Everything we do, from a fitness session to a combat operation, is screened through a risk assessment matrix because Soldiering is a fundamentally dangerous profession. Leaders assess the severity and probability of risk relative to the potential value of the activity. The question is simple: are we taking a calculated risk or an asymmetrical risk?

Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps of my Ranger Regiment. 

I stood in formation and recited this and five more stanzas of the Ranger Creed every morning from the day I showed up to R.I.P. in 1998 to the days we went to war in 2002 and our op-tempo no longer allowed morning formations. 

It guides our culture. It shapes who we are and directs how we show up in the world. And though the world has radically transformed since CSM Neal R. Gentry penned these stanzas** in 1974, the values articulated have stood the test of time. 

“If you want to hate the world, watch the news. If you want to love the world, travel it."

I saw that quote going around about the World Cup coverage. It’s unattributed, but something that everybody seems to nod along to anyway. Unless you’ve been living under a rock the past month, I hope you’ve watched a game or two, or at least been privy to the World Cup goodness across socials and the news. 

On May 30, 2026, I completed the North Fork 50k Ultramarathon in 7:02:45. It’s something I felt I needed to do to challenge myself this year, and I realized something important along the way. There’s a difference between challenging yourself and chasing something. The challenge is about sharpening who you are. The chase is about fixing who you are. It’s the bottomless lie that anyone or anything achieved will finally make you enough. I get it. I’ve been there. 

I needed a challenge, but I also felt the siren song of the chase. 

Companies can spend a lot of energy trying to be all things to all people. They can constantly change their product lines to match the latest trendy thing. Changing branding or messaging may add some new customers, but it may also leave long-standing customers confused or frustrated. Companies that take on every client who will have them will have plenty of work in the short run, but often find themselves adrift and exhausted in the long run. Leading our teams and businesses in a way that keeps everyone happy, is actually not leading at all.

Rory McIlroy joined professional golf royalty this past weekend when he won his second Masters tournament. Back-to-back wins. His name now sits alongside Jack Nicklaus, Nick Faldo, and Tiger Woods as one of the only players to win at Augusta in consecutive years. 

This feat follows years of meltdowns at high-level tournaments. The highlights from this weekend will show clutch putts and celebrations. What they won’t show is what happened in the weeks before any of that. The homework and preparation that no one sees. 

Two weekends ago was the best birthday I’ve ever had. I spent it with my son at a rock festival in Orlando—something I never could have anticipated when I left the Army for my family in 2009. In 2009, I left the Army to find my way home. It took years to get there. I felt it deep in my gut—even as leaders and family urged me to stay for a host of reasons: I was “good at it,” and we were in a recession.

Both were true. But being good at something isn’t a good enough reason to stay. And headwinds shouldn’t stop us from moving forward. Regardless, that rationality wasn’t as clear and consistent as the pulse in my gut telling me to go home.

You’re likely familiar with the Pareto Principle (the old 80/20 rule), which tells us that roughly 80% of our results come from roughly 20% of our efforts. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. It shows up everywhere, and it has for a long time. As much as I love the concept, I think we might reconsider it (at least in this context) because the way that we distribute our time, attention, and energy is actually less of a power law distribution, and more like a bell curve.

I’ve been running my whole life. From soccer to the Army, marathons, and beyond, the miles have added up – the wheels are worn, and the power train rattles. Plantar fasciitis, stress fractures, sprained ankles, bone spurs, nerve damage, runner's knee, arthritis, four hernia repairs, sciatica, upper hamstring tear, and spinal compression are some of the dents in my fenders. 

This means long runs and hikes all come with at least a little discomfort. Sometimes A LOT.

I suppose this leaves me with a choice. Do I keep running, or stop running?

Whether you’re raising kids or leading a team, a ton of us are asking the same question right now: how do we get back to real connection without going to war with technology or wishing it was still 1988? Because while that'd be cool, the 80's are gone and technology is here to stay. All joking aside, we talk about this a lot on our team. Blayne, his wife Jeni, and my husband and I are raising two incredible little girls, and technology is already creeping into their everyday lives.

From 2017 – 2022, Kelly and I served in the marriage ministry at Mission Hills Church in Littleton, CO. In that time, I had a number of incredible leadership lessons, perhaps none so resonant as the importance of making peace in our marriages – a lesson just as applicable for all of our relationships.

In last year’s annual letter, we declared 2025 the year we were "entering the Pros”, challenging ourselves to be boldly better. With a book set to release in February and most of our revenue goal already under contract, we began 2025 with great anticipation. We were confident in our team and our business, and eager to see how, if at all, our book would change things. We took our theme of Major League ALPs very seriously. But like any team trying to earn its place in the big leagues, we knew it wouldn't happen overnight. 

Have you ever seen someone launch a boat from their lake house, and thought, “must be nice”? I know I have. And it probably is nice, at that moment. But what did it take to get there? How many years of saving? What opportunities were traded for that piece of waterfront property? How many weekends are spent maintaining it? We don’t really know, do we?

Not every job is a calling.  

Life’s too short to spend 50% of our waking hours working a job we hate. It’s also too short to spend 100% of our time chasing our dreams into poverty. Sometimes that means leaving a great job that’s killing us; sometimes that means staying in an ok job that’s providing for us. Most of the time our jobs occur on a sliding scale between fulfillment and provision that we need to respect. The reality of this tension is uncomfortable, but it’s something we need to address in our age of “follow your heart” influencers.

I recently took my 6-year-old daughter to her first movie theatre experience. It had been years since I'd gone to one myself. As we walked to find our seats, I felt a rush of excitement, wonder, and nostalgia all at once. Buying the bucket of popcorn (and cotton candy for her), the excitement of the lights dimming, the anticipation of the movie starting, everyone locked in on a shared experience, and then walking out, rehashing what we just watched. In the current world of Netflixes and Hulus, entertainment is at our fingertips anytime. The novelty of the movie theatre experience seems to have disappeared for a lot of people. 

Have you ever sat down and thought really hard about what has truly shaped your life, or at least your career? It is easy to take your current situation, and then retrofit a nice story that makes it make sense. But that isn’t the kind of rigorous process that will offer a useful insight – which is what I’ve been searching for lately. 

Too often, we publish values statements without considering what they look like in real life, identifying them in the workplace, and celebrating those who get it right. Without follow through those earnestly developed words become hollow successories without substance. Many of our clients have leaned into deeds over words this year—it’s been a rollercoaster for most. 

I recently went for a run with an old friend, and it was great. In addition to it being a beautiful Tampa morning and seeing dolphins along Bayshore Boulevard, we had the chance to catch up and talk about life, real life. The miles went by quickly, and before I knew it, we were back at his house, soaked with sweat, ready to go our separate ways and get on with the day.

I've had so many recent conversations where somebody I care about has expressed how hopeless, flat, and frustrated they feel. In almost every one of these conversations, they’ve cited several disturbing things they've seen on the internet. They're overwhelmed by news, social media, and a wide range of conspiracy theories. At the same time, these people are living lives that are materially comfortable and almost totally devoid of actual difficulty or risk.

This year, I conducted a social media experiment. I invested more time on Instagram, hoping it would help us get the word out about the book. I’ve had some ups. I’ve had some downs. But mostly, I think I’ve had enough.

Telling someone, “You knew what you were getting into,” is a lot like saying you know how to parent because you read “What To Expect When You’re Expecting”. Ah, I remember being such a great parent…until I became a parent. 

When I had kids of my own, all my observations and acquired knowledge fell short because I came to understand how difficult raising kids is. How emotionally compromising they are. I just never understood until I was responsible for two humans. Like anything in life, a collection of facts does not create understanding. 

We started Applied Leadership Partners a little over five years ago, and since then, we've had countless conversations with people who are thinking about getting into this business, especially former military folks who understandably see leadership development as a natural next chapter. The barrier to entry seems relatively low: if you can speak, teach, or coach, you're in, right?

Not exactly.

Earlier this week, I reacquainted myself with an old frien-emy: Fran.

For those unfamiliar with CrossFit, Fran is a short, classic workout that consists of twenty-one thrusters followed by twenty-one pull-ups, then fifteen of each, then nine of each. And that's it. As Pat Sherwood would say, “couldn’t be simpler”! Most people finish in under seven minutes, and many experienced athletes can complete it in under three. So why am I so sore today and why does the mere mention of this workout induce sweaty palms throughout the CrossFit community?

There’s an old saying that salt water cures anything - whether that’s tears, sweat, or the sea. Last week, I went to the beach with my family and experienced all three. After the difficult time that is always 9/11, along with the additional horrific and dehumanizing violence of that week, it was nice to have a little getaway. 

Sometimes the best of intentions have unintended consequences. 

Afghanistan in 2003 was rugged. We made do with what we had. Outstations, like Lwara and Asadabad (A-bad), were little more than walled compounds with HESCO barriers for watchtowers and bunkers dug from the rocky ground. Our kitchen was a Mk 19 ammo can with boiling water and a pan of t-rations, our shower, a Ranger Buddy with a water jug.  

Sticking with anything over the long haul is hard, even when we are animated by purpose and even when we care. It’s worth considering why discipline can be so hard in everyday life, in the little choices–those daily decisions that are easily overlooked yet compound to great gains over time. 

It’s the middle of my third Maine summer and I've discovered something unsettling about myself: I’m not very good at enjoying summer.  

Here’s a snapshot to help explain what I mean: It's 2 PM on a Tuesday. The sky is that impossible shade of blue, it’s a perfect 78 degrees, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of pine and salt air…through my office window. And here I am, sitting at my desk, staring out at the world like a caged animal, practically vibrating with the need to be anywhere but here.

There's a profound difference between perseverance and endurance, and unless you’re a word-nerd or leadership consultant (I’m both), it is easy to miss. We often celebrate endurance as the ultimate virtue: the ability to withstand anything, to never break, to be invincible. But true perseverance is something else entirely.

Failing is perhaps the most universal human fear there is. The little devil whispers in our ear before job interviews, telling us we aren’t qualified enough. It allows us to concede that it will be okay to quit halfway through a marathon because it hurts too much, despite how much we trained. It tells us we’re crappy parents when our struggles in school. Fear of failure makes us second-guess every major decision - “What if?” 

The real problem isn’t the fear of failing itself. It’s how we fail. When we face any challenge, we can choose one of two paths: wholehearted or half-hearted.