Traffic on Route 50 was the usual purgatory — stop, creep, inch forward, speed up—repeat. We were running late, and when the traffic opened up, I was pushing the car a bit harder than leisurely, though not recklessly — perhaps 65 miles an hour, which felt appropriate for the moment, sensible for the road. Donna rode beside me. The Bay waited ahead. We were, in every ordinary sense, exactly where people are supposed to be: moving toward something good, mildly behind schedule, untroubled by anything larger than traffic.

Then the world changed in the periphery of a mirror.

From the left rear corner of my rearview — that small rectangle of glass we trust with our lives without ever thinking about it — I caught a shape. An SUV. Moving with the kind of velocity that registers not as speed but as danger. It cut behind us across three full lanes of highway traffic in a single, violent arc, from the median to the innermost lane near the tree line, as though physics had briefly looked away. The vehicle struck a utility pole with a force that I suspect I will hear for the rest of my life. The concrete base of the pole held. The car did not. It rebounded like something cast off a solid wall, launched back across the highway — all three lanes — perhaps thirty or fifty feet in front of us as we hurtled forward at sixty-some miles an hour. It skipped across the asphalt like a stone across a pond, struck another tree, and finally came to rest.

And then we were past it. Because at that speed, the world doesn’t pause to let you process what just happened.

***

The next morning, in the particular silence that follows a shock the body hasn’t yet finished absorbing, I did something I’m not entirely sure how to explain. I opened ChatGPT and typed a question: At 65 miles per hour, how many feet does a car travel per second?

The answer: 93 feet.

The car had ricocheted across in front of us at a distance I would estimate at thirty to fifty feet. Do the arithmetic and you arrive at a conclusion that still unsettles me: had we been a half-second further along that road — half a second — Donna and I would likely not be here. Not injured in some recoverable way. Gone. Because a 4,000-pound machine traveling at perhaps ninety miles an hour, bouncing off a pole and ricocheting across three lanes of highway, does not leave much room for survival when it arrives where you happen to be.

Half a second. The span of a blink. The gap between a breath and its release.

***

I am not, by temperament, a man given to existential musing. I spent years as a Marine and an FBI agent — professions that train you to locate danger, neutralize it, and move forward. You develop a relationship with risk that is functional rather than philosophical. You learn to get on with things.

But this was different. This was not a danger I had located. It came from the periphery, from the blind edge of ordinary life, and it passed through us like a ghost, leaving no mark except the knowledge that it had been there at all.

I found myself thinking about my combat experience in Vietnam. I don’t invoke that comparison lightly. But there is a particular quality to the moments when mortality announces itself without warning, not as a slow illness, but as pure, indifferent chance. And, this had that quality. The sudden understanding that our life story could simply stop. Mid-sentence. Mid-trip. On the way to learn about oysters.

***

What does a person do with that knowledge?

I’ve been turning it over for days now, and I keep arriving at the same uncomfortable truth: life is, at its core, a matter of timing. Not fate, exactly — I’m too much of a realist for that framing, but timing. The specific configuration of where you are and what is coming and whether those two coordinates happen to intersect. We manage risk, we make plans, we drive carefully. And then sometimes a car cuts across three lanes at ninety miles an hour and the only variable that matters is whether you happened to be half a second ahead of where you were.

What I can say is this: the close passage of death has a clarifying effect on the question of what you are doing with the time that remains. Not in a panicked, bucket-list sort of way but quietly, almost gently. Are the things I’m doing the things I would want to have been doing? The people beside me, are they the people I would have chosen to be with, at the last? In Donna’s case, without hesitation: Yes. Which, I realized, is itself a kind of grace. Not everyone gets to have the answer to that question be so clear.

But I also found myself sitting with a darker thought, the kind that arrives in the small hours and refuses to be reasoned away: What would it mean to survive and have Donna not? I turned that over for a long time. I won’t finish the sentence I started in my head. The thought is too threatening to my heart.

***

We talk about living in the present. It has become a kind of cultural shorthand, the stuff of calendars and coffee mugs. But that afternoon on Route 50, “the present” wasn’t a philosophy. It was a physical fact. It was thirty feet of asphalt and half a second of time and the precise location of two people in a car heading toward a boat that would teach them about oysters.

The present is all we ever actually have. The future is where we make our plans, and plans are important. I believe in plans, in goals, in the structured pursuit of what matters. But the future is not where we live. We live here and now. In the breath between moments. In the ordinary Tuesday of a drive to the Bay.

I want to remember that. I want to write it down so that I remember it when the traffic of daily life — the small urgencies, the calendar obligations, the perpetual motion of ambition — starts to feel more real than the morning light coming through the window, or Donna’s voice, or the plain fact of another day.

We eventually made it to the water. The oysters were remarkable. The Bay was beautiful.

We said, “I love you,” a few more times that day than usual.

If you’ve ever watched a board–CEO relationship go sideways, you know the pattern. Things look stable, the board relaxes into a monitoring role, and early warning signs get waved off as “not material.” Or the opposite: a board becomes so skeptical of management that it slips into challenge mode even when the situation calls for partnership. Either way, the mismatch between context and behavior becomes the spark that lights the fuse.

The OpenAI–Sam Altman saga is the most dramatic recent example. A board that believed it was in an existential‑risk moment behaved like a crisis‑intervention body. Management believed it was in a high‑growth, high‑trust moment and expected a partner. The mismatch wasn’t just philosophical—it was structural. When boards and CEOs are operating from different mental models of the moment, governance becomes a collision.

Boards Need Multiple Modes—And the Discipline to Switch Between Them

The best boards don’t rely on one style of engagement. They move among four modes:

• Monitoring when the business is stable and the job is on track.

• Partnering when strategy is being shaped and management needs a thought partner.

• Challenging when assumptions need pressure‑testing and blind spots need surfacing.

• Intervening when the organization is at risk, and the board must act decisively.

Most boards know these modes exist. Very few have the norms, trust, or self‑awareness to shift between them intentionally. The result is predictable: overuse of autonomy in moments that require intervention, or overuse of challenge in moments that require partnership.

The Real Work Is Context Awareness

Boards get stuck because they misread the moment. They assume stability even as volatility rises. They assume a crisis when the organization is simply experiencing normal turbulence. They assume alignment when trust has quietly eroded.

Context awareness is the board’s version of emotional intelligence. It’s the ability to read signals—market, cultural, interpersonal—and adjust posture accordingly. Without it, even well‑intentioned boards drift into the wrong mode and stay there too long.

This Is the Governance Version of the Languages of Leadership

The HBR article maps cleanly onto a broader truth about leadership: effective leaders (and effective boards) don’t rely on one “language.” They adapt.

• Clarity: Boards must define roles, expectations, and boundaries with precision.

• Empathy: They must understand the pressures and constraints management is navigating.

• Autonomy: They must give leaders space to lead without micromanagement.

• Coaching: They must challenge assumptions and help management grow.

• Recognition: They must reinforce what’s working to build trust.

• Stability: They must step in decisively when the organization is at risk.

Boards that fail typically overuse one language—often Autonomy or Challenge—and underuse the others. Boards that succeed treat these languages as tools, not identities.

The Board–CEO Relationship Is a Dynamic System, Not a Contract

The article’s most important insight is that governance is not a static structure. It’s a living relationship. It requires:

• trust that can withstand disagreement

• transparency that prevents surprises

• norms that allow for recalibration

• humility on both sides

When those elements are missing, even small disagreements become governance crises; when they’re present, even major challenges become navigable.

The Takeaway

Boards don’t need to be more hands‑on or more hands‑off. They need to be more adaptive. The work is not about choosing a style—it’s about choosing the right style for the moment,and having the relational infrastructure to shift when the moment changes.

That’s not just good governance. It’s good leadership.

The Invisible Backbone of Society

Steve Gladis, Ph.D.

I received the call from FBI Headquarters while teaching at the FBI Academy, where I had found my sweet spot in the Bureau, despite being a misfit (see my book, Misfit Leadership). The head of public and congressional affairs said that he wanted me to apply for a GS-15 Chief of Speechwriting in the Director’s office. I respectfully declined, citing my joy of teaching at Quantico. “Think about it,” he said, and I knew what that meant in FBI code.

One month later, I was writing speeches at FBI Headquarters for Judge William H. Webster, a man for whom I would have enormous respect. Early on, I was told to make sure that in his speeches, I emphasize the Rule of Law. Of course, I had a sense of what that was; I was a gun-toting law-enforcing FBI agent. He also wanted this declaration emphasized: “We will do what the American People expect of us in the manner in which the Constitution demands of us.”

Whenever Judge Webster spoke about the Rule of Law, he always got the most energized. After all, he was both rational and unemotional—like a judge should be. These days, I find it worthwhile to reconsider the Rule of Law, having heard Jack Smith, former special prosecutor, speak at George Mason University so eloquently about what it means. So, I decided to revisit it.

The phrase “rule of law” might sound like something from a dusty law textbook, but it’s the backbone—the often invisible backbone—of every stable and thriving society. Simply put, the rule of law means that no one is above the law and that laws are applied fairly and consistently. Without it, societies unravel; with it, they flourish.

A society without the rule of law is like an NFL football game without a referee—unbridled chaos. Disputes are often settled by power or violence, rather than through regulations or fairness. Contracts, promises, and trust—foundations for business and society fall apart. Look at failed states around the world where laws exist only on paper: People rely on gangs or militias for protection, and life becomes unpredictable. The rule of law creates a level playing field where citizens can focus on living, working, and building rather than just surviving.

Unchecked leaders are dangerous. History is full of rulers who, without legal limits, slipped into tyranny. When laws bind leaders just as much as citizens, power shifts from personal, temporal whims to enduring institutions. That’s why societies with constitutions and independent courts—whether in ancient Athens, Enlightenment Britain, or modern democracies—are better able to resist despotism. The rule of law is the invisible backbone that keeps freedom from crashing.

The promise of equal treatment under the law is radical and vital. Without it, elites act with impunity while ordinary citizens suffer. Medieval Europe’s nobles lived above the law, while peasants were punished harshly. Modern societies, though imperfect, strive toward the ideal of equality—echoed in declarations of rights and civil rights movements. The rule of law is the framework that makes equality more than just a slogan.

Here’s a practical point: strong legal systems create strong economies. Businesses invest only where contracts are enforced and property rights are secure. That’s why countries with consistent legal frameworks attract innovation and capital, while those plagued by corruption struggle to grow. Law doesn’t just protect values; it also protects investments.

Laws reflect society’s values, and over time, they evolve. Abolition, women’s suffrage, civil rights—each used the law as a lever for moral change. Without legal structures, these movements would have been rebellions. With them, they became revolutions that reshaped societies. The rule of law doesn’t just freeze a society in place; it gives it a way to improve.

Societies with weak institutions are often vulnerable to collapse under stress. But those grounded in the rule of law adapt and endure. Britain transitioned from monarchy to democracy without losing stability. The United States weathered the Civil War and still upheld its Constitution. Law provides resilience; it allows societies to bend without breaking.

From Hammurabi’s code to Magna Carta to modern constitutions, the rule of law has been the common denominator of stable societies. Borders shift, cultures evolve, and technologies transform—but whenever law is fair, transparent, and consistently applied, societies thrive. Ignore it, and decline is inevitable.

The rule of law is civilization’s invisible backbone, its foundation. It delivers order, checks tyranny, ensures fairness, fuels prosperity, channels moral progress, and strengthens resilience. At any point in history, in any society, it’s the difference between chaos and stability, between oppression and liberty. Without it, we’re lost; with it, we have hope.

Judge Webster died recently at the age of 101, but the Rule of Law lives on.

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Glenda Watkins started her government contracting business in the basement office of her Prince William County house over 20 years ago, following a difficult divorce. Her MBA from Stanford helped rescue her when things were falling apart with her job and marriage. So she started Alpha One, a government contracting business focused on technology geared toward social welfare clients, specifically HUD. Since her meager start, she has grown the company to over $50 million. Things were heading toward acquisition and her early retirement when the roof fell in. In 2025, the White House demanded severe cutbacks, particularly from socially responsible organizations like HUD

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However, the remarkable thing was that her board, comprised of three VCs and several others (including herself), was pushing her to conduct succession planning. Talk about rearranging the chairs into neat rows on the Titanic! She thought about this unreasonable pressure at a time when she’d been pressured to lay off over 30% of her staff, and the threat of future cuts. It made no sense until her COO had a heart attack, and there were no viable directors in the company to run her biggest government accounts.

The current environment of federal budget constraints and organizational restructuring creates both challenges and opportunities for succession planning. While resource limitations make traditional approaches challenging, they also develop a sense of urgency that can drive innovation and efficiency in leadership development.

Leadership succession planning is crucial for any organization aiming for sustainable performance, growth, and internal efficiency, as well as preventing vulnerability to regression and decline. This fundamental principle becomes even more critical during periods of organizational stress.

Organizations that recognize succession planning as essential business infrastructure, rather than an optional enhancement, will be positioned for competitive advantage as market conditions stabilize. The key is adapting approaches to work within current constraints while maintaining focus on long-term leadership development.

The question for organizational leaders is not whether they can afford to invest in succession planning during difficult times, but whether they can afford not to do so. The research is clear: organizations with robust succession planning consistently outperform those without it, particularly during periods of transition and uncertainty.

Indeed, if you asked the captain of a ship in the midst of a storm at sea, “Do you think this is a good time to talk about strategic planning?” S/he’d have you tossed overboard. It’s not very different from businesses, especially Government Contractors. If you asked most CEO’s today what’s the worst time to do succession planning, they might say, “When you’re in the middle of this current shitstorm.” But they’d be wrong. Adapting in both the short-term and long-term (strategic) implications is fundamental to corporate longevity.

For government contractors and other organizations facing current budget pressures, succession planning represents both a risk mitigation strategy and a competitive positioning tool. The organizations that implement it effectively during challenging times will emerge as industry leaders when conditions improve.

As I drove into my carport, I saw my blue Nike tennis bag sitting unexpectedly on the concrete slab where I park every night. I immediately thought that my wife was speaking to me in silent code again. I have become somewhat of a Donna-code-whisperer after years of marriage. For the past year or so, she'd been clearing out our home of clutter and removing unused items of days gone by—way by. Today, tennis seemed to be on her agenda.

I have always loved tennis, but tennis has not always loved me! Earlier in my life, I had been a pretty good, albeit self-taught, tennis player. If I had ever joined a country club, I'd have been in the lower upper level—about a 4.0 out of 5. Every weekend for a couple of decades, I would go to Wakefield Park, a large Fairfax County, Virginia, suburban recreation area with seven tennis courts and a rally wall to hit against that could accommodate four people at once. I played 3 or 4 hours every Saturday and many Sundays.

I loved the movement, energy required, and competitiveness of the game. I was in love with it as a sport, following my athletic affair with basketball—another story for another time. But, as I looked at the bag, I thought of the hundreds of pick-up matches I'd played in after assessing possible opponents hitting on the rally wall. Like most experienced tennis players, I became good at determining the level of players after watching them hit for a minute or two on the wall. What I lacked was an accurate assessment of my skills to match them. Thus, sometimes I won my imaginary US Open soundly and almost as often, got trounced. These players were pretty savvy players who had become regulars at this unofficial "public country club." I also thought of my three knee surgeries, caused more by my marathon running but exacerbated by tennis.

Seeing the Nike tennis bag was another sobering moment in my life, which was coming more frequently as I age. That's when I began to think that aging was based on what I now call the Law of Subtraction. As you age, you're forced to give up certain activities that your body no longer tolerates well. I mentioned basketball early, which I played obsessively when I was younger in high school and well into my 20s and 30s. Giving up basketball was difficult, but the reason was more caused by the lack of organized teams to play with; thus, that subtraction from my life was more straightforward, allowing me to save face. But tennis was different, more personal.

After discussing the subtraction of tennis from my life, Donna and I decided to put my three, relatively high-end rackets and two fresh cans of Wilson balls on our tree lawn—and a sign that read "Free." I did keep the blue Nike bag, more out of respect for the pass than actual future use. A small concession, I admit.

The rackets and balls were gone in two days. That's when I thought about the person who took them. I thought of parents walking around the block, thinking that they and maybe one day their kids might use the rackets. I envisioned them at Wakefield. That's when the Law of Subtraction came into clearer view. Sure, you do have to give up things as you age—your kids as they grow up and leave for college, your sports car, even at some distant point, your job, and even your home. Indeed, from the day you're born, you age, and the things you can do evaporate. For example, I've watched a baby suck its toes. Give that a try sometime. Just let me know so I can be there with my camera at the ready. However, in giving the tennis rackets up and thinking about how the acquiring family might use them, it occurred to me that the fundamental Law of Subtraction was that while you give up things, others get to use them. It's the reason we have children—talk about giving up independence! Succession planning at work is essentially a form of recycling.

Indeed, the Law of Subtraction allows us to become mentors to subordinates, people trying to advance their careers or start new businesses. I am fortunate to have an office at the Mason Enterprise Center, where I frequently meet young, hard-charging entrepreneurs. When I do, I ask them, "How can I help you?" It's a simple and honest question, and my way of sharing a piece of myself and my experience with the next generation of business leaders.

For more than a month, I used to walk by an office on the same floor as mine at the Center. Every day, I saw two or three young folks grinding away on their computers with enormous intensity. One day, I asked the guy in charge, "Hey, what do you guys do?" He explained that they were developing an AI product to sell to academia, specifically George Mason. Over the next couple of weeks, we talked casually as I learned what the product did—quickly graded papers. Great idea, I thought, but sensed that academics were not quite ready to give up that control yet. Unfortunately, I was right. The CEO's pitch to a dean fell flat.

The young AI CEOs' Plan B was a voice-activated interviewing algorithm designed for Pharmacy students who need to learn how to communicate effectively with patients. The program allowed the user to craft a personality, like a 60-year-old woman with heart problems and bilingual. Once you've sketched out the personality of the speaker, the program actually allows the computer to answer questions and respond in the character you described—very effective. Thus, the pharmacy student got to interview as many mock patients as they cared to. Brilliant, but again their pitch to pharmacy school deans never landed.

One day, I told the young CEO, now running out of personal capital and near dissolution of the company, that I thought his idea was great, but he'd been pitching to the wrong audience. And that, from my FBI agent experience, as having taught interviewing and interrogation at the FBI Academy, to FBI agents and police officers, needed his technology more than anyone, and he should pitch it to them. It was the Hail Mary pass that worked.

After introducing him to past friends and associates in law enforcement, his AI product took off. One by one, local police agencies started as pilots and then grew into full-fledged customers of his. He took his idea to venture capitalists, who provided him with enough funding to sustain him for a year. He and his team presented at local, state, and even national conferences. Now he's getting ready for his next round of money from venture capitalists, which should sustain him for a few years, and then likely the sale of his company. It has been so much fun to watch this young entrepreneur grow.

As we age, the Law of Subtraction takes away stuff, but it also gives us things IF we're willing to accept it. To unlock the Law, ask: "How can I help?"

In her brilliant and incisive review of The Cybernetic Society by Amir Husain, Washington Post critic Becca Rothfeld raises powerful concerns about the way we conceptualize the relationship between human intelligence and artificial intelligence. Here are 5 big ideas that deserve executive and academic reflection:

1. The Central Thesis—But Is It Too Shallow?

Husain argues that humans and AI are best seen as a single cybernetic system—a kind of hybrid intelligence. But Rothfeld critiques this as technologically utopian and philosophically undercooked, overly reliant on the metaphor of machines and ignoring the lived, embodied, and emotional nature of human thought.

2. Mind ≠ Machine

Borrowing heavily from Hannah Arendt, Rothfeld emphasizes that thinking isn’t just information processing. It’s about context, meaning, imagination, and experience—areas where current AI still falls spectacularly short, despite our tendency to anthropomorphize it.

3. Neom, Saudi Arabia—and the Fantasy of the Frictionless Future

Husain praises Neom as a model of cybernetic integration, but Rothfeld sees it more as a “dystopian theme park,” where the dream of perfectly integrated AI society ignores messy, unequal, emotional human realities. Think Westworld, but without the self-awareness.

4. The Perils of Over-Enchantment

Rothfeld warns against techno-solutionism—believing that AI will solve social ills while ignoring the root causes (like inequality, bias, or lack of meaning). Her critique: We’re so mesmerized by the shiny object of AI that we forget to ask if it’s the right tool—or even if the problem is technological in the first place.

5. What Kind of Future Are We Really Building?

Ultimately, Rothfeld suggests we need more than just new tools—we need a deeper theory of mind, society, and ethics to guide how we integrate AI. Without that, the marriage of bots and brains may remain a superficial affair—technically brilliant, but philosophically vacant.

Worth reading for anyone in leadership, tech, or philosophy. As AI becomes more embedded in our lives, how we think about thinking will shape our future far more than the next algorithmic breakthrough.

“The Cybernetic Society” by Amir Husain is available now. But read it with a critical lens.

In my own executive coaching practice, I’ve had the opportunity to watch this transition take place time after time. Most times, it’s not done nearly as thoughtfully as owners reflect back on their transitions. How to avoid this critical misstep?

The September–October 2025 issue of Harvard Business Review features an article titled “The Founder’s Final Act: How to Hand Over Ownership—and Burnish Your Legacy” by Josh Baron, Ben Francois, Tony Guidotti, and Nien-he Hsieh. Their central point is both sobering and inspiring: Succession is not just a financial transaction; it is a profound act of leadership.

The Dual Challenge: Wealth and Legacy

For most entrepreneurs, succession feels like a financial puzzle. How do I structure the sale? Who should buy? How much will I walk away with? But as the authors argue, the economic/financial side is only half of the equation. The other half is deeply personal: What will my company become without me?

This is the tension every founder must navigate: Securing financial return while also ensuring the business continues to thrive in a way that honors their vision. In many ways, this final act defines how a founder will be remembered—far more than quarterly profits or growth milestones ever could.

Options for Transition

The article lays out some common paths for founders to consider. Here are a few:

1. Family Succession: Passing the business to children or relatives can preserve continuity and values. But it also introduces family politics, questions of fairness, and the risk of placing the company in the wrong hands if heirs aren’t prepared.

2. Employee Ownership Transitioning to an employee stock ownership plan (ESOP) or management buyout rewards loyalty and strengthens culture. It can sustain the mission of the company for years to come. Yet, it also introduces complexity in financing and governance—leaders must be prepared to manage both.

3. External Sale Selling to outside investors or larger corporations often maximizes financial return. But culture and mission may suffer if the buyer’s priorities don’t align. The founder must weigh the immediate gains against the long-term identity of the company.

None of these options is inherently right or wrong. The key is choosing intentionally—based on values as well as numbers.

The Psychological Shift

If the financial side is complex, the emotional side may be even harder. Founders don’t just leave companies; they leave behind part of their identity. For many, the company is the story of their life.

This is where leadership wisdom comes in. Stepping away requires humility, foresight, and courage. It requires the founder to craft a new story for themselves beyond the business: as a mentor, philanthropist, teacher, or even simply as a person free to pursue new passions.

Without this redefined identity, too many founders either cling too long—blocking innovation and succession—or exit abruptly, leaving chaos in their wake.

Legacy as the Final Chapter

The article makes a compelling case that succession is not an afterthought; it is the final chapter of leadership. Legacy isn’t about buildings or plaques. It’s about ensuring the values, culture, and mission survive beyond the founder’s tenure. That means codifying the company’s DNA into systems, governance, and culture—not just relying on personality.

It also means shaping the story of the transition itself. The way a founder exits can inspire confidence, loyalty, and respect—or it can leave confusion and disillusionment. In short, legacy isn’t just what you built. It’s also how you go.

Lessons for Every Leader

Even if you’re not a founder, these lessons apply to all of us in leadership roles. Whether you’re leading a team, a division, or a nonprofit, one day you’ll hand it to someone else. The same principles hold:

• Start Early. Succession is a process, not an event.

• Separate Ownership and Leadership. Influence can be handed over gradually.

• Codify Culture. Don’t assume values will “just carry on.” Make them explicit.

• Shape Your Next Chapter. Leadership doesn’t end when the role ends.

The founder’s final act isn’t simply stepping down—it’s lifting others. Authentic leadership is not about clinging to control; it’s about knowing when and how to release it. For founders, that moment may be the hardest—but also the most powerful. If done with foresight and humility, the transition becomes more than an exit. It becomes a lasting gift: to the company, to its people, and to the legacy of the founder.

Reflection Question for You: If you walked away tomorrow, what would your final act of leadership look like

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10 Commandments for Teenage Boys

1. Ditch the Alpha Wannabe: Don’t trail some loudmouth “leader” who’s faking confidence like a bad actor. Trust your gut—it’s usually smarter than his ego.

2. Skip the Booze Cruise: Never drink and drive, hotshot. A DUI’s a life-ruiner, and I’m not your lawyer. Call an Uber—I’ll cover it and toss you $50 for not being a knucklehead.

3. Wrap It Up: Always wear a condom unless you’re ready to star in Teen Dad Diaries. Abstinence is the MVP, but condoms are the trusty sidekick.

4. Spread the Kindness: Be kind like you remember being the awkward new kid dodging dodgeballs. Lift others up—it’s cooler than you think.

5. Stroll in the Wild: Ditch the screens and strut through the woods like a nature king. Fresh air beats another TikTok binge any day.

6. Fuel Up Smart: Eat food that powers your body, not junk that clogs it like a cheap gas station burrito. Your abs will thank you later.

7. Grind Like a Boss: Work hard at school like it’s your training montage for life. Good habits now = winning later, champ.

8. Pick Epic Pals: Surround yourself with friends who’ve got your back like a loyal hype squad. They’re your ride-or-die buddies through life’s chaos.

9. Respect All Humans: Treat everyone like you want to be treated—no shade, no shortcuts. Respect’s the ultimate flex.

10. Stay Grateful, Bro: Don’t strut like you smashed a homerun when you started on third base. Be thankful and generous to those still stuck in the dugout.

Steve Gladis

The Psychology of Blame in Leadership

1. Blame as a Defense Mechanism

Leaders under pressure often blame external factors (predecessors, employees, market conditions) to protect their self-image and credibility. This aligns with self-serving bias, where individuals attribute successes to their abilities and failures to external circumstances (Miller & Ross, 1975).

2. Blame and Accountability Avoidance

Blame-shifting allows leaders to avoid taking responsibility, reducing cognitive dissonanceâ€, the psychological discomfort of holding conflicting beliefs about their competence (Festinger, 1957). However, organizations with blame cultures tend to experience lower trust, morale, and innovation (Edmondson, 1999)

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3. Blame and Power Dynamics

Leaders in high-power positions may engage in strategic scapegoating, using subordinates as blame targets to reinforce authority and deflect criticism (Kramer, 1994). This can create a toxic culture where employees fear speaking up, leading to a decline in psychological safety.

4. Blame and Group Behavior

When leaders externalize blame, teams often mimic this behavior, creating a culture where employees avoid risk, accountability, and collaboration (Dweck, 2006). Conversely, leaders who model responsibility foster adaptive learning cultures, where teams focus on problem-solving rather than punishment (Goleman, Boyatzis, & McKee, 2013).

5. Blame vs. Learning Organizations

Amy Edmondson's research on psychological safety shows that high-performing teams embrace mistakes as learning opportunities rather than assigning blame. Organizations that shift from blame-based to learning-based cultures foster higher employee engagement, resilience, and long-term success

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1. The Three Types of Conversations: Duhigg outlines that all conversations can be categorized into three types: practical (focusing on the actual topic at hand), emotional (centering around the feelings of the participants), and social (involving the roles and identities of the participants). Understanding which type of conversation you're engaged in is crucial for effective communication.

2. Recognition and Matching of Conversation Types: A significant skill that supercommunicators possess is recognizing the type of conversation they are participating in and then aligning their communication style to match it. This alignment facilitates a deeper connection and understanding between parties.

3. Navigating Complex Emotions and Subtle Negotiations: The book delves into how emotions, subtle negotiations, and deeply held beliefs color our conversations more than we might realize. It teaches readers how to navigate these complex layers for clearer communication.

4. Influence of Personal Experiences and Values: "Supercommunicators" highlights how our experiences, values, and emotional lives shape every discussion, from casual chats to significant professional negotiations. This theme underlines the importance of empathy and understanding in communication.

5. Practical Tools for Better Communication: Duhigg provides readers with practical tools and skills needed to improve their communication abilities. These tools are designed to help individuals become better listeners and speakers, capable of expressing themselves clearly and understanding others more effectively.

6. Communication as a Superpower: The book positions communication not just as a skill but as a superpower that, when harnessed effectively, can significantly impact personal and professional relationships.

7. Real-life Examples of Effective Communication: Through narratives that include jury deliberations, CIA recruitments, and even discussions within popular TV show production teams, Duhigg illustrates how effective communication has real-world impacts.

8. Tips for Digital Communication: In a modern twist, the book also touches on the nuances of communicating effectively in the digital realm, including social media, emphasizing the continuity of its principles across different mediums.

9. Self-reflection and Improvement: Lastly, "Supercommunicators" encourages readers to reflect on their communication habits and to continually seek improvement, offering strategies to become more conscious of how we communicate daily.

Through these themes, Charles Duhigg provides a comprehensive guide to mastering the art of communication, making "Supercommunicators" a valuable resource for anyone looking to enhance their ability to connect with others

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Let’s get one thing straight: leadership isn’t magic, it isn’t a slogan, and it sure as hell isn’t about looking good in a LinkedIn headshot. If it isn’t practical and backed by solid research, it’s just… well, bullshit.

I’ve seen leadership in its rawest form — in the mud, in the heat, in situations where decisions meant life or death. I’ve also seen it in boardrooms, classrooms, and coaching sessions where the stakes were quieter but no less real.

Through The Leadership Lens, I’m going to strip away the fluff and focus on what works. You’ll get clear, tested insights drawn from my decades as:

• A combat Marine officer

• A former FBI agent

• An Associate Dean at the University of Virginia

• A Professor at George Mason University

• And the author of over 25 books on leadership

I’ll bring you lessons from history, modern research, and real-world leaders — the wins, the failures, and the unexpected moments in between.

If you want leadership advice that’s honest, grounded, and ready to use, you’re in the right place.

Stay tuned, stay focused — it’s time to see leadership more clearly.