Driving on the Football Field

On a sunny crisp fall day, I stood waiting for instructions, nervously toeing the 5-yard line which dotted our high school football field. I was now a senior member of the high school varsity club who was taking my treasured turn as the “pit boss” in the snack bar at home games. I would never have guessed this day would be a game-changer. Up until late in my junior year, I lived in benign obscurity as a guy who did well in school but was barely noticeable. I confess I was a very diffident and unsure teen who was especially anxious about driving. The other snack bar crew members and I had already placed the supplies for the food stand on the turf near where we were standing. Our supervisor for the day, Coach D, drove up in his huge station wagon. You should know Coach D was my idolized History teacher and the school’s basketball coach. He abruptly gave me an unexpected order. Coach D bounced out of the car, flipped me the keys, and yelled, “Friedberg, pack up the car and drive it down the field to the snack bar!” “But Coach D, I only have my learners’ permit. I can’t drive this car,” I frantically responded. I was dumbfounded he would even trust me with the awesome responsibility of driving his car stocked with apparently tons of frozen hot dogs, chips, soft drinks, and many other supplies. Surely, there was someone else who either had their license or was a better driver. “Of course, you can…just make sure you miss the goal posts!” he kidded. Although I thought, “He has no idea what a BIG mistake he is making,” I timidly opened the car door, slid behind the steering wheel, nervously inserted the keys in the ignition, shifted into drive, crept down the field, and safely parked alongside the snack bar. When Coach D came down to see how we were preparing the hot dogs and other food items, he shot me a knowing glance and winked. I felt so competent.

Writing about mentoring clinician-scientists, Calhoun and colleagues aptly remarked, “A mentor’s ability to see the potential of their mentees and help unleash it was described as game-changing if not life changing.”¹ Indeed, mentoring is described as propelling an “ignition sequence.”² Coach D did exactly that. I learned I was not invisible or incompetent. He literally gave me the keys to the ignition and sent me into a productive orbit which included being voted graduation speaker later that year, a successful college/graduate school career, and a productive professional life training child and adult psychiatrists.

Now that I mentor clinicians-in-training, I find they frequently dismiss their own competence and similarly feel powerless because of fears of failure. I recall working with a talented intern who excelled in clinical work but doubted her competence. In fact, at times, she knew so much and possessed so many skills she became frozen by an array of potential choices for intervention. Her flight path was grounded by paralyzing perfectionism. Uncertainty was scary for her, and she felt she had to always be right. It was just like that for me behind the wheel of Coach D’s station wagon. She was white knuckling the clinical encounter, feeling that she only had a “learner’s permit.” My challenge involved catalyzing the trainees’ skills and knowledge in order to boost their professional confidence as well as their ability to encounter uncertainty and persist despite risks of failure.

Previous authors^1,2 explained the process of helping trainees find their own voice, direction, and place in the profession through the metaphor of launching them into orbit. While mentoring is not always easy, it is not rocket science either. I try to channel Coach D’s attitude and integrate it into the mentoring literature base. His lesson and the literature agree that a mentor’s job is to imagine what a trainee can become. Beginning clinical practitioners and scientists often hold narrow views of themselves and their potential. Supervisors then need to expand their trainees’ visions. Often, bringing mentees’ potential to fruition requires crafting experiments or learning opportunities that stretch their abilities and comfort zones. I fondly recall one didactic session with child and adolescent psychiatric fellows that began with an improvisational theatre exercise. After I introduced the idea of improv and the exercise, one unsettled psychiatric fellow exclaimed, “I can’t do this. I am not spontaneous!”

Clearly, I was attempting to boost this young clinician’s comfort zone just like Coach D did for me so many years ago. The resident was worried that he would fail and look incompetent in this apparently unfamiliar task. I responded by telling him that improv just requires you to think flexibly on your feet even though you feel anxious or even uncomfortable. I asked him, “When have you had to think quickly and adaptively in a new stressful situation?”

“I do that all the time, but it is hard,” he answered excitedly. The unfamiliar seemed familiar to him now, and he became more willing to experiment.

Balancing drawing out the trainee in new and challenging circumstances with providing success experiences is an essential calculus. Coach D readily recognized that repeated successes breed confidence. He knew I was diffident about my driving skills, and the task he gave me involved driving on a football field with no traffic, no pedestrians, and no tricky turns. All I had to do was steer, hit the gas, and step on the brake. My confidence boomed and generalized to other driving situations as well as social interactions. Setting up residents and fellows for genuine accomplishments is an indispensable task in training. The last take-away is just how matter-of-fact Coach D was about the assignment. He explained the challenge simply, communicated his confidence in me, and added a splash of humor.

Over the years, I have tried to do the same when I work with residents and fellows: Be parsimonious, convey faith in the trainee, and when appropriate, include a dash of humor. After 35 years, I am still learning and relying on lessons taught by Coach D that one fall day on the football field.