In other words, you don’t need a bunch of five-star recruits who already know how to row. You just need a few independent farm kids who are motivated enough to get in the boat and tough enough to keep coming to practice.

Independence, Interdependence, and Swing

In The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen Covey writes that “the current social paradigm enthrones independence. It is the avowed goal of many individuals and social movements. Most of the self-improvement material puts independence on a pedestal, as though communication, teamwork, and cooperation were lesser values.” 

Given this cultural trend,  it’s tempting to think that creating a team of independent individuals is the key to building a successful business. But that’s actually only the first first step—at least according to Covey, who came up with the concept of the “Maturity Continuum.” Simply put, the Maturity Continuum starts with dependence, progresses to independence, and culminates in interdependence. While Covey acknowledges that independence is vital for self-reliance, he also insists that interdependence—working together to achieve more than one person could alone—is the highest form of maturity. He writes, “If I am physically interdependent, I am self-reliant and capable, but I also realize that you and I working together can accomplish far more than, even at my best, I could accomplish alone.”

Of all the lessons that Joe Rantz learned while he was in the boat, this one gave him the most trouble. His early life was a crucible of hardship that forged him into someone who could fend for himself under any circumstances. But the same challenges that made him incredibly independent also made him immensely wary of others. Trust didn’t come easily to him; he believed that survival depended solely on his own resolve. In rowing, this mindset eventually became a barrier. As Brown observes, “Great oarsmen and oarswomen are necessarily made of conflicting stuff. . . . The sport offers so many opportunities for suffering and so few opportunities for glory that only the most tenaciously self-reliant and self-motivated are likely to succeed at it. And yet, at the same time—and this is key—no other sport demands and rewards the complete abandonment of the self the way that rowing does.” 

When Joe arrived at UW, he had the prerequisite personality of an exceptional oarsman: He was self-motivated, self-disciplined, and self-reliant. But he lacked the second half of the equation—the ability to abandon himself and give everything he had to other guys in the boat. This was Joe’s greatest challenge—not rowing itself, but learning to trust his teammates enough to find what rowers call “swing.” Here’s how Brown describes it in the book:

[Swing] only happens when all eight oarsmen are rowing in such perfect unison that no single action by any one is out of synch with those of all the others. It’s not just that the oars enter and leave the water at precisely the same instant. Sixteen arms must begin to pull, sixteen knees must begin to fold and unfold, eight bodies must begin to slide forward and backward, eight backs must bend and straighten all at once. Each minute action—each subtle turning of wrists—must be mirrored exactly by each oarsman, from one end of the boat to the other. Only then will the boat continue to run, unchecked, fluidly and gracefully between pulls of the oars. Only then will it feel as if the boat is a part of each of them, moving as if on its own. Only then does pain entirely give way to exultation. Rowing then becomes a kind of perfect language. Poetry, that’s what a good swing feels like.

Joe’s ultimate test of letting go came during the final race of the 1936 Berlin Olympics. After pushing himself to his physical limits, he reached a moment when his pain peaked and the crowd became a noisy blur. As Brown describes in the book, it was during that final, furious sprint that Joe realized with “startling clarity” that he had already given everything he could as an individual. The only way to win was to “finally abandon all doubt, trust absolutely without reservation that he and the boy in front of him and the boys behind him would all do precisely what they needed to do at precisely the instant they needed to do it.” He understood that victory required throwing himself into each stroke “as if he were throwing himself off of a cliff into a void, with unquestioned faith” that his teammates would be there for him, giving their all with every pull.

And you know what? They did—and that’s why they won the gold.

This is the culminating scene in Joe’s story, and it offers some powerful business lessons. Because while it’s essential to have independent individuals on your team, building a thriving business means inspiring them to come together to fight for the greater good. Creating a team with this level of interdependence—with this version of swing—requires a deep trust that’s cultivated through small, everyday moments. Before the big race in Berlin, Joe’s team spent countless hours together on Lake Washington fighting their frozen oars, puking after tough practices, and laughing over inside jokes. That’s why they trusted each other so much. That’s also why you should make the most of the small, daily interactions that you already have with your team. So engage in candid conversations after serious setbacks; listen to the frustrations that others are facing; enjoy shared laughs after long days; and watch how these small interactions nurture an unspoken understanding that everyone in the company is pulling for each other.