me off or fail to show
up?
… Is it simply being a little older and a little wiser?
The truth is, it doesn’t matter. I can write a story where I’m a victim who’s
been burned, but withholding trust is no way to live a life and love on other
people.
As I write this I’m on the way home from the funeral celebration
of a childhood friend. I was blessed to
connect with Anne again when we lived in Knoxville, and what a gift. She loved bigger than anyone I know, and like
most of my core friendships, I feel undeserving of the relationship.
Anne has been burned-- yet she loved fiercely, again and again. She gave her trust willingly. It’s not foolish, it’s not weak – it’s a true
sign of strength.
I have to believe that there’s a line to be walked that
allows me to be older and wiser yet leave the door open to trusting
humanity. (The alternative spells out a
lonely, paranoid existence.)
Trust people again. I’m
taking the leap.
