It was our inaugural Freedom Ops event last October, just south of St. Louis – four Cadre, three Trainers, and 119 men strong. In the early hours of the ruck phase as the group moved along a stretch of abandoned railroad tracks, a call came over the radio: Man down. Head injury. Platoon Cadre already responding.
Everything sped up.
As the event lead, I knew I was responsible for everything that happened or failed to happen. A serious head injury can stop an entire event cold. My mind went straight into overdrive: Was the injury serious? Could the Cadre handle this by himself? Do we need to call 9-11 right now?? Those kinds of questions carry weight, and the decisions made in the moment matter most.
But even with the adrenaline spike, I quickly realized I wasn’t improvising. I was falling back on preparation, on systems already in place.
It took me back to a mission early in my Special Forces career. We were near the end of a multiday patrol, moving out of our “Rest Overnight” (RON) position, when an explosion tore through the front of our convoy. The morning erupted with gunfire from the surrounding hills.
We hadn’t rehearsed this exact scenario – but we had trained for what to do in an ambush. Instincts kicked in even as comms fell apart. Chaos escalated as our Afghan militia partners panicked, scattering to the canyon walls for cover. All eyes turned to the Team Sergeant as I called in for air support.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t freeze. He calmly assessed the situation, issued clear direction, and got us all moving as the Team returned fire and maneuvered out of the kill zone.
It wasn’t until later, looking back, that I understood how we all stayed so composed.
That same composure can show up far beyond the battlefield as well. Chaos doesn’t just live in warzones – it finds its way into everyday life, often when we least expect it.
Like the phone call from the school nurse.
Your child fell. There’s blood. Can you come? Your stomach drops. Your mind starts to race. It’s a different kind of urgency, but the principle is the same: your kid doesn’t need your panic – he or she needs your presence.
Because whether you’re facing incoming fire or a bleeding forehead in a nurse’s office, the truth holds:
In chaos, you don’t rise to the occasion. You fall to the level of your preparation and clarity.
And no matter how much planning you’ve done, chaos will find the cracks. It always does. But that kind of pressure isn’t just for soldiers. We all face it – in careers, in families, in relationships. Different battlefield, same tension. And when it hits, you won’t have time to figure out who you are or what you believe. That work has to be done beforehand.
That’s why this message matters right now. August is a pivot point. Summer is winding down. Vacations are ending. The pressure of fall responsibilities is starting to build. It’s the calm before the storm – schools reopen, work ramps back up, and leaders across every horizon face renewed demands on their time, focus, and energy.
Now is the time to prepare – before the pressure hits.
Clarity, in this context, means knowing what matters most – before everything starts moving too fast to think. It gives a leader a compass when the map gets blurry. It doesn’t require having all the answers. It just means you’re standing on solid ground when everything else feels unstable. The people who carry that kind of clarity often don’t have titles. They’re not in headlines. They’re the ones who stay calm when others freeze, who move people to safety during catastrophes when others hesitate, who step forward and take responsibility when no one else will.
Crisis doesn’t create leadership. It reveals it.
Chaos reveals who’s prepared, because when time runs out, preparation is all that’s left. It shows who panics and who perseveres. It highlights the steadying power of a calm presence. It reveals who can cut through the noise, because clarity is what separates distractions from what truly matters. And ultimately, it shows who people will follow, because real influence doesn’t come from a title, it emerges when others are overwhelmed.
That kind of clarity doesn’t appear on demand. It’s built over time. It’s built by defining our core principles. By making hard decisions under fatigue. By practicing stillness before responding. By debriefing our failures and owning our lessons. And by surrounding ourselves with people who sharpen, not soften, us.
That’s why Freedom Ops exists. We simulate pressure on purpose – darkness, fatigue, uncertainty – because it’s not just about physical hardship. It’s about training men to stay clear when everything around them feels chaotic. Leadership in the real world isn’t neat. It’s not predictable. It’s born in discomfort.
And the pressure is coming. At home. At work. In your community. The question isn’t if you’ll face chaos – it’s when. And when it comes, you won’t need perfection. You’ll need presence. You’ll need clarity.
Because clarity isn’t found in crisis – it’s carried into it. When the storm hits, there’s no time to rise to the occasion. You’ll default to the man you’ve already become.
So, the question isn’t, “Will you be ready?” It is instead, “Are you preparing every day to become the kind of man who is?”
That day on the tracks outside St. Louis, before I could make my way back to assess the situation, the Cadre had already applied first aid. Our trained medic evaluated the injury and cleared it as minor. The participant continued.
The crisis had passed – not because we got lucky, but because the men on the ground were ready. They didn’t freeze. They didn’t overreact. They executed calmly, decisively, exactly as they’d been trained.
That moment didn’t become a disaster because preparation was already in place. Systems had been built. Roles were understood. And when the pressure hit, clarity held.
That’s what Freedom Ops is about: training men to be the steady ones. The ones who don’t wait for someone else to act. The ones who bring order into chaos – not because they rise to the occasion, but because they’ve already become the kind of leaders the moment requires.