Two Army officers stand across from each other. Both are in their mid-50s. One slightly older, but only by a few years. Both wear stars on their shoulders. Both have commanded thousands of troops—the elder, tens of thousands.
The conversation turns heated. The younger general pushes back, his tone firm. Then something shifts.
“Get to the position of attention!” the older officer barks. A reminder of who outranks who.
Without hesitation, the younger officer snaps upright—heels together, legs straight, chest lifted, arms tight to his sides, fists closed, thumbs aligned with the seam of his trousers. The perfect military position of attention.
And then, like a private on his first day, he’s berated by a man only a few years older than himself.
If you’re not from the military, you may be asking yourself: Why would he allow himself to be spoken to that way? Why would he obey? What am I missing? If you have served in uniform, a few expletives probably come to mind as you imagine what you would have done in that same situation.
We know it when we see it—in the way someone carries themselves, in how they act, and in how others act around them. We also know when it’s missing, when someone is stripped of influence, when their lives are at the whim of someone else.
Author and researcher Dr. Colin Fisher joins Joe to unpack the invisible forces that shape teams—and why leaders ignore them at their own risk.
From his book The Collective Edge: Unlocking the Secret Power of Groups Dr. Fisher shows how group dynamics are always at play, whether in a locker room, a boardroom, or on the battlefield. Together, he and Joe explore why the myth of the lone genius persists, why synergy is real but rare, and how leaders can deliberately build trust, structure, and norms that drive high-performing teams.
In this episode, Joe and Colin explore:
Why the Sorting Hat—not Voldemort—might be the real villain of Harry Potter
How the “lone genius” narrative hides the reality of collaboration behind breakthroughs
What synergy really means and why structure—not speeches—is the leader’s most powerful tool
The difference between relational trust and task-based trust, and why the latter makes teams excel
How group norms emerge, and why they can drive both excellence and dysfunction
Why psychological safety is about the freedom to disagree, not surface-level harmony
How power changes leaders’ relationships with others—and why who you surround yourself with matters
Whether you’re leading a squad, running a company, or just trying to understand the groups you’re part of, this episode will change how you see teamwork—and give you tools to lead with intention.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how we treat the present versus how we imagine the future
We’re often too harsh on the present and too idealistic about the future.
In the present, we don’t have enough time. We’re too busy. Too many competing priorities. Too much stress. So we tell ourselves we’ll wait until the future.
In the future, we’ll have more time. It will be less stressful. Priorities will stop colliding. Life will get easier.
But here’s what actually happens: the harsh present becomes the wasted past, the idealistic future turns into the harsh present, and we keep kicking the can down the road—always waiting for that idyllic future that never arrives.
The words escaped my mouth before my brain could catch up. I saw my commander lean back in his seat, eyes narrowing. His chair creaked like a spring under pressure—until it snapped forward.
Then came the ass-chewing.
My face turned red, my heart raced, the other chairs in the room quietly rolled a few inches away to avoid being in the blast radius. My buddies stared at their phones, secretly grateful it wasn’t them.
I walked into that meeting cocksure and full of myself. I left humbled.
That day my ego got quiet. Real quiet.
I can’t tell you how many times that’s happened over the course of my life—times when I strutted into a room or an experience with an inflated ego. And left feeling crushed. It’s miserable in the moment, but those experiences have a hidden benefit. They introduce us to humility. They strip us down, and if we let them, they open us up to something better.
When we get humbled our ego finally shuts-up so that we can pay attention to what’s really going on.
Our ego’s job is to protect our self-image at all costs. If someone says something about us that contradicts who we think we are—funny, smart, competent, loving—the ego flares up in defense. It would rather preserve the illusion than confront the truth. It’s that same voice that warns us that we’ll look dumb when we want to try something new. It tells us to lash out when someone points out something we did that’s “out of character”. It’s the perfect bodyguard for our self-image. Protect at all costs!
Military strategist and author George M. Dougherty joins Joe to unpack how robotics, AI, and precision weaponry are reshaping the future of warfare—and what history can teach us about navigating this transformation.
From his book Beast in the Machine, George traces the roots of military robotics back over a century and shows how concepts like remote-controlled systems and autonomous weapons aren’t new at all—they’ve simply advanced with technology. Together, he and Joe explore the implications of universal precision, weapon–target asymmetry, and what it means for maneuver warfare in an era where small drones can neutralize tanks.
In this episode, Joe and George explore:
Why today’s robotics and AI revolution mirrors the onset of mechanization in World War I
How “universal precision” is disrupting maneuver warfare and creating a new no man’s land
The concept of weapon–target asymmetry: why cheap drones can outmatch billion-dollar platforms
The role of networks, ISR, and electromagnetic warfare in shaping the kill chain
The ethical and societal stakes of democratizing lethal technology
Why leaders must avoid over-empowering AI and remain smarter than the algorithms they use
Whether you’re a junior officer rethinking tactics or a senior strategist wrestling with AI’s role in warfare, this episode offers a sobering yet hopeful look at how leaders can outthink adversaries and shape the future fight.
Have you ever watched a baking show and thought, I could do that?
Or seen a YouTube clip of someone playing a popular song on guitar and thought, How hard can it be?
Or listened to a podcast and said, I could make one of those?
Then you try and end up with cookies as hard as bricks, a guitar abandoned in the corner after too many wrong chords, and selling barely used podcast equipment on Facebook Marketplace.
Those are the harmless consequences of thinking we can do something right the first time —without putting in the work. We don’t see the years of messed up cakes, the ones before there was a baking show. We don’t see mom and dad dropping her off at guitar lessons week after week while she was only in elementary school. And we certainly haven’t listened to the botched podcast episodes that the host refuses to release.
They all make it look like anyone can do it. And let’s be honest, no one’s going to get hurt if your cookie cake looks like Cookie Monster had an allergic reaction. No one will die from your fat-fingered chords. No one’s losing sleep waiting for your new podcast.
Those failures only cost you a few dollars and a little ego. But in positions of power and authority, the costs of inexperience aren’t borne by you alone.
Does experience matter? Does expertise matter?
Can someone leap right into a high-level position they haven’t prepared for? Can someone run an organization of hundreds of thousands of people if they’ve never led one of 500 people?
Army officer and Harvard-trained scholar Laura Weimer joins Joe to unpack leader identity—how it’s formed, why it matters, and what happens when we never stop to question it.
From leading Soldiers in the field to earning a PhD in organizational behavior at Harvard Business School, Laura has navigated both the operational Army and academia. Along the way, she’s learned that one of the most important questions a leader can ask is: Do I want to do this job—or do I just want to be selected for it?
In this candid conversation, Laura and Joe explore how ego, purpose, and values shape career decisions. They share how small changes—like moving one swim lane over—can dramatically improve fit and fulfillment, and why leaders must help their subordinates figure this out before life forces the question.
In this episode, we explore:
Why separating ego from purpose is critical in career decision-making
The “swim lane” approach to finding a better fit without leaving the Army
How coaching and reflection can clarify your leader identity
Practical exercises for uncovering your values and reframing your work
Why helping others find the right role strengthens the whole organization
Whether you’re a junior leader at a crossroads or a senior officer mentoring the next generation, this episode offers tools and hard-earned wisdom for building a leader identity that lasts beyond any rank or title.
Not everyone gets the chance to grow their lore, legend, or earn a cool scar. But I was blessed with such a day in the summer of 2005.
It was a regular, hot, humid, and rainy day in Florida. I was stationed at Camp James E. Rudder, Eglin Air Force Base on Florida’s Panhandle, where the 6th Ranger Training Battalion (6th RTB) runs the third phase of Ranger School, Swamp Phase. If you have never had the opportunity to visit this lovely camp, it is 23 miles off the main road, buried deep in snake-infested swamps and black bear-filled pine forests.
I was a Specialist in the 6th RTB, a unit where 75% of the population are Sergeants First Class (E-7s) or Captains (O-3s). Those O-3s and E-7s are all Ranger qualified, and most of them are combat-tested. They are hard-as-nails leaders — the instructors charged with training and certifying Soldiers and leaders as Army Rangers. It was truly a special mission to be a part of.
So, you might be asking yourself, “Why is a skinny, little, 22-year-old Specialist here with all these badass Rangers?” As an Infantryman, I was here as a “River Rat,” part of the 6th RTB’s Boat Platoon — a crucial portion of every Ranger’s experience at Ranger School. The River Rats owned and operated all the zodiacs and watercraft the Ranger Students used in the final phase of Ranger School. The River Rats secured the swamps, rivers, and beaches for each waterborne movement of the Ranger School’s infamous swamp phase. We pushed the hunters and fishers out of the training area. We wrestled alligators, kissed cottonmouths, and got stuck in the mud of the Blackwater River.
Our most important task, however, was to save lives. Each River Rat went out on the water with a Combat Medic. The two of us (usually lower Enlisted) were the first responders when a Ranger Student or Instructor had a medical emergency. We would strap on our night vision goggles and hurry down the river in our twelve-foot outboard to the point of injury. As we flew down the river, we were on a push-to-talk radio with the Ranger Instructor, gathering details about the injury while simultaneously calling in our initial nine-line medical evacuation (MEDEVAC) request to headquarters via our Manpack Radio.
Upon arrival, we loaded the casualty into our watercraft, and the Combat Medic began life-saving steps while I piloted to an open portion of the river. I finished calling in the nine-line MEDEVAC request to the en route UH-60M Black Hawk helicopter while securing the boat to the near and far shores via a rope bridge. While the casualty was being stabilized by the Combat Medic, I communicated with the pilots over the radio and marked our location for them to see, shooting off a star cluster for far-sight recognition and spinning an orange chem light for near-sight recognition.
The MEDEVAC helicopter arrived over our heads, soaking us in its rotor wash, and lowered its jungle penetrator to our watercraft. We secured our casualty to the jungle penetrator, which lifted the casualty into the belly of the aircraft. Just like that, we were left to our thoughts in the black of night and the cold silence of a hushed swamp. Just me and the medic, with a combined time in the Army of less than four years.
Six hours later, we were relieved at our riverine post and began the slow movement back to the Platoon bay. We cleaned our gear, conducted inventories, charged our radio batteries, submitted repair requests, zeroed our radios, secured our sensitive items, and filled out an after-action form for the MEDEVAC we had just executed.
The Ranger Instructor responsible for the Ranger Student we had just evacuated stopped by the Platoon bay to pat us on the back for that night’s actions. It was one of the greatest feelings of my career up to that point.
As the medic and I walked to our barracks in a light summer rain, the air charged with electricity. The hair on our arms, legs, and necks began to rise. The air was superheated around us and rapidly sucked out of our chests. Our world turned pure white, and we were blinded in a flash. A thousand symbols crashed in my ears, ripping through my skull. We were thrown through the air, landing unconscious.
As a younger Army officer, I used to see a week or two of empty space on the calendar before a major exercise and think: “Perfect! I’ll schedule some training or professional development for the team.”
But as the events I planned crept closer, something always happened.
I got crushed.
The calendar filled with meetings, rehearsals, inspections, and the mounting mental load that comes with prepping for a major operation. Suddenly, all that “white space” was gone. And inevitably, I had to cancel the things I had scheduled. There was “just too much going on.”
It became a cycle: See space. Fill space. Get overwhelmed. Cancel. Repeat.
What I didn’t have the words for back then—but I do now—is something I call “Time pollution”.
It’s the carbon footprint of our commitments.
Just like every human activity, from building smartphones or flying planes to running factories, generates emissions that slowly harm the environment, every task or meeting we agree to carries its own hidden cost. It’s not just the hour on the calendar—It’s sitting in traffic or navigating the long TSA lines at the airport, it’s the cognitive burden, the prep work, the meetings, the stress of meeting deadlines.
These phrases used to roll off my tongue without a second thought. My relationship with time was…contentious.
My calendar dictated my life.
When I tried to find time, it was elusive. When I needed more of it, the clock was already at zero. Days felt like they were speeding up.
Weeks would go by without that date night.
Months, and I still hadn’t called that friend.
Years, and I still hadn’t started the project I kept saying I would.
It wasn’t until I began to view time differently that things changed. Time, I realized, is greedy. Sneaky. Fast.
It hides behind excuses. Behind packed schedules. Behind “just one more reel” on Instagram.
Time keeps taking and ticking—slipping away—not because we suck as humans, spouses, parents, or friends, but because that’s what time does.
If I wanted to invest in myself, the things I wanted to accomplish, or in the relationships that mattered most, time wasn’t going to hand those moments over.
Whether it’s a green notebook in your cargo pocket, Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches, or a modern writer’s Moleskine, notebooks have shaped how people think, learn, and lead for centuries. In this fascinating conversation, Roland shares how these simple collections of thoughts, drawings, and quotes—what he calls “the first mixtape”—have been central to creativity, memory, and meaning throughout history.
Whether you’re a leader, writer, soldier, or student, this episode will inspire you to pick up a pen and rediscover the power of thinking on paper.
In this episode, they explore:
How a personal diary led Roland to uncover the global story of notebooks and their impact on civilization
The Zibaldoni: a 14th-century Florentine notebook tradition that sparked the birth of modern literature
Why Leonardo da Vinci never left home without his notebook—and how it supercharged his creativity across disciplines
How Isaac Newton rewrote his own history by editing his notebooks
The power of the commonplace book: a forgotten practice that shaped minds from Shakespeare to modern military leaders
How notebooks create lasting knowledge—from 19th-century whalers to 21st-century climate scientists
The quirky and wildly different notebook habits of Agatha Christie, Virginia Woolf, and Roland himself
Why writing by hand helps us remember more, make better decisions, and build resilience through tough times
Joe’s reflections on keeping a green notebook in combat and why he now journals with his future self in mind
Whether you use a green notebook, a Moleskine, or a legal pad, this episode will change the way you think about what it means to write—and why it matters.
Even though we have more information at our fingertips than ever before, it’s getting easier to get stuck in echo chambers. News outlets cater to their “brand” of audience. Algorithms serve us content based on our browsing histories. We curate everything—our social media feeds, the books we read, even our friendships.
And in doing so, we risk surrounding ourselves with only what confirms what we already think.
It’s easy to get trapped in limited perspectives—even when we think we’re well-informed.
But I believe there are white rabbits everywhere—waiting to lead us down unexpected paths, if we’re curious enough to follow.
In 2012, Colonel Tony Burgess handed me a copy of Great by Choice by Jim Collins. As I read it, one story piqued my curiosity: the 1911 race to the South Pole. I flipped to the endnotes and discovered that Collins had drawn from Roland Huntford’s The Last Place on Earth. So I picked up that book too—and that’s where I discovered a few of the key lessons about life and leadership that have stuck with me over a decade later.
Within its pages, I gained insights not just about endurance and leadership, but about the power of reading itself. One of the expedition leaders had read everything he could find on polar exploration, and the knowledge he gained gave him a distinct edge over his rival, who relied solely on personal experience.
That insight pulled me deeper into the rabbit hole of polar exploration. I started reading about Shackleton, Nansen, Byrd, and the crew of the Belgica, discovering even more lessons that I would rely on later leadership positions. That first book became my intellectual white rabbit. It set me chasing ideas, each one leading to the next.
Over time, I’ve come to appreciate white rabbits. I see them everywhere—a book recommendation from a colleague, a podcast suggestion from a friend, or a single line in an article that grabs my attention and sends me down a new path.
