By Joe Byerly
I sat across from the Army general during my initial counseling, just a few months into squadron command. He talked about the two years of command ahead of me. But when he moved on to my next career move, I interrupted him.
“Sir, I appreciate your advice, but I’m retiring after this assignment. So, the rest of this isn’t really necessary.”
He asked me why I had decided to retire. After listening to my reasons, he offered up an opportunity that had once been a dream of mine. He even said that if I stayed in, he would personally see to it that I got the very competitive position.
Without going into specifics, his offer was generous. Very generous. A younger version of myself would have said yes before he even finished the sentence.
But I knew better.
Yes, he had influence. Yes, he could make some phone calls. Yes, he could put my name in the right rooms and tell the right people I was the right person for the job. But I also knew there was a chance a more senior general was sitting across from someone else in my shoes and making the same offer. And if that general had more stars, my general’s promise would not matter.
“Sir, thank you so much for your willingness to do that for me, but we both know that if a three- or four-star general wants his guy or gal in that seat, they will get it. And I’ll get screwed.”
He mulled that comment over for a second, then replied, “You’re right. Well, if that won’t pan out, let me make sure I do everything I can to help ease your transition out of service.”
Thankfully, he was self-aware enough and savvy enough to see the truth in what I was saying and not double down. But that’s not the case with every leader.
And that’s where these kinds of promises become dangerous. They don’t just offer someone hope. They invite them to make a bet.
A bet on your influence.
A bet on your access.
A bet on your ability to make something happen when it matters.
But the person on the other side of the table isn’t betting with chips. They’re betting with time. With family. With energy. With the parts of their life they may never get back.
That’s the danger of mistaking someone’s confidence for actual power.
Some leaders really can open doors. Others can only point at doors and make you believe they have the key.
Leaders need to be careful when making these kinds of promises. More often than not, they come from a good place: a genuine desire to help others achieve their goals. We would all love to do great things for great people.
But there is also something in us that wants to feel powerful. Something that wants to believe we can fire off an email, pick up a phone, and make shit happen.
And sometimes we can.
But we have to be realistic. We have to be honest with ourselves about the influence we actually have.
If we’re not the decision maker, if there is a chance we might change jobs before the decision window opens, or if there are other people with more influence who can override us, then maybe we should be more careful about the wager we’re offering.
Because it might feel like encouragement to us.
But to the person on the other side of the table, it might become the reason they bet another year of their life.
And that’s the other side of this. The responsibility doesn’t only sit with the person making the promise. It also sits with the person deciding whether to believe it.
You would never give all your chips to a roulette player who promises they can double your money. But we do this with our dreams, our time, and our well-being.
We think, It’s just a year. Maybe two. I can suck it up because this person promised me something on the other side.
But a lot of life happens in a year.
That is the part we underestimate when we make the bet. We don’t just wager time in some abstract sense. We wager weeknights and weekends. Deployments and moves. Missed birthdays and strained marriages. Distance from our kids. The exhaustion we keep telling ourselves is temporary.
And I’ve watched lives fall apart in that time. I’ve watched people look around bitterly after sacrificing so much for something that never materialized.
For nothing.
There’s a pretty good rule of thumb I developed to insure my bets.
If I’m going to wager my time and my life on someone else’s promise, then I’m only going to do it if I’m still enjoying my time on the roulette wheel. Even if the promise doesn’t come through, I won’t feel like I lost everything.
Because I still had good work, good people, and a good life while I waited.
That’s the only way I know to make peace with uncertainty.
If the only reason you are saying yes to a job, an assignment, or a season of life is the promise of what might happen later, be careful. That is a dangerous place to live. Because if the promise falls apart, all you are left with is the cost.
But if the promise falls through and you can still say the work was meaningful, the people mattered, and the season formed you in some way, then the promise becomes the bonus, not the whole bet.
And that’s the only kind of bet I’m willing to make anymore.
Joe Byerly is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel with 20 years of service, including tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and command of a cavalry squadron in Europe. He earned numerous prestigious awards, including multiple Legion of Merits, Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart, and General Douglas MacArthur Leadership Award. In 2013, Joe founded From the Green Notebook.
A passionate advocate for self-knowledge through reading and reflection, he authored The Leader’s 90-Day Notebook and co-authored My Green Notebook: “Know Thyself” Before Changing Jobs, a resource for leaders seeking greater self-awareness. If this post resonated with you or sparked any questions, feel free to reach out to him at Joe@fromthegreennotebook.com.
