When Pride Meets Joy
A story of leadership, Navy war ships, and the "P" word
“I stand relieved”, she said, making eye contact with the uniformed gentleman who had just taken her ship. Then, surprising me, she let out a “Whoop!”, an unexpected break in formality, a personal moment of self-celebration.
It was over. Eighteen months of being responsible for every sailor, every decision, every deadline. Eighteen months of wearing a hard hat while this ship, her ship, was torn apart and painstakingly put back together again, piece by piece. Eighteen months of being the Commander of the USS Momsen (DDG92), one of the Navy’s elite destroyers, now outfitted for modern warfare.
Echoes of the ship’s motto, “Rise Above”, rang in the air. The final tribute shouted by her sailors, the so-called “Lucky Swedes”.
As we sat on the ship’s deck, chairs facing the makeshift stage, the sun baked the left side of my face. I was grateful for the heat as it quickly dried the track of tears leaking from my eyes. I clapped my loudest clap, and held back a “Whoop” of my own as the Boatswain’s Pipe shrilled out its last call for my friend. “Commander of the Navy departing,” the sailor announced. Her crew saluted as she walked down the red carpet.
I knew the ceremony would be emotional for me. Becca is the type of person on whose behalf you get emotional. She’s dedicated her life to the Navy, in part because that’s what the Navy demands, and in part because she legitimately loves her job. She is a natural leader, although her humility belies her strength. A sucker for alliteration, Becca’s method of engaging her crew is to come up with a lengthy list of “S” categories to describe all of her sailors, “Sassy Swede” being my personal favorite. Silly, maybe, but intentional. A way to ensure everyone on her ship knew they belonged…somewhere…somehow…they were a Swede, and they were part of this team.
Belonging is actually where the nickname originated. Vice Admiral Charles B. Momsen, namesake of the ship itself, was widely known by the nickname, “the Lucky Swede” after directing the rescue of the crew of the USS Squalus in 1939. The name stuck, and sailors thereafter have referred to themselves as “Lucky Swedes” to remind them of their collective presence in the ship’s history.
The formality of a Change of Command ceremony dates back to the days when mail and people were slow to move, so in order to make the change of command inarguable and widely known, orders were read out loud. The formality is not a Naval regulation, but a custom. It is a simple ceremony, but a respectful one that pays homage to the importance of a successful and unequivocal transfer of power. That’s why Becca’s break, the one “Whoop!” stuck with me so much. It was the first, and only time, that I saw her acknowledge herself.
In my experience, women suck at self celebration. We like to dissipate credit, passing pieces of it around like a bread basket, inviting everyone in the room to take a piece. We’re taught that we own all of the responsibility but must share the reward, because there’s no “I in team”, of course. We are embarrassed by public success, which makes the well-deserved recognition land flat in our guts that have not been taught how to absorb such accolades.
Avoiding acknowledgment of the work we’ve put in, the success we’ve achieved, the personal idiosyncrasies we’ve struggled to overcome, and the ones we’ve pulled from the depths of our being in the service of others is not humility. It’s self sacrifice.
Becca embodies humility. Her leadership style is all team, no I. That is not to say she is indecisive, or weak as a leader, as neither is true. In fact, as was evident by every single human that had a chance to speak on her behalf, her commitment to her people has created an impenetrable team, one that would absolutely follow her into battle. She’s no dummy. She knew that a ship dry docked for eighteen months is much harder to command than one out on the open ocean, the promise of glory awaiting. Twenty year old men and women don’t sign up for construction zones, hard hats, and regulations meetings. The threat of mutiny is high when the motivation is low, and so Becca’s leadership was her mission.
She put up tiles in her office, photos of the rebirth of the Momsen, featuring not her, but the sailors who made it happen. She kept candy on hand, always, after reading a study that said happy people make better decisions. Who isn’t happy eating candy? She ensured there were always snacks on board, with food options in short supply in the middle of a shipyard. She knew her sailors by name, all of them, and came in early and stayed late to do the work that got pushed to make room for the conversations that filled her days, each one taking more minutes than she had to give.
The “Whoop” surprised me, but it’s also the thing that made me cry hardest. Because it was Becca celebrating…Becca. In that moment, all my worry that her humility would supersede her ability to absorb this moment melted away. Becca knows what she did.
Pride gets a bad rap. It teeters such a fine line with arrogance that even a tightrope walker would likely be unsuccessful at traversing it. In my experience, most women would rather undersell, minimizing the feeling while ensuring they could never be perceived as boastful. There are a few that go full tilt in the other direction, wearing their pride like a force field, daring you to penetrate it. That, too, is its own form of protection, albeit far less well received by society.
But why can’t we just be proud of ourselves?
We are so quick to encourage a feeling these days, desperate to identify something on the feelings wheel and pull it out for everyone to marvel at. I expect it’s a healthier approach than just sitting on them, but I do think we might have overcorrected in our effort to let people feel their feels. But pride seems to be different, the dark side of the feelings wheel, one we still don’t know what to do with and are uncomfortable with airing too broadly. Maybe, feel it fast and furious and then put it back?
When I sent my husband a picture of Becca giving her farewell speech, he typed back, “She looks so happy.” I nodded, agreeing with his assessment, and knowing a secret he couldn’t perceive from the photo alone. That’s not just happy, that’s joy. Joy doesn’t ask you to bleed all other emotions but tourniquet pride. Joy is the loudest clapper when well deserved pride lets loose a little “Whoop!”
I don’t talk to Becca often. She’s on the opposite coast, and she’s been busy commanding a ship. We’re runner friends, which, as any runner knows, means our relationship is built on deep conversation huffed out over miles of concrete in the pre-dawn hours. It’s a different kind of friendship than most, but an enduring one. And it allows for a much deeper understanding of a person’s countenance, because distance running offers something most of us lack in our daily conversations…time. An hour or more of uninterrupted conversation is a rarity in our adult lives, but I get to share that with my running friends several times a week.
Every time I run with Becca, I learn something. From me, Becca gets almost nothing other than humor. I regale her with stories of my husbands’ antics, like when he took up a sniper stance in our upstairs bedroom after some shady individuals parked nose out for hours in our townhouse cul de sac. To say I’m not contributing much is an understatement. Becca talks to me about leadership. The challenges she faces as a female leader. Her determination to build relationship with even the saltiest sailor. Her struggle to get others to care as much as she does, to work as hard, to stop being a lazy asshole and buck up buttercup (my words, not hers).
And so, when I heard the speeches touting Becca’s leadership, all I could think was, “Fuck yeah!” They saw it too. All of her efforts, her intentionality, her time…it got through to them. Those Silly Swedes got it. She earned her “Whoop!” and no one on that ship begrudged her for it because long before she yelled into the air, she invited them in, made them feel like they belonged, and fostered a feeling in all of them. Pride.
It is not the absence of pride that makes a good leader. Quite the contrary. It is the invitation to do something, to be something, about which you all can be proud.
Becca’s “Whoop!” was the epitome of leading by doing. In celebrating herself, and all she has accomplished, she showed her Swedes that it is absolutely acceptable to be proud of a job well done.
Joy got a workout in on the ship that day. Her arms must be tired from all the clapping. And I imagine she’s hoarse from all the Whooping. She was ready for the party. To celebrate Becca…and the Lucky Swedes…and all that they have accomplished. And deserve to be proud of.
Huge congratulations to your friend. How wonderful that you were able to share that moment. I loved the reflections it inspired. 💜