从流浪女到女将军：埃森哲高管的涅槃之路

    琳达•辛格有两个非凡的职业。她是咨询业巨头埃森哲（Accenture）的执行董事，同时还是美国军方的一名准将。她的履历非常精彩：高中辍学，曾经离家出走，最终却领悟到了领导力的真谛。在阿富汗服役两年之后，今年六月，辛格从上校晋升为将军，成为马里兰州国民警卫队（Maryland Army National Guard ）最高长官。49岁的辛格与我们分享了她的故事和有关领导力的经验教训。

    去年我在阿富汗服役，有一天，我负责将一批国防部平民护送到难民营。我站在一个满地垃圾的地方，向孩子们分发衣物。当时的情景就像是在一座动物园里——孩子们争抢着T恤和裤子，根本不管衣服的尺寸。很显然，这些孩子肯定不会自己穿这些衣服。他们会把这些衣服卖掉，或者用它们来交换食物、燃料，或是他们更需要的物品。

    这些孩子就靠这点简单的东西生存下去，让我想起我的祖母。她会把老板的旧衣服拿回家给我穿。与难民营里的孩子一样，我也曾经无家可归。

    八岁之前，我一直与祖父母住在马里兰州，我从没意识到我们很贫穷。我们有的吃，也有的穿，虽然都是别人用过的或者手工缝制的。而且，我的祖父母给了我很多的爱。九岁的时候，我搬去和父母一起住，从那之后，我的生活彻底乱了套。我的童年经常遭到虐待。我甚至遭到过亲戚的性骚扰。15岁那年，再次遭到性骚扰之后，我离家出走。实其实是我跟母亲大吵了一架，然后她让我滚。

    我在汉堡王（Burger King）工作过，后来在一个卖椒盐卷饼的柜台打工。等我赚到足够的钱后，我从马里兰州弗雷德里克的一对老夫妇那里租了一个房间。每个月的租金是65美元，但我很快就无力承担。于是我搬了出去，有时会睡在朋友家的门廊，或者在Francis Scott Key购物中心卷饼摊后面的操作台过夜。我竟然一直坚持了下来。

    同时我还得兼顾学业。我的学习成绩很好，还加入了校篮球队——司职大前锋，场均能得十几分。但最后，工作、学业和无家可归的压力让我不堪重负。我的成绩开始下滑。我没有足够的钱参加SAT考试。最终，我从高中辍学。

    后来，有一天下班后，当我在卷饼摊后台休息的时候，我看到了美国国民警卫队在购物中心里设置的征兵处。我也不知道到底是什么让我迈出改变命运的那一步。总之，在1981年6月3日这一天，我成了一名军人。我不得不说服我的父母在文件上签字，因为我还不满18岁。这是他们为我做过的最好的一件事。我的命运从此被彻底改变。

    所以，当我站在阿富汗那个满地污秽的地方，看着孩子们讨要捐助品时，我意识到，他们大多数人并没有我当年所享受到的微薄的支持。阿富汗的女孩不能借助参军这条路来逃离糟糕的家庭生活。当时，我决定，我要说出我生活的真相，以及如何成为一名领导者。如果我坦率地讲出自己的经历，或许可以帮助人们克服困难。那一天，我看到的那些孩子和他们的父母，或许永远都没有机会讲出他们自己的故事，但我可以。如果我的故事能帮助一个人从无助走向成功，那么，它也能解释我到那个尘土遮天的地方到底是为了什么。

    Linda Singh has an extraordinary dual career. She is a managing director at consulting giant Accenture (ACN) and a Brigadier General in the U.S. Army. She also has a remarkable history: She's a high-school dropout and onetime runaway who found a path to leadership. Promoted from Colonel to General in June and newly in charge of the Maryland Army National Guard after two years of service in Afghanistan, Singh, 49, shares her story and lessons in leadership here.

    One day last year during my service in Afghanistan, I accompanied a group of Department of Defense civilians to a refugee camp. I stood in the middle of a garbage-strewn lot, handing out clothes to children. It was a zoo—kids grabbing shirts and pants no matter the size. Clearly, the kids would never wear this clothing. They would sell or barter it for food or fuel or other things they needed more.

    These kids, wanting such simple things to survive, reminded me of my grandmother bringing home hand-me-downs from her employer. I wore those hand-me-downs. And like these kids in the refugee camp, I was once homeless too.

    Living with my grandparents in Maryland for the first eight years of my life, I never realized we were poor. We had food and clothes, even if they were used or handmade, and my grandma and grandpa gave me plenty of love. I moved in with my parents on my ninth birthday, and that's when things turned turbulent. Abuse occurred at multiple points during my childhood. I was sexually molested by a couple of my relatives. After one of those incidents, when I was 15, I ran away from home. Actually, my mom and I had a really big fight and I was told to leave.

    I got jobs at Burger King and later at a pretzel stand and made enough money to rent a room from an elderly couple in Frederick, Maryland. The room cost $65 a month, and soon enough I couldn't afford that. So I moved out. I slept on the porches of friends' homes or in the back office of the pretzel stand in the Francis Scott Key mall. I made it work.

    And I kept it together at school. I got good grades and played Varsity basketball—power forward, scoring a dozen or so points per game. But eventually, the stress of working, going to school and having no home did me in. My grades declined. I didn't have enough money to take the SAT test. So I dropped out of high school.

    Then one day, on my break from work at the pretzel stand, I spotted a U.S. Army National Guard recruiting booth in the mall. What possessed me to walk over and redirect my life, I'm not sure. But on June 3, 1981, at 17, I joined the Army. I had to persuade my parents to sign the papers because I wasn't yet 18. It was the best thing they ever did for me. It turned my life around.

    So, as I stood on that filthy lot in Afghanistan and watched the kids scrounge for handouts, I realized that most of them don't have even the tenuous support I had when I was their age. Girls in Afghanistan can't escape bad home lives by joining the military. At that moment, I decided I needed to speak the truth about my life and what it takes to be a leader. If I can be transparent, maybe I can help people overcome their difficulties. The children and parents I saw that day will likely never tell their story publicly, but I can tell mine. If that helps one person go from hopelessness to success, then telling my story will explain why I ended up at that dusty lot..