Regiment and Art

What if the very system that made you successful is the same one holding you back?

For twenty years, my life was regimented. First at a military college, then in the Army, and later in law enforcement. These worlds valued precision, standardized execution, and an adherence to SOP. There was the way to do things, and deviation was not outright celebrated.

Pen and Paper. Start and Stop.

Reflecting back, I remember a time during my Army career when we were introduced to the new concept of “mission command.” I first heard this at the Career Course, as the Army moved from Field Manual to ADP and ADRPs. It was a shift: leaders were given strict intent, but they had freedom in how they planned to meet that intent. Structure plus art. Regiment plus creativity. It wasn’t chaos, but it wasn’t lockstep either. We had to learn how to be innovative within the confines of a higher commander's intent.

I remember this being exciting. With clear intent, I could create, test, and try my way of meeting the boss' goals. I felt freedom. I felt agile. I could seize the initiative when I saw opportunity. I could streamline. I could innovate. All I had to do was stay in bounds and achieve the desired outcome.

I find myself in a similar place today with writing. As I write and publish, I’m building a new muscle — my voice in the leadership space. Some days it feels like journaling in public. Other days it feels like chiseling at a block of marble, seeking to reveal the truths behind my experiences.

And then I read a post from our CEO about what makes an article great. It was crisp. It had rules. A proven formula. Intuitive = boring. Brilliant = surprising. Hooks, stories, structure.

I felt the pull immediately. Scrap my way. Do it the proven way.

That pull is familiar. It’s the same as switch hitter standing in the batter’s box. Their natural swing is left-handed. But sometimes the pitcher’s arm forces them to bat right-handed. And while they practiced that stance, it never feels as powerful.

That’s where I am at with writing. Swinging from the other side of the plate. My regimented side wants the formula. My artistic side wants freedom. And between the two is judgment: you’re doing it wrong, you’re not good enough, you’re behind.

In coaching we call this “the gap.” You can either hate it or love it. Hating the gap fuels frustration, self-criticism, and shame. Loving the gap means seeing growth as a gift, not a punishment.

So what do I do with the tension between formula and freedom? I can choose to love the gap. I can choose to see both the CEO’s wisdom and my own messy attempts as part of the growth. The hybrid approach might be a path to take. I get to figure out the balance between regiment and art.

A practical step: The next time you’re tempted to judge your process against someone else’s “proven way,” pause and ask: Am I hating this gap or loving it? That single question can shift you from beating yourself down to building yourself up.

Because finding your voice — as a leader, writer, or human being — is never just about doing it the right way. It’s about creating your way.

And the only way to do that is to keep swinging.