Rocket Man

Brandon and I share a lot about our time in the Special Operations community. I’m certainly proud of those years and happy to offer some of the things I learned while earning and wearing the Green Beret. But it’s occurred to me lately that I probably don’t reflect enough upon the foundational and incredibly valuable lessons from my time as a knuckle-head lieutenant in the big, conventional Army. If I’m being really honest, the majority of what I learned about soldiering and leadership probably came from those first three years in the 1st Cavalry Division - cutting my teeth as a young officer in a rapidly changing landscape. 

I should start off by saying that I was extremely fortunate in that my first unit was full of solid leaders (both officers and NCOs) and some of the best peers (fellow knuckle-head LTs) that a newly minted platoon leader could hope for. I was constantly challenged, but fully supported, which was huge, because as it turned out, the real Army was almost nothing like my sanitized four-year experience at West Point. It took me about five minutes to realize that I’d be dealing with a ton of shit that wasn’t in the brochure.

I quickly discovered that the Army was not about tanks or helicopters or rifles, but people. And people are messy. Though I knew it was coming, I was terrified when faced with the reality of signing for tens of millions of dollars worth of equipment and 19 human lives. Suddenly, I was 23 years old and responsible for a bunch of stuff that was constantly breaking (or going missing) and a bunch of young soldiers who made my equipment issues feel easy. 

In early 2003, after an amazing year as a tank platoon leader in the storied 1-8 CAV, I was selected to be one of two scout platoon leaders in the Brigade Reconnaissance Team (BRT). This was kind of a big deal, at least to me. The BRT’s job was to be WAY out in front of the entire Brigade, providing eyes, ears, and early warning for about 5,000 soldiers mounted upon hundreds of armored vehicles. It was a dangerous job, operating in light vehicles or on foot, sneaking up on enemy tanks and armored personnel carriers. We thought we’d be doing the job for real, on the big offensive push from Kuwait to Baghdad, but that didn’t happen.

Our hopes of leading the charge to topple Saddam were crushed when we were informed that we’d be staying home for the invasion of Iraq, and our sister division, the 4th Infantry would be going instead. I feel a little weird admitting it now, but we were pissed. As far as we could tell, we’d missed the war. It was going to be over in a matter of weeks, and we were going to watch it on TV, just like we watched Afghanistan from home. We had no clue as to what the following 15+ years would bring. As my partner Brandon likes to say, “we were all like little kids that wanted ice cream, and just ended up with a brain freeze.”

In the late summer of 2003, we were informed that we would be deploying to Iraq in January of 2004 as some sort of second wave. It felt like we were second string. That feeling was only made worse when coalition forces captured Saddam in December, taking that last glimmer of possible glory off the table. Still, we trained and prepared for our upcoming deployment, assuming that we’d end up serving as a bunch of security guards with way too many guns.

But one day, about three weeks before we deployed, our brigade commander, Colonel Formica pulled me and my boss, Captain Steve Marr into his office. We sat down around his table as he oriented us to a big satellite imagery map of west Baghdad. He said, “Guys we’ve got a problem. The Green Zone and Baghdad International Airport (BIAP) are getting attacked by rockets and mortars almost every night. The enemy is operating in this sort of rural no-mans-land west of the city and we can’t seem to get ahead of them. I need you to get out there, figure out what’s going on, and get Rocket Man. Can you do it?”

D/9 Cav just before conducting an air assault mission

I was thrilled. It looked like we were going to have a real scout mission after all. I’d heard stories about what some other scout platoons were doing over there and it didn’t sound particularly exciting. Some were providing personal security for the Colonel, some were doing convoy escort, but few were doing reconnaissance and surveillance. We were not only assigned a real scout mission, we were given ownership of a critical battle space that required a decisive solution.

Colonel Formica informed us that none of the battalion task forces would be assigned to this 300 square kilometer area between Baghdad and Fallujah. They would all be tied up patrolling Baghdad’s various neighborhoods, so he was assigning it to us. The Brigade’s smallest unit, just two small scout platoons, would be responsible for the largest piece of battle space…by far. It was ours to sort out, and nobody was coming to the rescue. His priorities were clear, and he was going to let us figure out how to accomplish the mission.

Rocket Man’s favorite target was the camp that we lived in, so we had real skin in the game. If we didn’t do something about it, we’d have to pay for it. This point was driven home late one night when a 57mm rocket landed and detonated about 15ft in front of my trailer, peppering the front wall with dirt, rocks and shrapnel. Plus, everybody knew that it was our job to stop Rocket Man, so it felt like it was on us every time we heard that familiar boom.

It’s important to point out that Colonel Formica didn’t just hang this big mission on us and leave us for dead. He supported us every step of the way. He kept us protected from various distractions and didn’t let higher ranking commanders pull us away from the mission to do something else. He allowed us to stay focused on the task at hand and trusted us to come up with an effective approach. He also gave us a vital resource in air coverage. Most nights, we had counterparts above us in recon or attack helicopters helping us to identify and interdict these ad hoc insurgent artillery teams.

Maybe most importantly, he trusted us. The big boss gave us the latitude to do what we need to do in order to accomplish the mission. He listened when we asked for things and he allowed us to do a bunch of stuff that didn’t necessarily fit the brigade’s operational and safety protocols. We modified our vehicles, moved in small teams, and employed unconventional tactics. He understood the difference between value-based leadership and rules-based leadership. Ultimately, he believed that we would exercise the discipline to adhere to the unit’s values, even if we had to occasionally break one of its rules. It was our job to make those decisions, and we would have to own the results.

A scout team moving along an irrigation canal at dusk

And let me tell you something, there was pride in ownership. We worked our butts off and came up with every creative technique we could to finally get one step ahead of Rocket Man. Before long, we started having some real success. We intercepted a couple of huge shipments of rockets, captured a bunch of insurgents off the ‘black list’, and significantly reduced the amount of indirect fire that fell on friendly bases. The job was brutally difficult, terribly frustrating, and incredibly dangerous - and none of us would have traded it. What we owned was not up for barter.

We earned quite a reputation around Camp Victory and we owned that too. Other soldiers would see the camo nets hanging from our trucks or the paint on our faces and scoff at it. They’d wonder out loud how we intended to avoid standing out while driving our big gun trucks through the city. They didn’t understand and we didn’t bother explaining. All we knew was that virtually every high ranking officer and NCO in the brigade had shown up at our HQ one night, hoping to hitch a ride for one of our missions and get a little taste of the action.

Looking back now, it is hard to believe the amount of trust and faith that our leaders placed in a bunch of 20-somethings with no combat experience. Maybe we’d earned it over the previous year of training? Maybe the situation just didn’t leave them with any other choice? Either way, their ability to give us clear priorities, involve us in creating a strategy, and support us through all of the challenges will forever be my reminder of the power of ownership.

The Harder Right

“Specialist Young...what is the golden rule?!” 

I was soaking wet in the middle of an Army P.T. circle during my first Non-Commissioned Officer Education System course. All of us students were there to learn how to be Sergeants, authorized to take ownership of an Army team. That morning I led the class in physical training, which started with a blistering 3 mile run that left several of my classmates behind, and me unsatisfied with their level of effort. My anger erupted into a barrage of insults at the formation until the instructor kindly told me to shut up. 

Standing calmly in the middle of the circle of panting Soldiers, my brow darkened further while considering the question...“Specialist Young!?”

“Uh...choose the hard right over the easy wrong?” I managed. 

A ring of puzzled faces stared at me. You could have heard a pin drop on the wet Washington grass. Clearly I had the answer wrong, but I didn’t know why. 

“Uh...no.” My instructor looked through me for what seemed like an hour. 

“Everybody, tell Specialist Young what the golden rule is…”

In unison, “treat others as you would like to be treated,” assailed me from the circular ambush!

“Huh...go figure,”  I thought. “That works too,” I said and shrugged off the next thirty minutes of push ups. 

Moments like those are hard to forget because they expose our order of precedence in thought. Always choose the hard right over the easy wrong was the natural answer to me, because in the two years I had served as a Ranger, aside from the Ranger Creed, the three “golden rules” that were hammered into me were:

1. Always choose the harder right over the easier wrong

2. Seek responsibility and take responsibility for your actions

3. Hope for the best, plan and prepare for the worst

I originally assumed it was a trick question (since there were three golden rules), and felt I had done a fair job picking what seemed like the most golden of the rules. 

As my colleagues pointed out, I was somewhat oblivious to THE Golden Rule, and that probably needed some work. The three golden rules that I was taught as a young Ranger weren't particularly helpful with making friends, but I would later realize that they were vital in forging a mindset for overcoming adversity - highly valuable in a profession highlighted by difficult missions in bad weather, severe terrain, and hostile environments. The Rangers and other Special Operations units are a laboratory of adversity that teach you to persevere and win in austere circumstances. Life in these organizations is a series of humbling and hard-earned lessons that kept us alive in combat and set me up for success in business. 

Probably the most important of these lessons was Choosing the Hard Right. 

Taking the harder path is, well...hard. It requires us to be uncomfortable, to give a little extra, to make a deposit in the bank. It’s paying now for an undetermined future benefit. And we humans are not particularly good with delayed gratification. But make no mistake, the compounding effects of your small, daily decisions will ultimately determine the trajectory of your life. As the great Bulgarian weightlifting coach, Jerzy Gregorek likes to say, “Easy choices, hard life. Hard choices, easy life.” Or as Blayne and I often put it, “Eat your broccoli!”

We know that life always moves forward, and forces us to take the ups and downs we are given, whether we like them or not. But the choices we make on the journey will dictate whether that path is taking us up or down as we move forward. Those who routinely take the path of least resistance will end up in the low ground of obscurity, while those who choose the hard right will discover the mountain tops of victory. As leaders we must reject the path of least resistance, the outcome is too costly in the long haul. 

The path of least resistance is always easy to find in the wilderness. We call them, “natural lines of drift”, those contours of the land that push their travelers where they want to, like sheep. They typically nudge us gradually down hill, one small side-step at a time. Natural lines of drift become the trails in the woods that are eventually worn by wild game and must be avoided at all costs by a military unit, because following them might just land you into an enemy ambush. For most leaders in organizations, following natural lines of drift is often a slower, subtler path highlighted by relaxed standards, lack of accountability, distant and disconnected leadership, punting on decisions, and avoiding difficult conversations. The word “drift” should tell you all you need to know about that path. Nobody who drifts through anything in life will achieve big goals that make a difference in the world. 

Most teams never realize it until they find themselves in the swamp, covered by triple canopy forest, getting eaten alive by mosquitos. The only thing that will get you out of that mess is setting your direction to true north (your mission), and slogging out of the dingy darkness, together, with the same team you walked to the bottom. 

Choosing the hard right over the easy wrong is not just a great rule for Soldiering and business, it’s also a great rule for life. You can’t credit card your way to wealth, there are no shortcuts to relationships, and you can’t outwork a bad diet. In life, consistently making the small "right" choices is a lot easier than fighting your way out of the low ground by having to make a big (and painful) "right" choice.

So, as you persevere through your organization’s particular brand of adversity, ask yourself if there is a hard decision you really, really don’t want to make...and that’s probably the next “hard right” that must be faced. We cannot wish the hard stuff away. You can, however, consistently sidestep the hard decisions, going deeper into the low ground. 

And finally, whether you’re in the valley, or on the high ground, treat others as they wish to be treated. As it turns out that golden rule still reigns supreme regardless of circumstances, but is especially appreciated in the hard times. Caring for your team in the struggle ensures that by the time you do get out of the swamp, you’ll still have your whole team with you to enjoy the view from the top with.

A Tale of Two Berets

October 7, 1997, 3:00 am. I curled up on a bench under a mannequin bearing two 3rd Ranger Battalion scrolls, a Ranger Tab, Master Parachutist Badge with a mustard stain, Combat Infantryman’s Badge (CIB), and Pathfinder Badge. Resting on top, like a crown of glory, was the coveted Black Beret of the US Army Rangers. This was the standard for all Infantrymen to aspire to. This was the symbol of excellence. 

I had left Oakland the day before, arrived in Atlanta late, and caught a bus deep through the Georgia pines to Ft. Benning’s Sand Hill for Basic Training and Infantry School. 

Slipping into sleep, I dreamt of what it would be like to wear that uniform. Perhaps someday. I knew it would take an awful lot to earn it, and I was willing to pay in blood and toil for that Black Beret. 

Four years later, and 12 weeks before 9/11/01, I stood in the formation of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, black beret on my brow, tan beret in my pocket. I was reluctant to change, and completely unaware of the imminent cultural shift that awaited.   

The black beret was an emblem of excellence worn only by the Rangers until June 14, 2000, when General Eric Shinseki, Chief of Staff of the Army, determined it would become a universal symbol of excellence for the entire U.S. Army. 

It felt like a slap in the face to all of us who suffered at Cole Range, under the torture of the Ranger Indoctrination Program (RIP), a 3 week program to weed out those not completely committed for service in the Rangers. 

“Earned not issued!” We shouted in outrage.

When we saw a black beret, we knew a lot about the man who wore it, and what it took to earn it. Now, the entire Army was about to be issued our distinctive headgear. To say that some of us were upset would be putting it very lightly. Thankfully, our superiors took a more thoughtful approach, advocating for a shift that would honor the heritage of the unit and retain the uniqueness of serving in the Rangers. 

In March of 2001, the Command of the Rangers petitioned for and received approval to change our headgear to the tan beret. 

"The Ranger tan beret will represent for the Ranger of the 21st century what the black beret represented -- a unit that leads the way in our conventional and special operations forces," P.K. Keen said, then Commander of the 75th Ranger Regiment.

He had no way of understanding just how accurate his statement was. None of us did.

The black beret was a hard won cultural symbol, and it was hard to let go of, but the change to tan turned out to be symbolic of an even greater shift in the culture and capabilities of the Rangers. Before our new tan berets had the chance to form to our closely shaved heads, the world shifted seismically when those towers fell on 9/11.

The 75th Ranger Regiment deployed immediately after the attack and became the most continuously deployed unit in the GWOT. 

We learned quickly that this would not be like the Ranger missions of the 20th century. We were in a long, hard fight, against an enemy unlike those of the recent past. The days of the Urgent Fury strike were gone. We were now committed to protracted conflict with a persistent and elusive enemy, and we had to adapt to win. 

For starters, the rules had completely changed, if there were any at all. Our enemy didn't stand in formations, didn't wear uniforms, didn’t fight us head on, and seemed to evolve daily.

We could close with and destroy any enemy toe to toe, but we were chasing shadows in the day and dodging rockets in the night. They knew they couldn’t win in a direct fire engagement, so they didn’t even try. They planted bombs in roads, murdered indigenous allies in their homes, and manipulated the human network with ideology and intimidation to stay one step ahead of us.

2002. Afghanistan. Enemy rockets on a time delay firing device found pointed at our safe house before they detonated.

The first few years of the war were a wake up call. The world no longer needed the 75th Ranger Regiment of the 80’s and the 90’s that served with excellence in Grenada, Panama, and Somalia. The world needed today’s US Army Rangers that remain decisively engaged in the Global War on Terror. 

Our barrel-chested, 30 mile ruck marching, hard as nails, premier light infantry and special operations force in the Army had to become more agile, more professional, and more proficient to meet the shifting needs of the asymmetrical fight. It wasn’t easy, but it was intentional at every echelon of leadership.

We changed the way we looked, the way we dressed, the way we assessed and selected candidates for the Rangers, and the way we trained. But our mission, our values, our creed, and our commitment to the unit remained, and held us together while we evolved to become more lethal in the midst of brutal war. 

I am reminded of this today as leaders and organizations across our country wrestle with the cultural shifts required to continue their missions in the post-pandemic world. Whether we like it or not, the world has fundamentally changed and we need to change with it. Simply adjusting our tactics may not be enough. For many of us, it might be time for cultural or structural changes. 

Change isn’t an indictment of the past. Different doesn’t imply wrong. Different doesn’t necessarily imply better; different implies different.

There’s nothing wrong with who we’ve been, it’s just time to become who the mission and the moment needs us to be.

A leader’s first job is to see the world as it truly is, not as it was or how we wish it were. And to accept it. If we can do that, then we can be clear and intentional in how we transform to meet the needs of today, just like the Rangers have been doing for over three hundred years.

Photo Credit: US Army.

The beautiful thing about culture is that we get to cast a vote. Culture doesn’t create people. People create culture. The leaders and members of every organization determine the culture, either by accident or on purpose. We strongly recommend you do the latter. We hope you will take this opportunity to assess and re-shape the aspects of your culture that no longer serve you. 

It took 50 years for that black beret to become the Ranger symbol of excellence. Fifty years of missions that called for Rangers to “move further, faster, and fight harder than any other Soldier.” Two decades this side of exchanging our black berets for tan, our story has only strengthened. Though it was hard to let go of the past, it was an honor to participate in building the future - the next chapter of an already storied lineage that dates back to the 1700’s.

Regardless of the headgear, the Rangers remain the most lethal, premier raid force in the Army today after three centuries of innovation from the tip of the spear.

Culture and capabilities must evolve to ensure relevance and effectiveness. Evolving to the needs of the time is a sign of strength. Holding on to the past is a sign of fear (and that makes sense). Change is scary, and costs something from everyone. 

Those leaders who reach back to the strength of the past while transforming for the needs of the future, are the ones who will successfully move an organization forward. Those who guard the old ways will be left behind. 

June 2, 2006. My last day in the ranks of the 75th Ranger Regiment came and went like any other Ranger. I stood in that formation proud to have been a small part of such a huge story.

My uniform that day was identical to the mannequin on Sand Hill nine years before, save for two key differences: the scroll on my right shoulder bore the marks of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, and the beret that was proudly perched on my head was tan.

RLTW,

Brandon

June 2006. Saying goodbye to the 75th Ranger Regiment.

Daddy Was a Green Beret

The enemy fire was withering, pinning down the small team of Green Berets under a scorching desert heat. The team took its first casualty, as the desert sun meandered over the horizon. Hemmed in from all sides, nightfall over the team of Green Berets brought reprieve from the heat and enemy contact. As light crept over morning, my Dad held his bloodsoaked teammate in his arms as he took his last breath. They escaped and evaded (E&E) across the desert while the last shred of darkness covered the earth, the trek made longer by the weight of loss. 

I picked up pieces of the story as a child, but had always longed for more. Clutching my G.I. Joe’s tightly, I would strain my eyes to my Dad’s face, hoping to catch one more shred. I wanted to know. I needed to know. But he would gaze off into the distance, and cooly say, “that is a story we can share over a beer someday, son.” 

I hoped that I would someday earn that beer from him, and so much more. But he was a complicated man, and childhood was a painful and confusing affair both with, and without him. 

As an eleven year old, I watched my father pack up every belonging of worth in our foreclosing California mansion, and leave. He cleared out every bank account and left my mother, brother, sister, and I with materially nothing. 

While loading his U-Haul, he paused long enough to walk over to me and deliver an edict. My feet were glued to the porch, my eyes following his moves in horror and confusion. I wanted to run, but couldn’t. With a haunting clarity, he got nose to nose with me and asserted his truth, “I am going to financially destroy your mother,” and then casually returned to his task.

I understood. Unshackled from the cement, I watched my feet enter the house, my hands steal two of his pistols, and my body return to the porch. My heart filled my eardrums as I hoped to pull off the heist that would enable me to protect my mother. He didn’t notice the guns missing from his pile of firearms, and the U-Haul sputtered off in the distance. 

The next seven years were difficult, but we made it. 

At eighteen, after arriving at the 2nd Ranger Battalion, I wanted to find out for myself just what I thought of the man who had “financially destroyed my mother”. The man who authored my truncated childhood and so many abuses when he was around. The Army afforded us some common ground to have a relationship, so I started there. The uniform connected us. We had both worn the colors of our Nation. Both joined the Army at 18 years old...both followed in our father’s footsteps. To me, the uniform represented more than service to our country, it was a bridge to the man I never knew. 

It’s a terrible thing to not know your father, you always feel somehow “less”. Lacking in some way that only amplifies that hole we all have in our hearts that can only be filled by God. When a parent walks out on you as a child, it feels like the world is conspiring to pity you. It feels like everyone knows you weren’t worthy enough to stick around for. 

Through phone calls and emails I spent time trying to get to know my Dad. I learned that my grandfather was one of the original Darby’s Rangers and beamed with pride. I sewed a WWII Ranger Diamond on the inside of my patrol cap as my “drive on” patch, motivating me in the tough times. He had died before I was born, and I had only known him as the man who broke his back jumping into D-Day. It felt like I was connected to him too through this uniform. I would imagine him jumping out of airplanes with me in Airborne school. Somehow exiting that aircraft felt like entering my unknown heritage. 

PFC Brandon Young, at Ranger School Class 3-99 graduation.

When I graduated from Ranger School at 20, I asked my Dad to come out and pin the coveted black and gold tab to my uniform. It was a huge day. A moment that I had earned through suffering and shared with my Dad through grace. Hours later, with gaunt cheeks and a belly full of burger, we sat in the afterglow of my accomplishment. Two thieves sharing beers and pleasantries: I had stolen his guns, he had stolen my childhood. 

It was time for the real conversation to begin, and I invited him to share, Soldier to Soldier. 

With every question I asked, each answer became harder to receive. It was painful. Not because of the horror of losing a fallen comrade, the fear of imminent death, or the anguish of evading enemy pursuit in the world’s most punishing terrain. 

It hurt because it wasn’t true. My Dad was a Green Beret —until he wasn’t. My childhood wasn’t the only thing he had stolen. He had also stolen valor. My beer grew warm as my gaze grew cold. 

Bruce was an Army personnel clerk in Bad Kreuznach, Germany in the ‘60’s who took bribes to replace Soldiers’ names on deployment rosters to Vietnam. He profited off of sending men to their prospective and, in some cases, eventual deaths. He profaned the fraternity of Soldiering with his greed. My grandfather was a communications specialist in San Antonio, TX during WWII. The two men shared alcoholism along with their uniforms. 

Stolen Valor has a cost, and as every Soldier knows, we all eventually pay for our actions at some point. I paid the price with humiliation. But his cost was far greater. 

I had always sought to fill in the gaps, to understand why? Or who? But you cannot get to know a man who doesn’t even know himself. 

Patrol cap with my “drive on patch.”

He was twisted from an early age, by what I will never fully know. A truly sick man and a social predator. These facts once angered me, but now just sadden me. I am reminded of this every time the most recent case of Stolen Valor occupies my news feed. Every time I sit next to someone on a plane who tells me they did “Black Ops” that are still classified. Every time I watch the rolling stream of legitimate veterans harassing an imposter on social media. 

Stolen Valor is wrong. So is mockery and defamation. No one wins, especially those that stoop. 

If you earned your stripes, there is no need to validate a liar with a shred of attention. Nor is there much good in trying to intimidate them into change. If you haven’t learned this yet in life, let me help you understand a truth: you cannot intimidate evil, or embarrass someone out of their mental health issues. And take it from me, the way the story ends is far worse than the 5 minutes of fame you give them on social media.

In 2010 I stood over my Dad’s intubated body as he was taking his last breaths. It’s a surreal thing watching your parents pass, regardless of whether a relationship is intact or not. It’s sobering when you realize that not a single person in that room hoped he would pull through. 

The night before, his wife’s small family that traveled to be with her toasted my Dad, the “Vietnam Veteran riddled with agent orange induced leukemia.” My siblings and I appreciated their kind gesture, and let it pass. They were so genuine, though the man they toasted was not. 

But the following morning in the hospital, the real conversation occurred. Sitting face to face with the woman my Dad left us for, we listened as she frantically told of him cheating her and saddling her with debt. She spoke of his criminal activities over the years, and the uncertainty of how she would pay for the hospital bills, and lamented as to why the V.A. wasn’t helping pay for his treatment. 

We had seen this story play out once before, so I spoke compassionately, explaining that he had never served in Vietnam, was never a Green Beret, and never pitched for the Pittsburgh Pirates amongst the list of stories he would tell. 

Silently, understanding fell over her. The V.A. would not be helping with his hospital stay. Now she understood why. We sat for a time and when she spoke, she apologized and we accepted. She was not his first victim. She was, however, his last. 

As our time was coming to a close, she asked us to weigh in on the “do not resuscitate” (DNR) order. Though we didn’t feel we owned any part of that decision, we obliged. 

Of the handful of memorable statements my father made over the years, two came back to me in that moment, so I shared them as we moved to closure. 

“Don’t chase ghosts, because you won’t find them.” That was for me. And, “promise me, if I’m ever lying on my deathbed in a hospital, pull the plug.” That was for her. 

1998, 2nd Ranger Battalion.

Back in the hospital room, I stood over the dying man, and recognized that he was completely and painfully alone. I doubt he ever knew who he truly was, and he ran from whatever pain he sustained in his youth his entire life. He wanted to be somebody. I suppose we all do deep down. Some of us pursue accomplishments the hard way and own it; others try to rent it or steal it. I would never understand why, but I understood it was time to let it go. 

Fumbling with a borrowed Bible for the first time in my life, the word of God found me right where I was. I read Romans 12:19 over him, unfamiliar words of forgiveness to a sad man dying in the weight of the consequences of his actions.

“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Rom 12:19)

Awkwardly, I released the man of all he had ever done to me and walked away.

Lies have a cost. And the truth always comes out in the wash. Pain has a way of being generational — unless you decide to reject your inheritance and build a new legacy for your own children. 

When I see those sad people out there trying to steal their worth, I wonder how much pain they have inherited. I wonder how much they hurt inside and if they have ever felt belonging, acceptance, or love. I wonder if they know that it’s okay to be a personnel clerk, serving your country with honor. Sometimes I wish that would be enough for them, as it was for all of the rest of the soldiers they helped. But it’s never enough when you’re chasing ghosts or running from shadows. And none of us can beat that out of someone who is already beaten down by their demons. 

I pray that we may remember that the next time we see a mocker foolishly trying to steal their worth. I pray that we may recognize it has nothing to do with us or the fabric they flaunt. 

We earned it; they will get theirs. 

RLTW,

Brandon Young

This article originally appeared in Coffee Or Die Magazine. Please check them out.

Perseverance is Greater Than Endurance

Endurance is admirable, and important, but endurance is not the same as perseverance. Endurance occurs when faced with difficult situations that test your training and resolve. Perseverance occurs when faced with adversity beyond your training that requires growth. 

Perseverance forces us to become the person the situation requires us to be.

Perseverance is greater than endurance. 

Consider endurance, as you move from point A to point B through the difficulty, by the time you get to point B, you are essentially a more tired version of the person you were at point A. Perseverance is different. By the time you get to point B, you are not the same person that started at point A. You have to change to overcome the adversity. 

You have grown and have been forever changed by the experience. 

By October of 2003, I had already been to war multiple times. I was in the Middle East 8 days after the towers fell on 9/11 and in that week between, Kelly and I had gotten married, her mother died, and we became pregnant with our son. Nine months later, Jaden was born while I was in Afghanistan. I spent some of 2002 and the bulk of 2003 in Afghanistan supporting Operation Enduring Freedom. 

After the first two years of chaos in our family, I had requested and been awarded a compassionate reassignment to move to 75th Ranger Regiment HQ at Ft. Benning. We hoped to repair the hurts that war, death, and separation had created inside our young family. 

With the house half packed up, I went to work one morning in October 2003, expecting to come home for dinner, and came home in December. 

The entire 75th Ranger Regiment was alerted and deployed back to Afghanistan. 

It felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under us. Kelly was shocked. I was scared. 

Every time you return from combat, you exhale. You feel like you fooled the devil while sneaking out of hell. Every time you load that bird headed back, you wonder if this will be the time you return in a flag draped box.  

Kantiwa, Nuristan Province, Afghanistan 2003

I wasn’t prepared for this, like having a child. You can read all the books, but until you’re home alone with that baby, you will never be ready. We are never fully prepared to become the person we need to be until we rise to the moments in life that challenge us to change. 

The alert and deployment in October birthed the Winter Strike of ‘03. 60 days of continuous missions in Afghanistan’s most punishing terrain, highlighted by the first casualty of the GWOT for the 2nd Ranger Battalion, SGT Jay Anthony Blessing on November 14, 2003. My company spent 30 days of continuous operations in the Nuristan province, followed by 8 hours of refit in Bagram, and another 30 days in the Konar. 

So many moments during that deployment shook me and challenged me at my core to grow into the man that my Rangers, and my family needed at the time. Through freezing cold temperatures, 100 lb. rucks, sleeping in barns, fleas, clearing villages, rationing our limited food supplies, and fast roping into the Shegal Valley, all of us were changed. 

Navigating the ridgeline of adversity is in many ways like clearing those villages nestled in the dominating Hindu Kush Mountain range. It feels like a series of ups and downs that force you to constantly reassess, resolve, and recommit to the mission at hand by rising to the occasion of your calling. 

We all feel this while endeavoring to accomplish objectives that matter, invented in life giving missions. You may feel this today as you must make one more payroll cut, furlough, or program cut to accomplish your mission. But you can’t “punt” in adversity, and you can’t try to endure through it. 

You must persevere. 

Here are five factors of perseverance, by comparison to its valiant cousin, endurance, that may help you through your next crucible: 

1. Change without control: Factors outside of your control change fast and often. 

   With endurance, changes are difficult, but predictable. The expectation is generally met and you get what you signed up for. Perseverance occurs when you’re faced with situations that weren’t in the brochure. The reality turns out to be far worse than expected.

2. Uncertainty: Confronted with situations beyond your training or capabilities. 

   In perseverance your confidence is shaken, in endurance you’re shaken, but confident. You feel the difficulty of the situation, but you know you will make it. When persevering through adversity, you aren’t sure you will make it. You question your abilities and skills, and feel unsettled. 

3. Choice: The crucible of perseverance occurs when you choose to become your creeds, values, and ethos. 

   Endurance requires us to solve practical problems with skills based solutions. Perseverance calls us to solve novel problems with character based solutions. The US Army Rangers recite the Ranger Creed every morning, including words like, “Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be, one-hundred-percent and then some.” 

   These are the moments you choose to become the creed instead of reciting the creed.

4. Acceptance: Accept the consequences, embrace the unpredictability of the situation, and expect more adversity. 

   With endurance you plan for the expected and have no sense or concern for the unknown. In perseverance you have a sense of concern for the unknown. You must hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. You don’t have to like it, but you must accept it. 

5. Growth: You will be changed on the other side; you may not feel whole, but you will be better.

   Perseverance changes us. We don’t get to choose the time when destiny calls us into who we were created to be, we just get to choose whether or not to answer when it does. 

   The fire will refine you, and you will be better for it, though it may take time, and reflection to recognize the growth.

Life is hard. Leadership is hard. This moment we live is hard. You can endure, pretending it’s just difficult by using the same plan, the same approach, and the same perspective, and you will continue to receive the same diminishing results. Or, you can recognize adversity for what it is, and persevere. 

In 20 years, people are going to ask you, how did you do it? How did you lead your team through a global pandemic? How did you continue while you were cutting staff, cutting compensation, cutting programs, and unable to meet fully with your team? 

You will answer, we persevered because we had to, but we grew because we chose to. 

Thumbnail photo credit: @khamkhor via Unsplash.

Explosives Breaching, Leadership, and Interpersonal Conflict

Explosives, like communication, are a mix of art and science. As a US Army Ranger, one of my special duties was master breacher. This means that I was an expert in the use of explosives with the purpose of breaching walls, doors, and other barriers to allow a Ranger assault team the ability to access the objective and accomplish the mission. I loved it. 

Recently, while facilitating a group on conflict and expectations, I shared this allegory from my life in the service. Sometimes looking at a difficult topic through the lens of an extreme example can help crystalize our thoughts and sharpen our behaviors. 

Here are three principles of explosives breaching that relate to interpersonal conflict and how you can use them to improve — or preferably deescalate — your next fight! 

Sympathetic Detonation 

Explosive charges interact with one another in a violent way when detonated in close proximity. When one charge blows, another charge (close enough to the original blast) follows. In breaching, we tie C-4 plastic explosive blocks together with strands of detonation cord and take advantage of this concept. Similarly, when tied together in tight teams, the opportunity for sympathetic detonation to occur can have just as violent an affect on the environment. When one person blows, those around them can follow with just as damaging an effect. 

Escalating conflict can cause incredible damage in a team, a marriage, a family, or any other unit. Sometimes the best thing for the cohesion of the group is to take a pause, step away, and allow teammates to decompress before a sympathetic detonation occurs. 

How do we address this?

A great technique to employ is a temperature check — stop the work, literally, and ask how people are feeling, or maybe take a walk for 10 minutes. Perhaps your team is fraying and could use a breather. Allow people to breathe before they blow. The players involved make a huge difference. 

Assess the personality composition on your team for people highly prone to sympathetic detonation, and create shared expectations on how you will identify, respond, and communicate to maintain unity regardless of the disagreement. 

Photo credit @officestock via Unsplash

Mach Stem Interaction (Bridging) 

Physics is rad. Physics in the hands of special operators is radically effective. The principle behind mach stem interaction occurs when multiple charges detonate in unison to create amplified power and force. If you can imagine six blocks of C4 in a 3-foot by 3-foot area all exploding at the same time and could see the effect in super slow motion, we would see the shock waves bounce off one another, yielding amplified power. Imagine it like a math problem where the force is not 10+10=20, but 10x10=100. 

Practically speaking, we could place six blocks of C4 on a reinforced brick wall 6 feet apart and blow each of them concurrently. We would end up with six holes that may or may not have pierced through the wall. Yet when we place these six blocks in the 3-foot by 3-foot formula (commonly referred to as a Ranger Wall Breach, or a Fracture Charge) and detonate the charge, we would have a hole large enough for a nine-person assault squad to enter.

Energy has a way of multiplying with people in the same way. The physics of a deteriorating team is bad. Like the preceding example, challenges, disagreements, and discontent will always occur within a team and run the gamut: compensation, perks, management, coffee creamer in the break room — the list is endless. When localized, the impact is real, yet minimized to a project, a plan, or perhaps a customer. Maybe a division or a team. Commonly this results in a delay to deliver and is most likely able to be patched up. However, when left unaddressed and clustered, a culture of discontent may spread and the combined, amplified, destructive power across people can devastate a team. 

How do we address this?

Assess your culture. Seek to understand the complaints from the front line. We must be willing to listen without retribution or rebuttal. Work to engage, understand, and address issues that are plaguing your organization before they put a hole in your entire operation. This is really important. 

Dissatisfaction left unaddressed is the breeding ground for destruction. Don’t look away or you may end up looking through a big hole. 

Photo credit @ryoma_onita via Unsplash

Jet and Spall 

I promise this isn’t the name of a new silly GenX-targeted cartoon. Before a detonation occurs, breachers create charges from their set of tools and explosives. During the blast, the materials incinerate, but they do not disappear. Upon explosion, the charge becomes two distinctly different elements: jet and spall. The jet is the liquid magma that is created from the explosion, typically directed toward a target — like a door lock — to achieve penetration. The spall is the residue from the explosive, typically a mixture of the resin, powder, and tamping agent material that directed the charge in the first place. Spall kinda looks and smells the way it sounds — blech! 

Destroyed relationships penetrate our hearts and leave a residue on us all. We are all in the people business. We all feel. We all have hopes and dreams, we want the best for our spouses, our children, our community, and our places of business. We want to do well. No one wakes up in the morning and intends to suck at what they do. Consider this as you deal with challenging personalities or underperforming personnel. 

How do we address this?

Deliver your feedback in truth and kindness, removing the offense from the character of the person. If a separation is the last resort, it may be best for all parties in the end. Exiting underperforming personnel is an unfortunate reality for every leader. It’s gut-wrenching no matter who you are. 

Always remember that the way you treat someone as you exit them has just as much to do with the team you intend to keep. Even if there’s no one left behind, you still have to look yourself in the mirror. 

Obviously, there is an extreme difference between explosives breaching and communicating during interpersonal conflict — or at least there should be. Hopefully these metaphors help you imagine what could go wrong in the life cycle of your team so that you can be intentional about protecting the unit and all of the people involved. 

If your team is experiencing some significant tension, use these extreme examples to create a mental picture of what could go wrong, and take action to ensure it goes right! If left unaddressed, while you may not intend to be a master breacher, you may just be pushing the button on your next team detonation. 

This article originally appeared at Coffee Or Die Magazine. Please check them out!

Thumbnail photo credit @we_the_royal via Unsplash

Exceptions

If you are unwilling to make exceptions, you forfeit your right to be exceptional.

Systems and processes are important. Leaders should absolutely take the time to design and implement standard operating procedures that enable the organization to function with few interventions.

However, we must acknowledge that we simply cannot plan and prepare for all possible scenarios. No number of flowcharts or checklists will ever be able to address the wide range of snags, surprises, and ‘shit that wasn’t in the brochure’ moments that we’ll face as leaders. That being the case, we have to embrace our duty to thoughtfully and skillfully make exceptions.

As we often say, you cannot manage your way out of leadership.

We also need to be careful for what we call The False Precedent Trap. This might sound something like, “Well if I let Judy leave early every Thursday, I’ll have to let everybody do it.” No you don’t. It just means that you may have to explain this decision and your rationale for making it. Proactively is typically better.

Making exceptions doesn’t have to be difficult. It can be as simple as making a sound decision that’s rooted in your organization’s mission and culture. Given the situation at hand, what decision makes most sense? Seems easy enough, but it just doesn’t feel that way for most of us. And that’s because making exceptions requires some courage - the courage to own the decision. You see, if we simply follow the policy, it may result in a bad outcome, but it will be the policy’s fault. If we deviate from the policy in an attempt to make a good decision, and it doesn’t work out, well then it’s our fault.

That’s the job.

And the job isn’t just for senior leaders. Ideally, you want for your entire team to feel empowered to make smart decisions on behalf of your customers, your employees, and your mission. One of our mentors, Bob McDonald, often refers to this as the contrast between values-based vs. rules-based leadership. Ultimately, we need for people to act in a way that is consistent with our values, even if it may violate a rule. Of course, this requires everybody to be clear on your organizational values, which is doesn’t happen by accident.

Finally, if we want our people to make values-based decisions (sometimes exceptions), we have to foster an environment that supports that kind of behavior. The best place to start is by setting a positive example. How do you approach exceptions? Do you evaluate them based on the merit of the situation? Do you own your decisions and their results? More importantly, how do we treat teammates that make exceptions? Do we applaud their willingness to deviate when things go well, but torch them when things go poorly? Believe us when we say, they are paying attention and taking notes.

In a world where nothing seems to be what it once was, our ability to navigate exceptions, rooted in values-based decision making will prove much more valuable than our ability to follow the rules. You and your team will continue to be faced with novel situations that weren’t on your radar and certainly weren’t part of the plan. And the more you exercise your exception-making muscle on the small stuff, the better prepared you’ll be to deal with the big stuff.

Thumbnail photo by @randyfath via Unsplash

Going Down is Not Going Backward

During times of adversity, it is easy to feel like we just don’t have any good options. We’ve worked hard to get to where we’re at, and we intend to keep making progress - moving ever closer to our long-term goals. The last thing we want to do is give up ground. We get it. And we’ve got good news and bad news.

Let’s start with the bad news: life is full of setbacks. The path to success is not only uphill, but has a lot ups and downs. There are going to be days (even years) where it feels like we are losing altitude.

Now for the good news: going downhill is not going backward. There is only way out of difficult times and that is forward. So even if you’ve got to take some steps that feel like you’re trending downward, take heart in knowing that you’re still moving forward.

3 a.m. in the Patrol Base

Ranger School sucks. Days never truly stop, but they all start at “before morning nautical twilight” (BMNT), thirty minutes before sunrise when the stars go out and the sun is creeping towards the sky. Coincidentally, this is also the coldest part of the day. Shivering, with little to no sleep, security is checked, weapons maintenance is done, hygiene is conducted, and chow is eaten (always last) all while the Patrol Leader receives another mission from HQ. The troops are bleary, but steely eyed by dawn, a Ranger practice that has been in place since 1755 under Major Robert Rogers.  

The patrol initiates movement, before completing the plan, followed by a typical day of patrolling under grueling weight through the woods, mountains, or swamps. At some point, the unit conducts reconnaissance of an objective, attacks an enemy position, withdraws, and moves to a new patrol base - where everything is repeated. Day after day, night after night. It is relentless.

A lot of weird stuff happens during the dark and hopeless hours between midnight and sunrise in a patrol base filled with 40 exhausted, starving, and sleep deprived Ranger students. There are countless (and mostly true) stories of Rangers mistaking trees for vending machines, talking to shrubs, hallucinating an enemy in front of their position, and a host of other oddities you rarely see anywhere else. One night a Ranger was walking around the patrol base half naked with his imaginary key fob out clicking the horn button. He was quite upset to be informed that he would not be finding his car, but got over it once he was placed on his ruck and told to go to sleep. 

Sleep may be an option (or a necessity) for an individual contributor, but not for the Patrol Leader. 3:00 am in the patrol base is where you make your money as a leader. Stumbling through the camp amidst the scattered, shivering bodies, you have to set your eyes on the tasks at hand to accomplish the mission. As a leader, you cannot “mail it in” at 3:00 am in the patrol base. 

3:00 am in the patrol base is when the last thing you want to do is the first thing you need to do. 

Your 3:00 am tasks can make or break you. In Ranger School, it’s when you check the position of the machine guns to create the best security perimeter for your platoon. In your organization, it might look like that monthly report, that monthly client update, or the project that you just haven’t gotten to. 

You’ve worked that full day, coached your team, supported them during their trials, reduced those obstacles that keep them from achieving their monthly goal, or gone the extra mile for a company initiative. And yet there’s still those extra few tasks that are wholly yours or those delegated tasks that must be monitored for mission success.

A leader's work is never done. And a leader should never be out-committed by one of their people.  

When it’s “3:00 am in the patrol base” in your organization, it’s your time to earn your salt, leader. Though imperfect at times, you must be the one in the patrol that insists your people get their 30 minutes of sleep while you check the guns to ensure the unit is covered. You have to check the sector stakes to make necessary adjustments, which means you have to get up and move. 

Dig deep in that moment. In Ranger School, the difference between you getting your “GO” to graduate, or earning a “NO-GO” and recycling is the willingness to choose the hard right over the easy wrong at 3:00 am in the patrol base. In business, it might be the difference between your next professional breakthrough or another year of “good enough” performance. 

You’ve put in the work, of that we have no doubt. We know you’re tired and hungry and deserve a little reprieve. But this is when your people need you most. Checking the guns at 3:00 am isn’t glamorous, and will likely go unappreciated - until it isn’t done and the patrol gets overrun. Trust us when we say that your consistency and intentionality compounded over time will ultimately breed mission and team success. 

So, it’s 3:00 am in the patrol base, leader, what needs to get done? 

Thumbnail photo credit: tfiorez via Unsplash

Trustworthy Instincts

Trustworthy Instincts are where the gut and the head collide. Tested over time and refined through experience, they allow us to make sound, timely decisions in stressful situations - which is essentially a superpower in today’s world.

Part of what makes humans so special is that we have both instincts and intellect. Like other animals, we are born with a set of innate abilities. There are things that we just know how to do (or know not to do) without ever being taught. Our instincts are powerful and play a critical role in how we move through the world. They allow us to ‘feel’ when something is right, or a bit off, or dangerous - but they only get us so far. In fact, some of our natural instincts, the ones that kept our ancient ancestors alive, can be counterproductive in modern times. Our environment has changed a ton over the past few thousand years, and our biology just can’t seem to keep up. Fortunately, we also have the ability to reason. We can document, share knowledge, and analyze the world around us. Humans are learning, meaning-making creations and we love to figure things out. We’ve got a lot going for us.

The challenge, of course, is how to properly blend all of this awesome ability. How do we operate in this modern world without missing the facts or muting our instincts? We’ve got more stimulus, more data, and more distractions than ever in human history - and we still need to make sound decisions in life, love, and business. Whether looking for the right employee or business partner, making a strategy decision, or choosing a life partner, the variables are complex and the stakes are typically high. So what do we do? How can we hone our instincts to make them truly trustworthy? 

“Guys...how do I not get fooled again in business?” 

The question was so honest and refreshing that we had to take it in for a moment before we continued with our whiteboard jam session. We’ve all been fooled before. We’ve been fooled by others, and worse by ourselves. It caused us to linger a bit longer on the topic and really consider how can we keep ourselves from being fooled in the future?

Photo Credit: @aj40 via unsplash

Part of the problem is that as complex creations, we tend to look at important decisions through two different, and often opposing lenses. It’s confusing because on one hand, we are increasingly encouraged to be data driven - to avoid our unconscious biases and make decisions more analytically. But on the other hand, we have a growing cadre of folks telling us to “go with your gut and follow your heart!” That if we just meditate on it, we’ll know what to do. 

Either held separately is bad advice. 

As whole people we have to integrate our faculties to be truly effective. We have to understand the quantifiable nature of decision making in context with our feelings, culture, and values. We can’t (and won’t) offer you a protocol or flow chart on how to make better decisions. And we certainly can’t teach you to have perfect ‘Spidey Senses’. What we can do is offer you a process to start developing trustworthy instincts - a framework to help you start merging the head and gut, all in an effort to help you make better decisions. 

As with everything we discuss at Applied Leadership Partners, this is easier said than done. But we think if you start here, you’ll be well on your way.

1. Quantify: What are your goals, parameters, or hopes for the given situation? Who or what are you looking for and why? What are your expectations? Failing to quantify who or what you are looking for leaves the process up to chance. And chance is not a strategy. If you know where you are headed, with an idea of what you are looking for, you can analyze emerging details during the process. 

2. Acknowledge: What do you do when your gut is telling you something is just a bit off? Take the time to acknowledge the feeling and linger before reacting. Your “gut” is a combination of physiological, experiential, values based, biological, intellectual, emotional, and spiritual factors. Don’t ignore it! Take notice when your gut is talking to you, there is a reason. 

3. Process: Do you understand what your gut is trying to tell you? Have you been here before? Process what you are feeling the way you best process (journal, exercise, meditate, pray, breathe, doodle...whatever it takes). Give yourself what you need in order to emerge with a better understanding of what you are feeling. Suspend judgement by taking words like, good or bad, out of the exercise. Some of your greatest breakthroughs may occur during these moments, so be willing to grow. A good way you can come to a point of understanding is if you can write it down in a few sentences, or speak it out loud in two minutes or less.  

4. Compare: Does this gut feeling align, or conflict with your quantifiables? Reacting is acting out of emotion. Responding is making the best decision possible with all available factors and feelings considered at the time. Once you can articulate your feelings, examine them against your stated goals and desired outcome. 

5. Decide: Make your call and move on, fast if possible, and reflect on the outcomes. If your gut got it right, buy it a taco and enjoy. If it led you astray, take a few extra steps...

Photo Credit: @joshuaearle via Unsplash

Easy decisions are nice when they are easy. But most decisions include people, and people are not math problems. If you find yourself badly wanting something (or someone) that just does not align with your quantifiables (or not wanting something that does), take the time to truly interrogate why.

6. Reflect: From where did your expectations and needs originate? Are you achieving the results you hope for while operating under these parameters? In moments like these, we typically discover the difference between our stated and our revealed preferences. There is nothing wrong with identifying a problem, or recognizing that your needs have either changed along the way, or that you didn’t really want what you thought in the first place. 

7. Refine: Are you willing to grow? Sometimes we have to let go of things that are holding us back from achieving what we truly hope for. If your revealed preference is different from your stated preference, name it and change it. Authenticity means leading and living in your own skin. 

You will win some, and you will lose some, but you will learn from them all. 

We’ll never be able to completely feel, or reason, our way through life’s most important decisions. We need to leverage our head AND our gut. Doing that takes awareness, practice, and diligence. But over time, you’ll get better and more confident, and you’ll develop trustworthy instincts.

Thumbnail Photo: @sergiferrete via Unsplash

Difficult Conversations

I once read that our success in life is directly proportional to the number of uncomfortable conversations we are willing to have. Like most rules of thumb, that’s probably oversimplified, but it is also largely true. And we all know it.

As we’ve engaged with organizations across the country, this topic has come up over and over again. It seems that we all need to be better about initiating and navigating difficult conversations. It’s just that they are so damn, well, difficult.

Over the past several weeks, we’ve developed a framework to help our clients be more comfortable and effective in difficult conversations. The feedback has been great so far, and we’re stoked to see folks using it to be better at work.

However, the current state of affairs here in America has made it clear that we ALL need to be having more difficult conversations. We all need to lean into that discomfort, whether it be at home, in our communities, or at our place of work. So, we thought it appropriate to humbly share this framework, along with a 20-minute conversation in hopes of bringing people together, starting some conversations, and maybe even healing a few wounds.

- Blayne and Brandon

Five Steps to Successfully Navigating a Difficult Conversation:

1) Sooner is better. Bad news does not get better with time. Putting off a hard conversation not only creates more mission risk, but it also weighs you down unnecessarily. We don’t want to be rash or reactive, but once the emotions have subsided, go!

  2) Prepare, not for a joist, but for success. The goal is to reach a good outcome, together. Taking some time to prepare will allow you to stay on track when things get hard. You can use these questions. 

1. What is going on with him/her? Why might they be having a hard time?

2. What is going on with me? Why does this conversation feel difficult?

3. What is the goal of this conversation? What would a good outcome look like?

3) Be Candid. Clear is kind. Be direct, but approach the conversation from a place of caring. And don’t be afraid to acknowledge your role in whatever difficulty has arisen. If they can see that you’ve dropped your sword, they’re more likely to drop their shield.

 4) Listen. They may feel attacked or upset. Once you’ve been candid and direct, your job is to listen. Even if you don’t like 90% of what they’re saying, there will be valuable clues in there for you to follow - and it is incredibly important for people to just feel heard. 

5) Agree on a plan going forward. This step is critical and often overlooked. Take some time to lay out next steps toward your collective goal. What are you both agreeing to do? When will you check in on progress? What happens if we don’t make progress? Remember that empowerment is clear expectations plus accountability.

"All Lives Matter" is a Copout

I am not a racist. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 80’s and 90’s. White people were the minority in my high school. Asians and Indians were the majority, and I was a member of the Asian Community Association. My Godchildren are Guatemalan Americans, my niece and brother-in-law are Afghan Americans, and I am an Ashkenazi Jew, married to an Alaskan Native. That makes our children members of two people groups who have been driven to the brink of annihilation in North America, Europe, and Asia. But you would never know any of that. Because from the outside, I’m just another white dude. My ethnicity is hidden, and so are my opinions. Unless I choose to share them.

I no longer care to be just another white dude, silently condoning overt bigotry and violence by quietly condemning it from the comfort of my privilege.

“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Though my ethnicity is hidden, a Black Person’s is not. It is not the same. What Black people experience in America is not the same. I know that I am treated differently now. If you get nothing else out of this, hold on to that one and ask yourself if you can relate. Opinions matter in the public arena and by not speaking out against injustice, I allow my thoughts to remain as hidden as my ethnicity, making me complicit in societal racism.  

Seven years ago when the Black Lives Matter movement started, I said, “yeah but all lives matter, right?” Right. So act like it, America. Black Lives Matter because they are the ones that are systemically, routinely, and persistently treated like they do not matter in America. We can say what we wish about honoring all lives, but our behaviors fail to align: systemically. 

All lives matter is a copout.

When riot after riot broke out in response to the killing of a black man (or woman), year after year, I said, “what good is burning, destroying, and looting our country going to do, right?” Right. Only it’s not “our country” as equitably defined in our social contract for all. We have skewed the terms of a society that African American Ancestors, frankly, didn’t seem to ask to be a part of in the first place. And thank God that we have Black Americans, but God help us to change a structure that is unjustly skewed against them. 

The Nation we live in today does not equally honor a black person as it does a white person. The cultural norms are not the same. Stop acting like they are. Today, after watching the George Floyd murder, the murder of Ahmaud Arbery, and the racism directed against Christian Cooper in Central Park, NY, I will stop pretending. Will you? 

Our society patronizes murder after murder, explaining it all away. 

“Well, what did he do?”

“But he resisted…”

“He shouldn’t have…”

“He should have…” 

Stop it. It is clearly a pattern. Stop acting like it isn’t. 

The pattern is unjust treatment of Black People. At the center is a persistent, systemic racial inequality exacerbated by a complete vacuum of authentic leadership from the very top. This is crushing us as a people. 

Typically, I reflect upon the world drawing from my own experiences. But I simply have no relevant experience to compare here. And that’s the point: I don’t understand. I don’t understand what it feels like to be treated differently because of the color of my skin and I never will. 

Photo Credit: Daniel Franco. I pray that we may learn to love one another like this. We are not enemies. We are brothers and sisters.

Let me also make clear that I don’t understand what it’s like to be a law enforcement officer, but that’s not relevant anyhow. This isn’t actually a conversation about policing up the law enforcement profession. It’s a conversation about policing up our racist culture that informs it. 

Many in the Law Enforcement community have condemned the murder of George Floyd as wrong; a complete departure of acceptable practices and procedures. Now back to the point. 

Our Nation burns with the pain and anger of centuries of systemic racism. Shaking our heads in silence complicity enables this evil to persist. The injustice is sickening, the actions are no longer unseeable as anything other than racism, and the racism must be extinguished. So let us take action. 

I won’t riot. I’ve experienced enough violence for a hundred lifetimes. Instead, I will love others (John 15) by speaking out against racism and advocating for change. By forging genuine relationships with Black Men and Women who I wish to better understand by knowing their stories, and by listening to their experiences. I will inform myself further in my graduate studies to be a part of the solution. And I will pray that the God of Creation, who created us all (black, white, and every other color and culture), will invade our hearts and burden us with a compassion for our Black Brothers and Sisters who are being unjustly treated. And that He will convict us all to reject passivity and stand up for what is right.  

It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. A beginning prompted by refusing to pretend like I have any relevant understanding of what it must feel like to be systematically oppressed. And a commitment to no longer be just another silent white dude, complicit in systemic racism. 

As I said in the beginning of this piece: I am not a racist. I am anti-racism. And I have a voice and I plan to use it.

What will you do?

- Brandon Young

Memorial Day: Remembering Our Fallen

I remember them, all of them. Every day. I don’t live for them, I could never do this justice. I cannot hold myself to any expectation worthy of their sacrifice because I could never earn what they willingly gave. Nobody can. Nobody ever could.

We cannot live for them. But we can live.

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” John 15:13 ESV. These words, spoken millennia ago by Jesus of Nazareth are often echoed when we recall the memories of our fallen. When we recount their sacrifices. A powerful statement that projects what they gave, born of love in the purest. The part we routinely forget, though, is the preceding statement delivering the most powerful, actionable and clear sentiment in the very same scripture.

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you” John 15:12.

I will not live for my fallen brothers, I will live with them. I will love others, as I have been loved. Give an empathetic ear to the hurting, walk with the lost, and care for those in need. As best I can in my limited capacity. 

This Memorial Day, I will not drown myself in alcohol, isolate myself from my family and my community or punish myself for not following them into eternity too soon. How could I remember them so? That is not the love they gave for me. Nor is it the love Jesus displayed in His often-quoted sentiment.

I could never forget them, they are my friends, they are my brothers.

Lou Olivera...I miss him so much. This one hurts deep. One winter Lou and I hiked Mount Falcon together weekly. We talked about Rangering, a little, but mostly we talked about life, our families, faith, hope, business, our community and brotherhood. We had so much in common. Difficult childhoods that propelled us into the Army. We both had daughters about the same age. We both worked to serve veterans in the nonprofit sector after successful business careers. We were both hard charging NCO’s in 2/75, though more than a decade apart. I went to war in Afghanistan, Lou went to war in Panama when I was 10. 

Every month Lou and our group of Ranger families would have dinner, go hiking, see concerts, go for runs, and do life together. It just hasn’t been the same without him. 

Lou Olivera, Founder of the Honor Bell Foundation.

On December 23, 1989 he jumpmastered a bird of Rangers into Rio Hato Drop Zone. Upon hitting the drop zone, he was mortally wounded. The enemy left him for dead, but Lou survived. Lou came home, recovered, contributed to the Army through NATIC Labs, went to Grad School, built businesses, founded The Honor Bell, but more importantly, he created a beautiful family. After fighting his demons since that night in Panama, Lou finally lost the battle and took his life in 2018. 

Sometimes only parts of us come back from war. Truth is, we lost Lou well before I ever got the chance to meet him. While I cannot imagine the pain he endured for nearly 30 years, I only attest that the parts that came home were worth a thousand great men. And that I will forever thank God that I was called “brother” by my hero. 

Dave McDowell and his Ranger Buddy, Jake, welcomed me, always. I came home to A Co. 2/75 from Ranger School 155 lbs. soaking wet in 1999. Before my week of rest and recovery, I was required to zero my M240B and qualify, so I met the C Co. maggots in the parking lot at dusk, ready to jump on the trucks and head out. Even though I was an “A Co. guy”, Dave welcomed me with that big smile and I rolled out with new brothers. Years later, he would meet me at the C Co. CQ desk and welcome me, again. I was a new Madslasher, the platoon he grew up in. Open arms, warmly embracing his brother.

He used to laugh, but he used to make us all laugh. When we were Pre-Ranger Cadre together out at Cole Range, he’d zip around on the quad, smiling. A mountain of a man with his little MICH helmet and Oakley’s, we likened him to a circus bear on a tricycle. When I committed to the Best Ranger Competition (BRC), he was there for us. Any range, any training, anything we needed to be successful, that’s the kind of man Dave was. He used to say, “I’m not doing Best Ranger, but you guys are and I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you be successful!” It was one of the best showing of any 75th Ranger Regiment BRC team, placing 1st, 3rd, 7th, 8th and 9th out of 15 finishing teams. I remember Dave. Man, how we laughed together.

Dave McDowell (green shirt) and Ranger Buddies post 2006 Best Ranger Competition.

Lance Vogeler was on that very same 2006 75th Ranger Regiment BRC team. He was so upset when he didn’t finish, having sustained an injury during training that forced him to withdraw from the road march. His laughter filled the vans during our months of train up. It never mattered that Lance didn’t finish that year. Lance had the courage to toe the line to begin with. His attempt was a success at its’ onset.

Jay Blessing was a talented artist. He went to Ranger School, as we all did, and found himself struggling in the Mountains, refusing to ever give up. He finally buckled and they discovered that he had been suffering from pneumonia and a collapsed lung. Back home at Ft. Lewis, Jay recovered slowly under the mentorship of Battalion legend and retired Marine, Mr. Ray Fuller, in the Battalion Arms Room. Jay was exceptional at the job. He soaked up every drop of knowledge he could gather from the Legendary Marine and kept the Battalion heavy guns operational.

Jay Blessing. Photo Credit 2/75 Ranger Regiment.

Jay would not accept defeat and returned to Ranger School, grinding through the suck to reach the “Ranger objective”. His body once again rejected the circumstances, but his resolve rejected failure. Jay limped into graduation with yet another case of pneumonia and lung complications and earned his tab. Mission Complete. He was on his way to the Special Forces Qualification Course when we got alerted for the Winter Strike of 2003. Committed to his brothers, Jay deployed becoming the first casualty of the 2nd Ranger Battalion in the Global War on Terror.

Casey Casavant was hysterical. The man with a smile and personality as large as the Big Sky of his home Montana was incapable of a straight face. He was full of belly laughs and cheer. You could always pick out Casey on an airfield or any other objective. He was the one with a 1-Liter bottle of Mountain Dew in his hand. He used to stuff at least two or three into his assault pack or ruck. When Casey and I attended the Primary Leadership Development Course (NCO Education System 1) with our Ranger Buddies, we felt like strangers in a strange land.

The cadre determined that the Rangers needed to allow our fellow “soon to be Sergeants” the opportunity to lead in the field, un-hindered by our experience or personalities. This was a good call. The solution was each of us “Batt. Boys” would serve as the Radio Telephone Operator (RTO) for every platoon in the field for the whole training exercise. This was a bad call. I cannot recall the specifics of the hilarity that ensued each night, but of one thing I am certain: the evenings full of Batt. Boy Radio hour, verbally thrashing each other and our fellow students and hitting pre-determined bump frequencies so as not to be detected by our instructors, was definitely Casey’s idea! I can hear him laughing from the other side of the Company bivouac now.

James Nehl (first on right, Yankees Jersey) and the men of the Blacksheep A Co. 2/75 Ranger, 1998.

James Nehl was another one of my heroes. When I arrived at the Blacksheep, he was the 1st Squad Leader and I was a Maggot under the leadership of his brother-in-law, Daryl. I was always at a slight distance, but James was quiet and strong; the kind of silent confidence that made you want to be better and win his respect. Growing up 3 squads down the hallways I always took notice to James because he was confident, intentional and innovative.

His squad always seemed to be doing something different, trying something new. In hindsight he struck me as a bit shy, but when he laughed, his smile would light up his face and quickly enlist the entire room in the joke. After becoming a young Ranger Leader, my M240B team was attached to James squad, “The Deer Hunters” and I couldn’t have been more elated. Being let into his circle was an honor. I forever wanted to make him proud.

Kris Domeij was one of the most confident young Rangers I had the pleasure to serve with. As his Squad Leader in charge of the maneuver section he was attached to at the beginning of the war he was always technically and tactically proficient. A Forward Observer to be counted on regardless of the circumstance, but more than this, one of the boys regardless of his youth in rank. You couldn’t dislike Kris, he was awesome. During our first deployment, I recall a long patrol in the Lwara Dasta, which left the section completely out of water and burning up in the heat of the desert. The conditions were so bad that one of our Rangers had to be extracted due to severe heat casualty.

Kris Domeij.

Kris would finish the mission. I looked over during a halt to see him finishing off the last drops of his saline I.V. bag. He looked over at me with that rueful smile and big cheeks and merely offered, “I was thirsty, Sergeant”.

“Domeij, you know you just basically downed a canteen of salt water, right?”

His shoulders shrugged off the matter. I shook my head and we moved on. Sometime later, Kris approached me and said, “Uh, can I have a sip of your water, Sergeant, my mouth is as dry as a salt lick!?” Later that mission in a hide site, Kris asked me if he could take off his boots to cool down his feet. “Charlie is doing it…” Our Air Force Enlisted Tactical Air Controller (ETAC). I always see Kris and Charlie in that site together, two larger than life personalities and a combined force to be reckoned with. Exceptional. So talented.

Josh Wheeler had another smile that could light up the darkness. We met during Advance Special Operations Training course held by the Battalion. All of the Squad Leaders from the Battalion rallied for two weeks during one of the most memorable and constructive training session I experienced in the Army. We were, essentially, unleashed in small teams of SSG’s across a myriad of missions. Josh was so humble, so curious. He didn’t care what company anyone was from, he only cared about being better. I admired him so much.

Brian Bradshaw was so similar. I met this young man as his Platoon Instructor during Infantry Basic Officer Leadership Course (IBOLC) at Ft. Benning in 2008. IBOLC is a 13-week cycle to prepare newly commissioned Lieutenants to serve as Platoon Leaders in the Army. Each of my 40-man platoon would leave at the end of our cycle, go to Ranger School and then immediately deploy to combat in Iraq or Afghanistan. I cannot imagine how this must have felt. Brian was sharp, quick and intelligent. He cracked me up with his silly throwback Oakley Razors that I was certain were created before even he was.

Brian Bradshaw (back row, fourth from left) and the men of IBOLC class 501-08.

My time with these young men was a capstone to my military service and one of the most special experiences I had in the Army. Amongst a platoon of focused, young leaders, Brian was always one of the platoon mates who would tarry the longest, ask the last questions, and gather the last pearls of wisdom from my training partner, Bryan Hart, and me. Only Brian would crack that last joke to cut the atmosphere. He would exhaust me with questions and I loved every minute of it. I just loved that guy.

Scott Dussing. Scott (and his Ranger buddy Shaun and C.J.) were the first Rangers from my squad who successfully completed Ranger School. Scott taught me so much about leadership. Regardless of how much the missions sucked, how hard the PT session was, or how bad he was hurting, his big Texas smile would never fade. Shortly after the towers fell on 9/11, A Co. 2/75 was sent to Jordan for a pre-planned annual training exercise. While we were there, we watched the war kick off with 3/75 jumping into Afghanistan at Objective Rhino. We were downtrodden, feeling like we’d been passed over and missed our chance (oh how little we knew then)! Scott kept smiling. We laughed so hard when he and Shaun got the AC generators going for the tent in the sweltering heat, taking the first blasts of cool air we’d felt in a months for themselves. They dropped to their knees in front of the AC tube and dropped trow, letting the cool air hit their junk while laughing hysterically.

I will always be so proud of you, Scott.

Love brings us back. Back to the start, back to today. The smiles we see in the dark. The little chuckles and moments we carry to the end. More names pour out in the silence for me: Damian Ficek, Jared Van Aalst, Steve Langmack, Ed Homeyer, Ricardo Barrazza. Men I served with and respected. These names, these people and the thousands of others that will not be lost on my heart.

Today is Memorial Day. A Day to remember and for those of us able, a day to live. Perhaps a day to hike with the family, visit with our neighbors, reconnect with old buddies and remember. Hopefully, we remember with a smile, but I respect that some may do so with the bitter sting of a loss on such a deeply personal level that Gold Star Mother, Scoti Domeij captures in “Dreading Memorial Day”. I simply cannot imagine the loss of a child or a spouse. I also respect that Memorial Day may hold a completely different kind of sting to those who bare the pain of such traumatic loss experienced before their very eyes. Memories of loss seen under violent circumstances.

My heart is with you. Truly. I hope you may know how loved you are by our God and your brothers and sisters. 

Wherever you are today, however you remember, please do not remember alone. Call a friend, call your family or a neighbor. Draw close to someone who loves you, please. If you feel the weight of your loss today in such a way that is so heavy, so profound that it chokes out the love that our brothers and sisters displayed in their sacrifice, please call one of the resources below.

Veterans Crisis Line: 1-800-273-8255 and Press 1

TAPS: 1-800-959-8277

“One for the Airborne Ranger in the Sky”

RLTW,

Brandon Young

This article originally appeared in the Havok Journal.

Re-Deployment

Things never go back to normal. There’s no such thing. We veterans know this all too well.

From the first moment of any deployment, we’re counting down the days until it’s over and we can all go home - back to our families, back to our favorite restaurants, back to our lives, back to normal. We know that we’ve got a job to do and that we need to stay focused, yet still, we can’t help but constantly daydream about the warm hug and cold beer that’s waiting on the other side. If we can just suck it up and get through this, everything is going to be awesome…unless it isn’t.

The problem is that re-deployment from combat is not just one big Budweiser commercial. Don’t get me wrong, it is wonderful to be reunited with friends and loved ones. It’s great to eat a delicious meal and sleep in your own bed, especially without the serious threat of it being interrupted by mortar fire. Still, re-deployment is tricky at best and brutal at worst. It’s full of pitfalls that you can’t or would prefer not to see. We believe that coming back from a forced, difficult situation will be great only to discover that it just isn’t that simple. What I personally failed to appreciate about re-deployment was that ‘normal’ was gone and it was never coming back. In ways that I hadn’t expected, things changed. I’d changed. My family had changed. The world had changed - and I just didn’t recognize how much. If I had to do it again I would do it so much differently. But with my military days far behind me, I assumed that most of those hard lessons learned would be filed away as regrets and probably never re-visited. This COVID-19 situation suddenly has me feeling differently.

Over the past two months, I’ve often joked with my veteran friends about how the quarantine has felt just like a deployment. We’ve been told where we can go, where we can’t, what we’re supposed to wear, and nobody’s quite sure who’s in charge. There’s danger in venturing ‘outside the wire’, an invisible enemy that we can’t pin down or directly confront. We’re stuck here for a while, happy to be alive and healthy, frustrated with all the uncertainty, and ready to just get it over with. The only big difference is that this time we’re ALL deployed; spouses, kids, civilians, everybody. And as little by little, the country starts to re-open and re-integrate, I think it’d be wise for all of us to think of it as a re-deployment. Businesses, communities, churches, gyms, and schools are all eventually going to return back to something that looks like, but isn’t quite normal - and before we do that, here are some things that you should seriously consider.

Same Conditions Do Not Equal the Same Experience: Ten people can be exposed to essentially the same circumstances and have ten completely different experiences. No two people will have had the same exact COVID-19 experience and this must be factored into your approach to re-deployment. Be careful about blanket policies or protocols. Some of your team will be eager to get back while others will have become quite comfortable working from home. Still others will be dealing with real challenges as a result of this crisis. If you’re a leader, you’re going to have to pay very close attention to your people and be willing to support them as individuals.

Re-Deployment is a Process, Not an Event: Just like in the military, we have to plan for a successful re-deployment. We won’t be able to flip a switch and be back up and running. Everything from administration and logistics to personal dynamics needs to be considered. Think hard about who comes back to the office first, which clients need immediate attention, and what might be able to wait a while. What are the phases of the operation and goals for each? Failing to plan is planning to fail.

Take Stock of What We’ve Learned: Deployments aren’t all bad. Far from it. Talk to almost any veteran and they’ll tell you about how much they enjoyed certain aspects of being ‘down range’. Maybe it was the heightened sense of purpose or the camaraderie or the simplicity. The same goes for COVID-19. As scary and somber as it’s often been, this certainly hasn’t been (and shouldn’t be) an entirely negative experience. How can we use this laboratory to identify ways to get better? We’ve been creative, flexible, and resilient during this difficult time. Don’t let that go to waste. Figure out what tactics and habits we need to keep and which ones we’ve learned to do without.

No Unspoken Expectations: This is big. Unspoken expectations are usually unmet, and given that we’ve all experienced this differently, we likely have different expectations of what life will be like after re-deployment. If you’re a leader, you’ve got to be transparent about how you see this re-deployment going. What is your vision of success? What are your top priorities? What are you most concerned about? You also need to be open to hearing this from others. If necessary, make it a mandatory exercise. I like to ask my team three simple questions:

1. What are you most proud of during your time in quarantine?

2. What are you most looking forward to?

3. What are you most concerned about?

Don’t Rush It: On so many levels, we are not going fully understand the impact of this crisis for quite a while. We just don’t know how our people, our customers, and are markets will be affected in the long run. I know things feel urgent. I absolutely encourage you to move with purpose and intention. However, I also encourage you to be patient and keenly aware to what’s going on around you. There will be plenty of warning signs and opportunities if you can manage to keep your eyes up and your mind open. As Brandon wrote in this great piece, we have a long walk ahead of us. The coming months will require leaders to demonstrate both grit and grace.

We appreciate that these are unprecedented and difficult times. We also know that there are better times ahead. The transition between will make all the difference. Thank you for your leadership and hard work to this point, and best of luck with your re-deployment. If we can be of any help, please let us know.

The Unknown Distance March

There’s a reason why the Rangers, the Green Berets, and many other Special Operations Units use unknown distance ruck marches to assess candidates during selection and build grit and resolve during training. The ruck is often called “the ultimate equalizer”. It can make a 250lbs linebacker fall by the wayside while a 140lbs teenager drives on. The ruck does not discriminate and it does not relent. 

But those who really know, know that the unknown distance march isn’t about the weight of the ruck or the number of miles covered.

It’s about the uncertainty – the ability to persevere through continuous hardship for however long it takes. It’s about learning to focus on the mission, not the moment. 

Ruck marching is a painful endeavor to begin with, even when you know how far you’re traveling. But walking an unknown distance at night over punishing terrain teaches you a lot about yourself and your teammates. 

The one penetrating thought that seeps into your mind amidst the strain and the pain is whether or not you will quit. Will you break when it gets hard, the finish line is nowhere in sight, and you just want it to end? Or will you find the strength to keep pushing, to lean on your teammates, and complete the mission? Sadly, it’s the ones who take a knee on the side of the road that never get back up and never see what’s at the top of the hill.

In 2006, I had the privilege of competing in the Best Ranger Competition and the unknown distance march put a microscope on my resolve and my reliance upon my teammate. Jeremiah Pittman and I stepped out, like the rest of the teams, at “0-Dark-Thirty” and I knew it was going to be a rough night. Seven years earlier, I had learned an important lesson about myself during the grueling 61 days of Ranger School. You can starve me, you can smoke me, you can load me down with weight and you can make me walk for days on end. But sleep deprivation is my weakness. 

The Best Ranger Competition is like an Ironman on steroids. It’s 60 miles in 60 continuous hours with no sleep, interlaced with common Ranger tasks and tactics like shooting, land navigation, parachuting, obstacle courses and other events to push the limits of endurance. The mission for every competitor standing in their two-man buddy teams at the starting line is simple: cross the finish line. Most do not accomplish their mission. The march started after the first 20 hours of non stop competition and I was exhausted. Though always a strong ruck marcher, a few miles in I was droning (falling asleep while walking) and hallucinating. We had no clue how long the event would last. The only instructions were go! Until you’re told to stop. Relying on my teammate, I kept putting one foot in front of the other as he nursed me with packets of electrolytes, sugary drink mixes, candy bars and encouragement. It was miserable and I just wanted to stop and go to sleep. But I didn’t. I wasn’t going to let my teammate down.  

The musky Georgia night lurched on one footfall at a time. Walk the uphills, run the downhills. Hope began to stir as we passed other teams of Rangers, giving them a thumbs up and a word of encouragement as they dropped behind us two by two. Jeremiah knew just how to awaken me fully, “hey, let’s start counting the bodies we pass and just run our race, B.” 1 Team…2…3…4…the teams would emerge on the horizon and fall behind us to the road. Jack and Jill. Up the hill. 

Eventually, the sky tore open and a southern storm erupted upon the pines and the asphalt. We dropped the hammer and ran most of the miles thereafter. When we finally emerged into a clearing and were told to get on the trucks, only two teams had made it in before us. We would go on to place 3rd in the competition, but I never would have seen the finish line without my Ranger Buddy.Those lessons stay with me today, as our country finds itself in the middle of an unknown distance march, stuck in social distance, taking it all one day at a time. I hope sharing these lessons will offer some perspective that will help you to take care of each other and see this thing through.

Some lessons from the under the ruck:

• The Mission > The Moment: no hardship lasts forever, keep going and remember why you started in the first place.

• Settle In and Temper Your Expectations: unknown means just that, stop trying to guess when it ends; setting your mind to mile 16 will shatter your spirits come mile 17.

• Look for Signs of Unsettling: they may sound a lot like, “hey, the team is asking me when you think this will end…” or “asking for a friend, but when do you think we can go back to normal?” Interpretation: I’ve had it and I want this to end. Now.

• Don’t Go It Alone: come alongside and encourage one another when it’s hard; you will get through this, together. 

• Tell the Truth: No one can read your mind, if you’re hurting, say you’re hurting so your team can solve the problem; hiding a personal weakness will become a team liability.

• Encourage, Don’t Complain: the very last thing we need is to hear one more person say, “this sucks”…we know! You can acknowledge the adversity, but don’t belabor it!  

• Never Leave a Fallen Comrade: a tactical halt to collect yourself is a lot different than quitting; leave no one behind.

• Finally - Never, Ever Quit! 

I know you want this to end, I do too, but it’s not going to as soon as you want it to. When it does, I don’t imagine life will look the same as when the quarantine began and I hope you are not the same, either. I hope you are taking every lesson this road is offering you.  So take a moment and ask, what are you learning about yourself in the midst of your unknown distance march and who are you leaning on? 

This article originally appeared in GORUCK. Please check them out!

Thumbnail photo credit: Colton Duke @csoref via Unsplash.

#STEMStrong (Part 3 of 3): When Things Fall Apart, Put Them Back...Together

Above: The Castillo Family, STEM School Cross Country, Veterans, and First Responders honored and remembered Kendrick Castillo on September 15, 2019 with The Colorado Run for the Fallen. Kendrick was the first civilian honored in this national memorial for fallen Service Members and First Responders. He remains in our hearts, forever. We will see him again.

This article appeared on Thrive Global. Please check them out.

11 days after the STEM Highlands Ranch School shooting, we hadn’t stopped since the event. Vigils, gatherings, prayer groups and conversations with other shocked parents were the new normal. 

May 18, 2019 Elliot and I were at Jaden’s School of Rock concert. As the band played, some feedback made a sharp crack. Elliot immediately went into a panic response and we had to exit the hall. We went outside calmly and sat down on the sidewalk, legs and arms crossed in the “Cook’s Technique” to activate our parasympathetic nervous systems. Breathing deeply, we calmed the body down and checked back into our surroundings.

Our hair danced along a breeze as rain drops join us about the concrete. Weeds swayed and popped along in patches amongst the concrete. We are safe, the mind can understand this fact, the nervous system, however, must catch up. 

This is the new normal. For now…

Jaden Young. Coolest drummer we know!

3 days later, we enter the house, our aging dog falls three times in the distance between the kennel and the sliding glass door, and then collapses as she attempts to potty in the grass. And it all falls apart…

“No! No! No! No! No!” Elliot’s shrieks of horror erupt as our family dog hits the grass. It’s all just too much. Her knees buckle as she buries her head in my chest. I hold her to the world around her as it spins and falls apart. 

“I’m not ready...I’m not ready.” She has never known a world without Ojo, one of our two family dogs--both suffering. One from old age, the other (Juno) from cancer. 

It’s all just too much. She sobs and shakes for some time and eventually, it spills out, “I just wanted to get through math class…”

“I just wanted to get through math and go home…”

I’m heartbroken. I am her dad and I just can’t protect her from this. I can’t save her. 

We thank God everyday for this day.

Our son, Jaden is a stoic young man. 6’1”, 155 pounds with crystal blue eyes that see everything; ears that hear everything. He is unassuming; shares very little but feels very deeply.

“I’m not doing so well, my mental state just isn’t right.“ I am shaken by his clarity of thought. He’s having nightmares now, and our hearts break. “I don’t feel right, and I know I don’t feel right… I just don’t know what to do about it. My head is all confused…“

The afternoon was nearly over when I realized that my chest has been tight all day long. Anxiety welled deep inside of me. I know this to be the effects of trauma, and I surrender. “Be still, and know that I am God“ Psalm 46:10

May 2020 - That was a year ago, and much has transpired since those early days after the STEM School Shooting. We have had a community of family and friends rally around us, our church family has held us up in prayer and fellowship, we committed to moving through this together with God at the center, and we all immediately sought clinical help to work through the effects of our respective traumas. 

I have received over 20 hours of EMDR therapy, thanks to The Marcus Institute for Brain Health and Headstrong, helping me untangle what came up in the wake of this event.

Today, the healing continues, imperfectly, but not alone. You can hear my children share their hearts on this matter in this five minute Mission Roll Call Be A Leader video. They held their heads high and after we filmed this together, Elli looked at me and said, “empowered...that’s how I feel knowing that our story may help someone.” 

Today, Elliot is a burgeoning young chef at Thunder Ridge Highschool, aiming to begin the Pro-Start Culinary program next fall, in her Sophomore year. Jaden is preparing to graduate from STEM School Highlands Ranch and launch off to college in the Fall.

He was accepted to Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Prescott, AZ for the Simulation Science, Games and Animation program. Though college was not in his plan for 2021 a year ago.

From those early moments last year to today, he has grown so much in such little time. Below, I share an excerpt from his college essay that speaks volumes about our cherished STEM School Highlands Ranch Community, the belonging these students feel, and how much I have learned about resilience from Jaden.

In the essay, he was asked to “tell Embry-Riddle about an accomplishment and how it affected his future goals”. He shares his thoughts below.

 Middle school for me started out with learning about myself. What I quickly realized was that I was a “Nerd” that enjoyed playing board games and doing intellectual stuff that people at public schools don’t appreciate. I never was the kind of person to enjoy sports or talk to every person on campus. I didn’t fit in, which made going into school everyday a struggle. I was getting bullied by anyone who remotely thought they were better than me…the constant stream of insults really shattered me, so my family and I decided to do something about it. 

After taking a tour of STEM they (my parents) decided the school was a perfect fit for me, but I was still the new kid on the block. I started to feel more like a STEM student after connecting with new people (through common interests and games) and making friends, but this wasn’t the only problem I had when moving to STEM. 

When I moved to STEM in 2016, I had little experience with computers... so I started learning how to use computers, type semi-fast, and use a computer to do work. Freshman year I took the intro to programming class and it was my favorite class and I was excited to go to it every day, so Sophomore year I took Game Design 1 and Game Design 2. This sparked my love for coding and set me on a path to pursue a career in coding, but I didn’t really know that then. This period of growth re-ignited my personality and allowed it to grow into the person I am today, a Senior who values friendship, logic, intellect, adaptability, and development. This problem pushed me to realize that I wanted to go into Game Design and Software engineering which follows me today and is what pushes me to go into these fields.

The thing that I love the most about games is their ability to bring people together, but all of my passion and resilience was tested last year on May 7th. On May 7th around 2:00, 2 armed students walked into STEM School Highlands Ranch and tried to murder their peers. These people changed the lives of many friends of mine and other students, but in a way, it changed me too. At the beginning of this year, I was determined that these events wouldn’t hold me back and keep me from what I wanted to do. Before the shooting I didn’t think I was going to college. In fact, I was scared, but after the shooting, I knew there wasn’t anything I couldn’t overcome. Then earlier this year, Embry-Riddle came to my school and I knew it would be the right place for me. I also had a GPA increase and I set a new personal record or PR in cross country because this experience made me determined to do better. 

On to the next hilltop, son. You will never walk alone. Godspeed!

February 2020 - Jaden is accepted as an incoming Freshman for the 2021 school year at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Prescott, AZ.

My children remind me everyday that resilience awaits on the other side of hardship. That healing is a journey, not to be taken alone. That courage comes in more forms than we think of at face value. And that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). 

I pray you will remember these the next time things fall apart. 

Brandon

#STEMStrong (Part 2 of 3) Where We Are Today, But Not For Tomorrow

Above: May 12, 2019, our community gathered at sunset for a vigil and walk to honor our fallen hero, Kendrick Castillo. The vigil was planned and facilitated by another school in the area, Sky View Academy.

This article appeared on Thrive Global. Please check them out.

May 10, 2019. Three days after the shooting I just sat there. Numb. Watching the scenes around me unfold. My son walked around our church as white t-shirts with #STEMstrong on them are distributed by grade. A mourning community uniting to support one another. 

Signs are posted in front of the school, pictures of Kendrick, flowers, balloons and cards. And it is all familiar, yet starkly different. 

I remember the outpouring of American support when we returned from Afghanistan. I remember a hanger on McChord Air Force Base filled with signs of support, love, admiration and unity. I remember my beautiful wife standing there with tears in her eyes and our son in her arms. 

We made it back. Or made it out, depending on which way you see it.

We gathered and connected; it was beautiful. All those years ago we were beginning to process our trauma together. We have a bond that lasts a lifetime to this day. Trauma pulls you together with those who experience it in a special way. You never wanted to be a part of this club, but it is unique.

I am 13 years removed from my last rotation to Afghanistan, 6 years since being diagnosed with PTSD. Sitting in these community meetings, we watched these gatherings, watched our children laugh and connect and be children and my body shuddered with a mixture of joy and sorrow. 

2003 - Brandon, Kelly and their son, Jaden. McChord AFB (now JBLM). Charlie Co. 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment.

We can’t imagine what these kids are feeling right now, but as a dad who has experienced trauma, here are the conversations we have with our children:

• Every day, every moment, we will do our very best to meet you where you are. We are not perfect, but we love you and we are here in the journey together. 

• Everyone in this community is here with you, not for you. Don’t get it twisted. There is an army of people out there who are healing from trauma, the ones who get better understand this simple truth, the ones who don’t become entitled and never get out of this. 

• We are at the beginning of a lifelong journey. The way you feel today will not be the way that you feel years down the road unless you choose to stay in the pain of the past.

• We are here with you, we empathize with you, but we do not sympathize. What you experienced is wholly yours. It belongs to you and the others who experienced it with you. I have experienced extreme trauma, I have been to war four times, but it is not the same. I went to war to experience my trauma. You went to class. I respect that and I am so sorry that this is the world we have handed you.  

• I will share my story with you, and in doing so hope to build a bridge between our hearts. I have no other agenda than, “I love you”. We will not compare our traumas. My encouragement is that you do not compare yours with other students who were in the room, in the building or fellow students who were off-campus at that specific moment in the day. Everyone’s trauma is different and we all experience hurt on our own terms. 

• As parents, we were not in those rooms where bullets ripped through walls and reality. As children, you were not in the moments of terror praying to God for news that your children were not the next casualties. Let’s not hold these facts against one another. 

2006 - Brandon and his daughter, Elli, 75th Ranger Regiment

• This was not your fault, nobody deserves to experience horror like this and our hearts hurt that this happened.

• It’s okay that you feel bad, that you feel guilty that you did not get shot when your classmate right next to you did; that is normal. But it is not fair to you and it’s not your fault. 16 years ago a friend was killed in Afghanistan and I wasn’t. I felt horrible that it wasn’t me. I felt horrible that I wasn’t there for him or the rest of the guys that experienced that situation. Since then, I have lost 7 more men I called “brother”. While my sorrow still exists, my ownership over the desire to trade lives with them no longer does. 

• We do not choose who lives and who dies in traumatic situations, we cannot know; only God knows. The more you replay the situation, the more you look for answers to questions you cannot find, the more you will arrive at a place where you must surrender your false sense that you will understand this. Seek God, not answers to these questions. “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:13

• You will not understand why because you cannot understand this. There is a darkness in this world, an evil that you have now experienced first hand. For that we are so sorry. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” Proverbs 3:5

• You get to be angry, you get to be scared, you may feel unsafe and it’s okay. It’s okay to sleep with mom and me, or with the lights on again. Call for us in the middle of the night when you need to. Take some breaks when you have to. 

Finally, We are sorry we couldn't protect you from that evil. We cannot protect you from evil, but God can. God did. 

This is where we are now, but it will not be where we are forever.

Brandon

#STEMStrong (Part 1 of 3): The Morning After

This article appeared on Thrive Global. Please check them out!

The morning after the STEM Highlands Ranch shooting, our home began in a daze like many other homes in our suburban community. Our son was a Junior, our daughter in 8th grade at the time of the STEM School Shooting on May 7, 2019, that amongst other things, took the life of a brave, kind, and gentle young Kendrick Castillo. 

We are all reeling in disbelief that this happened to our community. Again. 

That this happened to us. 

We are shaken and as parents, Kelly and I are scared. 

Our stoic son is angry, rightly so. And we give him space. 

May 8, 2019 - The day after. Mission Hills Church responds with love, compassion, and support. Our church remained full of STEM families and the community all day.

Our daughter curls up on the couch and begins, “We were all huddled down against one another, scared and trying to get as low as possible. I was praying, holding one students hand and rubbing the back of another. Then, the bullets ripped through the wall in front of us and we could all feel it...like the energy of it. A pungent smell and something burning filled our noses and that’s when someone pointed in shock at a classmate, red ringing a hole on her clothing…”

Walking over to the couch, I sit next to my sweet baby girl. She is fourteen years old, the morning after the STEM Highlands Ranch shooting, much older today than any parent hopes for their child. 

Where do I begin?

Our family has been walking with war veterans and traumatized children for nearly 20 years, so we begin with all we can offer in moments such as these: love, empathy and vulnerability. Compassion. 

“My heart hurts for you, kiddo. I remember the first time I was shot at in Afghanistan.” I take her hand in mine and smile meekly. Her freckles highlight the tears welling up in her soft, brown eyes. “I remember rocks on the ground and being exposed, out in the open. We got so low it felt like I was trying to become a part of the rocks.”

“Yes!” Her eyes flash, “exactly! We were all squished together and I had students’ arms and legs all over me.”

She is talking; this is good. 

“I remember at first, the guys and I looked at each other and someone said, ‘I think we’re getting shot at?’” Bullets cracked overhead and we all agreed. “We’re getting shot at. Take cover!”

It was surreal. You recognize what’s happening and can see yourself in the moment. You know you’re supposed to be scared, but you don’t feel scared. You cannot allow this. There’s work to do, actions to take, people to protect. So you execute. Your training takes over and you do what you know is right in the moment. The emotions come later.

Later, you feel the fear. Later we feel everything. 

“Dad, that’s exactly what it felt like! We trained for this so many times and it was like...is this happening? This is happening!”

We cry together and hold her close. Kelly and I are angry. So angry. And saddened. 

Though we feel the aftermath of trauma together, it is not the same. I was trained to go to war. Hours, days, months, years, I trained with men who were prepared to experience savagery. Inhumanity. To harness and direct extreme brutality and control their fears. To strike first with speed, surprise and violence of action and when hit to hit back harder. So hard the enemy would never get back up. But our children should never be prepared for this. 

As Soldiers, we expect the aftermath of war may include the effects of experiencing trauma. As students, our children shouldn’t have to face the same prospect from going to class. 

I went to war to get PTSD, my children went to math class. 

2003 - Brandon and Rangers from 1st Platoon (Madslashers) Charlie Co. 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment. Nuristan Province, Afghanistan.

We live in a world now where our kids are the routine targets of mass murder, often times by their very peers. And they know it. 

It’s the knowing that hurts so much. My children will never be able to unknow what they now know. They will never be able to unsee the evil in this world because they have now experienced it up close and personal. Smells and sounds. Lights and noises. Blood and carbon. 

They will also never be able to unsee the light. 

“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

As bullets ripped through walls, flesh and the veneer of our affluent, suburban life, they also shredded the veil that separates us from the darkness in this world. 

The new reality for our children is one in which the world around us can go hidden no longer. But a choice emerges in that reality. Those who have lived through trauma must make a choice everyday: light or darkness, life or death, anguish or healing. For as the Apostle Paul reminds us, “what fellowship can light have with darkness?” 2 Corinthians 6:14 

None. 

We have all now experienced the darkness up close and personal in our home and it’s the very thing that keeps Kelly and me up at night. We all now must choose everyday to take another step on the healing journey, or remain in the muck of the pain. 

Kelly will have to choose to live in that dark moment as an ER Nurse, receiving casualties from our children's school, not knowing if one of our kids is on the next ambulance. Or the light of the evenings when she can walk down the hall and hear our kids breathing as they sleep. Our son will have to choose to live in the engineering lab, covered by machines and noise, or the moment when he saw his baby sister at the rally point after the shooting stopped and held her as she cried. 

I can choose to live in the rocks and dust of an Afghan Valley or walk in the light of a day where I get to hold my daughter and cry with her when she hurts. 

From here on out, she will have to choose to live in the darkness of classroom 106, huddled against a mesh of children and floor, praying to Jesus, or walk in the light of the rainy Colorado day that awaited when the shooting stopped. 

We choose life. 

Brandon

Chalk on the ground outside of STEM School Highlands Ranch

A Message From Your RIP Instructor

The heartbreaking truth is that I can’t save you. And you cannot save your brother or sister. We can speak up; we can walk with the voiceless. We can have the courage to be real, be seen and be heard. We can hear others without judgement. We can get help, trained professionals that can change the situation. And we are not alone.

This article first appeared in The Havok Journal. Please check them out.

After countless hours of freezing rain, bitter cold and the cut of the ruck on my shoulders it finally happened: I let go of my illusions that the situation would ever improve.

I embraced my indoctrination as an Airborne Ranger and entered into a brotherhood of shared sacrifice and violence on the fringe of American society. Many years later I peered at the formation of young Ranger hopefuls in the same field, under the same vicious sting of a Cole Range winter and smiled as the herd thinned itself naturally. “See the woodline? Touch it!”

We talk of Brotherhood all the time. Brotherhood is belonging. Brotherhood is family. Brotherhood is anytime, anywhere. So what can we learn when one of our family, one of our brothers takes his own life?

Surely, we must take stock and learn something. We talk about the depth of our bond forged of long nights and moments best forgotten, but are we hiding a shallow truth in plain sight from one another? Are we really being honest with each other? Are we truly sharing how we feel inside?

Sometimes I think not.

What are we so afraid of?

2003 - Charlie Co. 2/75 Ranger Regiment, Bagram, Afghanistan

I think shame is what we are all hiding in plain sight. Shame that we are not good enough, strong enough, “Ranger” enough. Shame to admit that we are not “ok.” That we are struggling with emotions that won’t stop swelling inside us and shame from our inability to silence our thoughts from the still of our comfortable homes (though we were capable of quelling them during the battle overseas).

We were taught to silence our emotions in order to execute in combat, to operate in a zero defect environment. We were taught to be indomitable, bulletproof, invincible: invulnerable. And here today, with all that training and experience, it’s just not working anymore. Today we have become unable to silence the storms inside, unable to stop the memories and we are ashamed of our inability to “suck it up and drive on.”

I know the struggle well, our indoctrination was precise and the approach was intentional.

As a former RIP Instructor (Ranger Indoctrination Program, now known as the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program/ RASP) and Pre-Ranger Instructor my role was specific and our approach was exact: create killers. Un-feeling, un-yielding destroyers capable of operating and leading under the most intense emotional and physical stress imaginable.

The physical part, that was easy. The emotional and mental parts, that was the trick. The culmination of our approach was numbness or compartmentalization: indifference.

Indifference was achieved when no matter how bad, no matter how much it hurt (how terrified or miserable) you executed with exact aggression on target. Precise violence of action.

Indifference was critical to your ability to perform on target. To be physically, emotionally and mentally willing to enter a building and clear a room knowing full well that on the other side awaits an enemy ready to kill you is not normal. Face this fact right now. To combat the terror of a life stepping into the breach, you have been conditioned to ignore your emotions. Taught to excuse the fear, the pit in your stomach, taught to harness the adrenaline coursing through your veins and focus all your being into acts of unprecedented and calculated violence.

2001 - Alpha Co. 2/75 Ranger Regiment. Jordan.

Here’s what we didn’t teach you: how to stop being indifferent. How to feel again.

How after embracing a culture of violence, there is on the other side a lifetime of peace, should you choose to accept it. A life of home. I fear this is killing us. Literally. Killing our families, our friendships, our coveted brotherhood and our communities as we kill ourselves. We bought into a necessary reality for the days when we stood in the breach, but today at home in America, we hang on to a lie: you must be indomitable, still.

Vulnerability is not weakness. While antithetical to your training as a war fighter, in life, vulnerability equates to strength.

Anger, fear, shame, uncertainty, pride, regret, joy and sadness. These are emotions. You are feeling again. This is normal. Welcome home. Now let’s get to work.

Let’s cut the crap. Start being honest with ourselves and with each other. Call that buddy of yours, but do it with a spirit of vulnerability. Author Brene Brown talks a great deal about vulnerability, citing shame as the major barrier for living “whole heartedly,” or with a spirit of vulnerability and openness.

I think we may be ashamed of our humanity and the emotions we wrestle with today: days, months and years after living a life of abandon. We stay in our “box” after service; wear our unit swag, grow our beards long, tattoo our units on our bodies (I certainly did) and generally live with an attitude appropriate to when our job required us to be strong in austere environments on the periphery of society.

Why do we still do this after service? Because we don’t know how to come home.

2018 - 20 years after sharing a barracks room in the Blacksheep, A Company 2/75 Ranger Regiment. Brothers to this day.

“We all pay for it. At some point, we will all pay the price.” I shared these words with my squad at “pool PT” (breakfast at Hawks Prairie restaurant) after we returned from Afghanistan our second time in 2003. Many of us were feeling uneasy around our community, out of place. Different.

Emotion is a human function. You can learn how to compartmentalize it, to ignore it, but it will not go away. From the most senior men in the formation to the lowest private, we are all people. All of us wrestle with emotions thought to be long forgotten. We have an insidious lie tearing into the fabric of our community. The façade, the lie, is that you have to be a stone-hard, emotionless killer to be “in.” I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted with it. If buying this lie every day is required to be “in,” then I’m out.

I think we hold onto “Ranger” more than we hold on to “brother” and I believe we are lying to ourselves if we think we aren’t afraid to be real and start talking about what’s really going on. I think we are scared to admit that we are hurting, that we don’t know how to fight what’s going on inside our hearts and our heads.

That we can’t figure out how to engage with our loved ones, that we can’t say “I’m sorry” or “I don’t know.” That if we admit it, we are weak and worthless. No longer worthy of our place within this brotherhood. I think we’ve become afraid to say, “help, please.”

“I don’t need help. I’m fine. Everyone else is wrong, nobody gets me and I will figure it out myself.” These and other lies we tell ourselves are the ones that are killing us.

Tell the truth, brothers.

I am angry much of the time. I burn my kids to the ground with my words. I hold myself and others to unattainable standards. I bury myself in work because I can control it. I avoid my life because it’s unpredictable, messy. I can’t recall the last night I slept through, the last day I didn’t feel the world on my chest or the pain from all the people I’ve hurt and how much I enjoyed it. I hate that I miss the rush.

I miss feeling the flow of being on the OBJ. I miss the unspoken link with the men to my left and right on target. I miss the power to end another’s life.

Video created by MHS Productions and respectfully shared by the author.

I am terrified that I will lose my wife and my children because I can’t get my act together and I have contemplated suicide when I have fallen into the darkness of a life owning the night.

There are good days and bad days, that’s life. But I have experienced many more good than bad since I walked into the V.A. and spoke those words of truth for the first time out loud.

You are not alone.

Suffering and suicide are not uniquely veteran phenomena, much like compartmentalization and conditioning are not uniquely “Ranger.” Mental health and suicide is a wholly human epidemic in America today (rising 24% from 1999 through 2014).

I write this message with a spirit of hope. If one sentence resonates with you, I hope you take action. Have a real conversation today, be honest and be prepared to be “seen”. Also, know the five signs of someone in emotional pain, seek out and attend a safeTALK training in your area to learn how to be more suicide alert and how to take action. Get out of your house and engage with your brothers, with others in your community. If needed, here are a list of resources that can help:

The Marcus Institute for Brain Health

Headstrong

The Gallant Few

The Darby Project

U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs Mental Health Resources

2018 - Gap of Dunloe, Ireland. The moment we heard the news. No amount of beauty that surrounded could take the sorrow from our hearts. We all lost a family member that day.

Four closing thoughts: First, I wrote this article a few years ago, after a Ranger in our community suicided. Since that day, a dear brother took his own life. The loss has inextricably altered my life and the lives within my community. I cannot underscore the pain and sorrow we feel without this man in our lives. I love him dearly. Second, in a world of cultural relativity, here is an absolute truth: if you think suicide will make things better, you are absolutely wrong. Sit with those left behind and you’ll know this. Third, please, I beg you, if you are contemplating suicide, tell someone and get help. You are not alone. Finally, Jesus pulled me out of my sorrow, I pray you pull out of yours. You are so loved.

You are so loved.

-Brandon