Photo by Lance Cpl. MaryAnn Hill, Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island
During the rifle range phase of Marine Corps boot camp, I stood up and saluted a captain and lieutenant on the rifle range.
I was the only one who did it.
All I could think about was how insolent my fellow recruits to my left and right were as we were waiting for our turn to shoot on the firing line.
As the guide, I was going to set the example. I was going to stand where everyone stayed seated.
“Thanks, but you’re not supposed to salute officers on the rifle range,” the captain yelled back at me from across the range.
The depth of humiliation swelled on my face.
Not sure why I wasn’t coherent for that lesson or where I was when they taught it, but I royally screwed the pooch on that one.
I did the only thing I could do—kept my chin high and sat down like I did it all on purpose.
And twenty-five years later, that’s the memory that pops up in my head at random times.
It pops up to remind me that just when I think I’ve got the right answer to life, life comes in and sweeps the leg.
You know how your body’s muscle memory physically cringes at recalling an embarrassing memory? I still have that happen. It happened this morning which compelled me to write to you about it now.
So how do we escape that cringe memory? What can we learn about it? What’s the moral of the story?
The Cringe is the Curriculum
Here’s the problem with cringe memories: they don’t die.
They don’t fade politely into the background like your high school algebra skills or your ability to eat an entire pizza without consequences. No. Cringe memories set up camp in your nervous system like they pay rent there.
They wait.
Quietly.
Patiently.
And then—BOOM—while you’re brushing your teeth on a random Tuesday morning, your brain goes:
“Hey. Remember when you confidently did the exact wrong thing in front of authority figures and an audience?”
And your entire body folds in on itself like a dying lawn chair.
That’s what happened to me this morning.
Twenty-five years later, my brain said, “You thought you were leading. You were actually… performing a one-woman military blooper reel.”
And here’s the wild part: it still feels fresh.
Not because the moment matters anymore.
But because of what it represents.
The Lie We Tell Ourselves
We like to believe that if we just:
- Pay attention
- Follow the rules
- Try really hard
- And show a little initiative
…we’ll be rewarded.
We’ll be right.
We’ll be respected.
We’ll be validated.
But life doesn’t work like that.
Sometimes you do everything “right”…
…and you’re still the only idiot standing up saluting on a rifle range.
The Lonely Audacity of Being Wrong
Let’s talk about the part that stings the most.
It wasn’t just that I was wrong.
It was that I was wrong alone.
Nobody else stood up.
Nobody else thought, “Yes, now is the time to demonstrate respect and leadership.”
No.
They stayed seated. Quiet. Unnoticed. Correct.
And there I was—front and center—fully committed to my misunderstanding of the situation.
That’s the part that lingers.
Because it mirrors something much bigger.
Welcome to Business, Population: You
If you’re building something—writing, creating, starting a business, launching a weird little idea you can’t stop thinking about—you will have rifle range moments.
You will:
- Hit “publish” on something you were sure was brilliant… and hear crickets
- Launch an offer you believed in… and get zero sales
- Try a strategy you were convinced would work… and watch it flop like a fish on a dock
And here’s the kicker:
You will often be the only one doing it.
While everyone else sits comfortably on the sidelines, scrolling, observing, quietly not embarrassing themselves.
You’ll be the one standing.
Saluting.
Wrong.
The Mockery (Real or Imagined)
Now, let’s address the other beast in the room: the fear of being mocked.
Sometimes people will say something.
A side comment.
A passive-aggressive “Oh… that’s interesting.”
A lack of engagement so loud it might as well be heckling.
But more often?
The mockery lives in your head.
It’s the imaginary audience you’ve created that’s keeping score:
- “Who does she think she is?”
- “That’s not going to work.”
- “She’s doing too much.”
- “She has no idea what she’s doing.”
And to be fair…
Sometimes they’re right.
Just like that captain on the rifle range.
So What Do You Do?
Here’s where most people go wrong (ironically).
They decide:
“I never want to feel that again.”
So they stop standing up.
They stop trying.
They sit down with everyone else and become perfectly correct and completely invisible.
No risk.
No embarrassment.
No growth.
Congratulations—you’ve successfully avoided cringe.
You’ve also avoided everything else that matters.
The Real Lesson (That Took Me 25 Years to Understand)
That moment on the rifle range?
It wasn’t a failure.
It was training.
Not the kind they intended.
But the kind that sticks.
Because what I actually learned that day wasn’t “don’t salute on the rifle range.”
It was this:
You can be completely convinced you’re doing the right thing…
…and still be wrong.
And you have two choices in that moment:
- Collapse into embarrassment and let it define you
- Sit down, keep your dignity, and keep moving
I chose option two.
Not because I was wise.
But because I had no other options.
And honestly?
That’s the move.
Every time.
Dignity is a Decision
Let’s revisit the part where I sat down like I did it on purpose.
Was I fooling anyone?
Absolutely not.
That captain knew.
The lieutenant knew.
Half the recruits probably knew.
And yet…
There’s something powerful about refusing to crumble.
About saying, without words:
“Yeah. That didn’t go how I planned. And I’m still here.”
That energy?
That’s what carries over into everything else.
Into your writing.
Your business.
Your risks.
Your weird, wonderful, slightly unhinged ideas.
Because Here’s the Truth Nobody Likes to Admit
The people who win—the ones who build something, create something, become something—
They’re not the ones who avoided being wrong.
They’re the ones who were willing to be wrong publicly.
Repeatedly.
With witnesses.
With the occasional metaphorical captain yelling across the range.
Your Turn on the Rifle Range
So let me ask you:
Where are you standing right now… while everyone else is sitting?
Where are you:
- Trying something new
- Putting yourself out there
- Taking a risk that might not land
And more importantly…
Where are you hesitating because you’re afraid of looking stupid?
Because you will.
At some point.
That’s not a possibility.
That’s the price of admission.
The Cringe Doesn’t Go Away (And That’s Fine)
Here’s the part I wish I could tell you gets better:
Those memories?
They don’t disappear.
You will still randomly remember the time you metaphorically saluted on the rifle range of life.
Your body will still cringe.
You might even whisper, “Why am I like this?” to yourself in the mirror.
But over time…
The meaning changes.
What once felt like humiliation starts to feel like proof.
Proof that you showed up.
That you tried.
That you were in the arena instead of safely seated in the bleachers, judging everyone else’s form.
The Moral of the Story
You will not always be right.
You will not always be understood.
And sometimes, you will be the only one standing when you should have stayed seated.
Do it anyway.
Stand.
Salute.
Take the shot.
Launch the thing.
Write the article.
Start the business.
Because even when you’re wrong…
You’re closer to getting it right than everyone who never got up in the first place.
And when life inevitably sweeps the leg?
Keep your chin high.
Sit down like you meant to do it.
And get ready for the next round.