Make Your Bed
Little Things That Can Change Your Life… And Maybe The World
Book Edition Details
Summary
"Make Your Bed (2017) is a collection of the author’s ten most valuable personal experiences during his many years of service with the US Navy SEALs. Each is a simple yet priceless piece of advice that will have a positive influence on your life."
Introduction
Have you ever wondered why some people seem to navigate life's challenges with unwavering resilience while others crumble at the first sign of adversity? What separates those who achieve their dreams from those who give up when the path gets difficult? The answer often lies not in grand gestures or extraordinary talents, but in the small, seemingly insignificant habits we practice each day. This book reveals how the most demanding military training in the world teaches lessons that extend far beyond the battlefield. Through the lens of Navy SEAL training, we discover that character is built one small act at a time, and that the foundation for changing your life—and perhaps the world—begins with something as simple as making your bed each morning. You'll learn how ordinary moments become opportunities for extraordinary growth, how failure can become your greatest teacher, and why the courage to persevere when everything seems impossible is accessible to anyone willing to embrace it. These aren't just military principles; they're universal truths about human potential that can transform how you approach every challenge, relationship, and opportunity in your life.
Start Small: The Power of Making Your Bed
The morning sun cast long shadows across the spartan barracks at Coronado as the author rolled out of his Navy rack, immediately beginning the meticulous process of making his bed. The steel frame held nothing more than a bottom sheet, top sheet, and gray wool blanket that had to be tucked with mathematical precision under the mattress. A second blanket was folded into a perfect rectangle at the foot, intersecting at exactly ninety degrees with a single pillow centered at the head. Standing at attention, he watched as the SEAL instructor approached with the deliberate pace of someone who had done this countless times before. The inspection was thorough and unforgiving—checking every hospital corner, surveying the blanket alignment, and then came the ultimate test. The instructor pulled out a quarter and flipped it high into the air. It landed on the mattress with a light bounce, jumping several inches off the bed before he caught it mid-air. The instructor looked him in the eye and nodded silently. This wasn't praise—it was expectation. What seemed like a pointless ritual would become the one constant throughout thirty years of military service. Whether aboard a special operations submarine where beds were stacked four high, recovering from a parachute accident in a hospital bed at home, or sleeping on an Army cot in the makeshift headquarters in Iraq, making the bed remained the first task of every day. Even Saddam Hussein, held in confinement, chose not to make his bed, leaving covers crumpled at the foot of his cot—a small detail that spoke volumes about surrendering to circumstances versus maintaining personal discipline. The power of this simple act extends far beyond military precision. When you complete your first task before your feet hit the floor, you create momentum that carries through the entire day. That small sense of accomplishment encourages you to tackle the next task, and then another, until one completed task has multiplied into many. Moreover, it reinforces that the little things in life matter profoundly. If you cannot execute small tasks with care and attention, how can you expect to handle life's larger challenges? At day's end, regardless of what chaos the world has thrown at you, you return to a bed that you made—a tangible reminder that you have the power to create order and beauty in your own space.
Find Your Swim Buddy: You Can't Go It Alone
The ten-foot rubber raft became an unlikely teacher of life's most essential lesson during those grueling months of SEAL training. Seven men worked in unison to carry it on their heads as they ran from barracks to chow hall, struggled with it through the punishing sand dunes, and paddled endlessly through pounding surf along the Coronado coastline. When one crew member fell ill or injured, unable to give his full effort, the others instinctively stepped up. They paddled harder, dug deeper into their reserves, and shared their meager rations to keep their teammate strong enough to continue. This lesson in interdependence took on profound meaning twenty-five years later when a routine parachute jump went catastrophically wrong. At twelve thousand feet above California, another jumper slid beneath the author's path and deployed his chute directly in front of him. The collision at 120 miles per hour sent him spinning out of control, his own parachute tangling around his legs as he plummeted toward earth. When the canopy finally opened, it ripped his pelvis apart with violent force, the impact tearing muscles from bone and leaving him screaming in agony as he fell those final fifteen hundred feet. The months of recovery that followed revealed the true meaning of that small rubber boat. His wife Georgeann became his anchor, cleaning wounds, administering shots, changing bedpans, but most importantly, refusing to let him drown in self-pity. She reminded him daily of who he was—someone who had never quit on anything in his life. Friends called constantly and helped however they could. His commanding officer found creative ways around policies that would have ended his career, supporting him when others might have written him off. Each person became a paddle in his boat, helping him navigate toward recovery. The truth is that none of us are immune from life's tragic moments, and when they strike, we discover that we cannot paddle the boat of life alone. The rubber boat taught that no SEAL could succeed in training or combat without teammates, and by extension, no person can reach their destination in life without others willing to share the journey. Whether facing illness, professional setbacks, or personal tragedy, we need people who believe in us when we struggle to believe in ourselves. The most successful people understand this deeply—they cultivate relationships, make friends, and never forget that their achievements rest on the foundation of others who helped them along the way.
When Life Gets Tough: Rise to the Occasion
The pounding surf off Coronado created eight-foot waves that morning as the SEAL trainees prepared for their two-mile swim. Standing to the author's right was a seaman recruit, barely five feet four inches tall and brand new to the Navy. The SEAL instructor, a towering Vietnam veteran well above six feet, looked down at the smaller man with a mixture of scrutiny and challenge. After inspecting the student's life jacket, the instructor grabbed his flippers and held them close to his face. "Do you really want to be a frogman?" the instructor asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the breaking waves. The young sailor stood straighter, defiance flashing in his eyes. "Yes, instructor, I do!" he shouted back. The instructor shook his head slowly, waving the flippers. "You're a tiny little man. Those waves out there could break you in half. You should think about quitting now before you get hurt." The student's jaw tightened visibly. "I won't quit!" he replied, drawing out each word with determination. Then the instructor leaned in and whispered something that couldn't be heard over the surf: "Prove me wrong!" An hour later, that same young sailor crawled out of the surf zone near the head of the class, having completed one of the most challenging swims in military training. His performance embodied what SEAL training was always about—proving that size, background, and circumstances matter far less than heart and determination. This lesson had been reinforced a year earlier when the author met a legendary figure he initially misjudged completely. Walking through the SEAL training facility, he had noticed a thin, almost frail civilian with dark hair hanging Beatles-like over his ears, staring at photos of combat-hardened SEALs in Vietnam. The man seemed out of place, and the author couldn't help wondering if this fragile-looking person really thought he had what it took to survive SEAL training. When Lieutenant Huth introduced the man as Tommy Norris, the most recent SEAL Medal of Honor recipient from Vietnam, the author's assumptions crumbled instantly. This was the same Tom Norris who had gone behind enemy lines on successive nights to rescue downed airmen, who had been shot in the face and left for dead, and who had battled back from devastating injuries to join the FBI's first Hostage Rescue Team. The profound lesson resonates through every aspect of life: never judge someone's potential by their appearance or circumstances. Tom Norris had nearly been dismissed from SEAL training for being too small and weak, just like countless others who were told they didn't fit the mold. Yet he proved that determination and grit consistently triumph over talent and physical advantages. The size of your heart, not the size of your flippers, determines how far you can swim in life's challenging waters.
Never Ring the Bell: The Courage to Never Quit
The brass bell hung in the center of the compound where every SEAL trainee could see it, its presence both ominous and tempting. The instructor's words echoed across the asphalt courtyard with unmistakable clarity: "All you have to do to quit is ring this bell three times. Ring the bell and you won't have to get up early. Ring the bell and you won't have to do the long runs, the cold swims, or the obstacle course. Ring the bell and you can avoid all this pain." Then his voice softened slightly, breaking from the prepared speech. "But let me tell you something. If you quit, you will regret it for the rest of your life. Quitting never makes anything easier." Six months later, only thirty-three of the original 150 students stood at graduation. The others had chosen the seemingly easier path, ringing the bell when the pain became too intense, when the odds seemed impossibly stacked against them, when continuing forward appeared irrational. But as the instructor predicted, those who quit likely carried that regret forever, wondering what might have been if they had found the strength to persevere just a little longer. Years later, in a combat hospital in Afghanistan, this lesson took on its most profound meaning when the author encountered Ranger Adam Bates. The nineteen-year-old soldier lay in the hospital bed, tubes extending from his mouth and chest, blast burns streaking across his face and arms. The blanket covering his body lay flat where his legs should have been—both had been amputated after he stepped on a pressure plate mine during his first combat mission, just one week after arriving in Afghanistan. The young Ranger appeared sedated, but when the nurse gently shook him awake, his eyes opened slightly. Unable to speak due to his injuries, he communicated through sign language he had learned because his mother was deaf. As the author struggled to find appropriate words of comfort and encouragement, uncertain how to console someone whose life had been forever changed, Ranger Bates sensed the pity in his expression. Slowly, painfully, with swollen face and eyes barely visible through bandages, he raised his hand and began to sign: "I—will—be—OK." Then he fell back asleep. A year later, at a Ranger Regimental Change of Command ceremony, there stood Adam Bates in his dress uniform, tall on new prosthetic legs, challenging fellow Rangers to pull-up contests. Despite multiple surgeries, painful rehabilitation, and adapting to a completely new life, he had never rung his metaphorical bell. He was laughing, joking, smiling—and just as he had promised, he was okay. His refusal to quit in the face of unimaginable adversity exemplifies the choice we all face when life delivers its hardest blows: we can surrender to our circumstances or we can refuse to give up on our dreams.
Summary
The most powerful transformations begin with the smallest acts, and your capacity to change your life—and potentially the world—starts with the discipline to complete one simple task each morning. Start each day by making your bed with precision and pride, creating momentum that will carry you through whatever challenges await. Find people who will paddle alongside you through life's difficult waters, because no one reaches their destination alone, and invest in relationships that will sustain you when your own strength falters. Remember that the size of your heart matters infinitely more than any physical limitation or circumstance you believe defines you, and never underestimate what you can accomplish when you refuse to quit. When life delivers its inevitable hardships and failures, resist the temptation to ring the bell of surrender, because the strength to persevere through dark moments builds the character necessary to rise to life's greatest occasions and inspire others to do the same.
By William H. McRaven
