What Fifty Years at Sea Taught Me About Just Saying It
After fifty years as a mariner, I’ve learned one thing above all else: when you’re at sea, you say exactly what you mean. Lives depend on it.
Nobody on a ship bridge says “perhaps we might consider the possibility of potentially adjusting our heading to avoid what could conceivably be an iceberg.” You say “hard to starboard, now.”
Clear. Direct. Unambiguous.
Then I came ashore and discovered the corporate world. And honestly, it’s a miracle anything gets done at all.
Two Worlds, One Truth
At sea, communication is brutally simple. Has to be. You’re dealing with weather, machinery, cargo, and crew from a dozen different countries. You haven’t got time for diplomatic dancing. When something’s wrong, you say it’s wrong. When danger’s coming, you call it out. When someone’s making a mistake, you tell them.
Not because sailors are rude. Because unclear communication kills people.
I’ve worked with crews from Manila to Mumbai, Rotterdam to Rio. Every nationality, every language level, every cultural background. And you know what works universally? Clarity. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Nobody ever died because a captain was too direct.
Plenty died because someone wasn’t clear enough.
The Corporate Theatre I Discovered Ashore
Then I retired from the sea and started consulting. Advising companies on logistics, risk management, that sort of thing.
Good lord, the waffle.
I sat in a meeting once where a manager spent twenty minutes explaining that a project was “experiencing some timeline optimization challenges and stakeholder alignment issues.”
I waited for him to finish, then asked: “So it’s late and nobody agrees on what we’re doing?”
The room went silent. You’d think I’d announced the ship was sinking.
“Well… that’s rather direct,” someone said.
Yes. Yes it was. That’s rather the point.
The Dave Incident (Or: Why I Miss the Sea)
A few years ago, I was helping a company restructure their operations. There was a fellow—Dave—running a division into the ground. Lovely chap. Absolutely hopeless at the job.
The CEO spent months giving Dave “developmental feedback” wrapped in so much padding it could have been a life jacket. “Dave, we’re exploring opportunities for process enhancement in your strategic deliverables.”
After the third such meeting, I asked the CEO: “Did you just tell him he’s failing?”
“Well, I was being diplomatic…”
“You were being unclear. In my world, if I’d told an officer his navigation was ‘showing room for improvement’ when he was about to run us onto rocks, I’d be criminally negligent.”
Two months later, they had to let Dave go. He was genuinely shocked. Nobody had actually told him he was failing. They’d been too busy being diplomatic.
On a ship, Dave would have known exactly where he stood. On day one.
What the Sea Teaches You About Communication
Fifty years at sea teaches you things land-based folks never quite grasp:
Clarity is respect. When I told a junior officer his approach was wrong, I wasn’t being rude. I was respecting his intelligence enough to tell him the truth so he could fix it.
Time matters. At sea, you make decisions fast or you don’t make them at all. I’ve sat in corporate meetings that took four hours to reach conclusions we’d have made in four minutes on a bridge.
Cultural differences are real, but clarity transcends them. I’ve worked with Chinese, Filipino, Indian, Polish, British, and Brazilian crew. Direct communication works with all of them. Diplomatic waffle confuses all of them.
Stakes clarify thinking. When bad communication can sink ships or kill people, you learn to be clear fast. Corporate life lacks that forcing function, so people waffle endlessly.
Hierarchy exists for a reason. The captain says what needs saying. No committee meetings. No stakeholder alignment sessions. Just clear decisions, clearly communicated.
The Corporate Translation Guide
After retiring ashore, I had to learn corporate-speak. It’s like learning a foreign language, except it’s designed to communicate nothing:
“That’s interesting” = “That’s terrible”
“I hear your concerns” = “I’m ignoring your concerns”
“Let’s circle back” = “Let’s never speak of this again”
“With respect” = “I have no respect for this whatsoever”
“Let’s take this offline” = “I don’t want others to hear what I’m about to say”
At sea, we had simpler translations:
“That won’t work” = “That won’t work”
“This is wrong” = “This is wrong”
“Stop doing that” = “Stop doing that”
Revolutionary stuff.
The Freedom of Not Playing Games
Here’s what half a century at sea taught me: life’s too short to waste on nonsense.
When I started consulting, I tried to play the diplomatic game. Lasted about three months before I gave it up. Now I just say what I mean:
“This project’s failing. Here’s why.” “That approach won’t work. Try this instead.”
“You’re making a mistake. Here’s the correction.”
The results? Remarkable. Decisions happen faster. Problems get solved quicker. People actually know where they stand.
And the truly surprising bit? People like it. “I always know where I stand with you,” they say. “You’re refreshingly straightforward.”
After fifty years where straightforward communication was literally life-or-death, I don’t know how to be any other way.
When Diplomacy Actually Matters
Look, I’m not a complete savage. Fifty years at sea included delivering bad news to families, handling crew conflicts, managing international tensions. Tact exists for a reason.
There are times for gentleness: devastating personal news, genuine cultural sensitivities, de-escalating volatile situations.
But that’s maybe 10% of communication. The other 90%? Just say what you mean.
The Bottom Line From the Bridge
I’ve navigated ships through storms, pirate waters, and shipping lanes in every ocean. I’ve managed crews of every nationality in every condition. I’ve made decisions where people’s lives depended on clarity.
And I can tell you this: the corporate world’s obsession with diplomatic communication is solving a problem that doesn’t exist whilst creating dozens that do.
Your team wants to know where they stand. Your colleagues want to know what you actually think. Life’s too short to spend it translating coded messages.
Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Do it respectfully, but do it clearly.
On a ship, unclear communication can sink you. In business, it just wastes everyone’s time whilst you slowly sink anyway.
I spent fifty years where that wasn’t an option. Now I’m ashore, I’m not starting now.
The Old Grey Thinker has been around long enough to see through the nonsense. And after five decades at sea, I can promise you: this diplomatic waffle isn’t professionalism.
It’s just cowardice with a thesaurus.
What’s your experience? Have you spent your career in clear-communication industries or diplomatic-waffle ones? I’m genuinely curious—and I promise to be as direct as a ship’s compass in my response.