 Eighteen months into my first enlistment, I received orders for Incirlik Air Base in Turkey. I had never been out of the country before, there furthest I’d been from Michigan prior to my assignment in California was basic training in San Antonio, Texas. It was all foreign to me, literally and figuratively.
What I didn’t know at the time was that I’d be arriving just months before the start of Operation Desert Storm. During the first week of the war, I was assigned, along with another young airman, to provide security for the housing units of the senior officers overseeing operations. We were posted on the midnight shift in January. It was bitterly cold, and we were doing our best to stay alert in a loud, diesel Dodge truck when we faintly heard something strange over the base loudspeakers. I killed the engine. “ALARM RED, MOPP LEVEL 4.” That’s not something you want to hear faintly. That’s a command to immediately put on full chemical gear and take cover, because an attack is either imminent or already in progress. My partner hadn’t been issued his chemical suit yet. He only had his mask. I told him to put on the opened training suit, hoping it would give him some degree of protection. At that point, we had no idea what we were facing. We later found out that Iraqi forces had launched multiple Scud missiles toward the base. What struck me in that moment was something even more urgent than the warning: if we barely heard it, how could the officers inside, sound asleep, have heard anything at all? They didn’t know. We were two junior airmen. On paper, our job was to take cover and protect ourselves. But I knew those officers had critical roles to play. If they didn’t hear the alarm, if they weren’t warned, if they didn’t make it to their posts, it could impact the entire mission. So we made a decision. My partner went to one building, and I went to the other. We banged on doors, shook people awake, gave the alarm directly. They got up. They got moving. They reported to their posts. None of the missiles hit the base, thanks to the U.S. Army’s missile defense system. But I often wonder what would’ve happened if we had done what we were told and only what we were told. We were later awarded the Air Force Commendation Medal for our actions. But the real lesson wasn’t about recognition. It was about awareness. It was about leadership. 🔎 Leadership Isn’t Always at the Top Here’s the truth: In many organizations, senior leaders have no idea how close they are to danger. They’re inside. They’re asleep at the wheel. They’re trusting systems to do what they’ve always done, without realizing the world outside is changing fast. And the junior people they overlook, the ones they assume are just there to follow orders, are often the ones closest to the ground. They’re hearing the faint alarms. They’re feeling the cracks before they show up in boardrooms or after-action reports. And sometimes, they’re the ones who end up saving the mission. 🔦 Leadership Lessons from the Field Based on that experience and what I’ve learned since, here are the lessons I’d offer to leaders in any organization: 1. Never Underestimate the Awareness of Junior Personnel Just because someone isn’t in the corner office doesn’t mean they’re not the first to see a threat coming. 2. Train for Initiative, Not Just Compliance Yes, we need structure and chain of command. But we also need people who can think, assess, and act when the playbook doesn’t apply. 3. Create a Culture Where Action Is Respected at All Levels Don’t just recognize performance; recognize awareness, courage, and the decision to protect the mission, even if it wasn’t part of the job description. 4. Keep Lines of Communication Open…Especially From the Bottom Up If the people closest to the real action can’t be heard, your entire organization is vulnerable. 🎯 Final Thought You don’t need a title to be a leader. You don’t need permission to do what’s right. And sometimes the most critical decisions are made by people no one’s watching. So if you’re leading a team, especially a large one, ask yourself: Do you only trust the people at the top of your org chart? Or are you investing in the potential at the ground level too? Because leadership isn’t about waiting for someone else to act. It’s about hearing the alarm when no one else does, and having the courage to wake them up.
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 As a small business owner and leadership trainer, I rarely walk into a business without asking bigger questions.
What kind of experience are they creating? How do they treat their team? What impact are they having on the community around them? To most customers, a business is just a place to get goods or services. But to me, it’s something more. It’s a reflection of leadership, from the C-suite to the front line. And here’s what I believe: For any organization, whether it’s a global brand or a neighborhood coffee shop, the real bottom line is value. That value can take many forms. It might be the quality of a product. It could be the kindness of the team. It might be the impact they have in someone’s daily routine. It could be the way they make a customer feel seen. Yes, profit matters. But profit is a measure…not the mission. Where Big Business Often Gets It Wrong Smaller businesses tend to understand this. They know their regulars by name. They remember the “usual order.” They build loyalty through consistency and care. That’s why they’re beloved. But somewhere along the way, many larger companies lost the plot. They replaced people with self-checkout lanes. They trimmed onboarding, training, and customer service down to the bare minimum. They stopped investing in the very people who are responsible for delivering the value that once made them great. And someone in the executive suite likely justified it all with a spreadsheet. “Labor is a cost. Customers won’t care. We’ll save millions.” But what if that math is wrong? What If We Reinvested in People Instead? What if those same companies took a portion of that “savings” and invested it in:
Would there be an upfront cost? Sure. But the return on that investment could be exponential:
The True Measure of Success The truth is: we don’t stay loyal to businesses because they’re the cheapest or most convenient. We stay because they make us feel valued. If your value touches lives, builds loyalty, and strengthens your community, profit will always follow. We don’t need fewer people in business. We need better leadership behind the ones we already have. And that starts with remembering: Value isn’t just about what you sell. It’s about how you lead.  I’ve been thinking a lot about the people we put on pedestals in our society, and the ones we walk past without a second glance.
We pack stadiums for athletes who refuse accountability. We buy pay-per-view events headlined by fighters who’ve attacked people in the streets. We defend entertainers and politicians who assault, belittle, or abandon the very people they’re supposed to lead or influence. And then we barely blink when a teacher works through lunch to help a child read. We scroll past the firefighter who saved a family from a burning home. We don’t even know the names of the police officers who run toward danger while others run away. We’ve started confusing talent with value. Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good fight. I’ve competed. I’ve trained champions. I’ve been in that arena. And I enjoy a good movie or game night with my family like anyone else. But somewhere along the way, we stopped just enjoying those things and started idolizing the people who perform them; no matter what they stand for off the field or off the stage. And it’s costing us. We’ve Lowered the Bar for Influence We claim to care about leadership, accountability, and character, but when it comes time to choose who we support, follow, or fund, those values often take a backseat to fame, excitement, and spectacle. We call teachers heroes but underpay and under-resource them. We say “thank you for your service” to military members and first responders, but don’t invest in their wellbeing, training, or families. We say leadership matters, but we excuse bad behavior because the person entertains us or helps our team win. Here’s the truth: Real leadership isn’t always loud. It’s not always charismatic. And it almost never comes with a highlight reel. I’ve worn the uniform. I’ve been in the ring. I’ve also buried friends who gave more than most people will ever know. I’ve stood beside teachers, cops, firefighters, and leaders who show up daily…without applause. They don’t ask for much. But I believe they deserve more than what we give them. So, What Can We Do? I’m not here to shame anyone for liking sports, music, or movies. I enjoy them too. But I think we can do both, enjoy the entertainment and still elevate the people who hold our communities together. Here’s what that might look like:
Small things. But small things shift culture. Final Thought I don’t think the problem is that we value athletes and entertainers. The problem is that we don’t also value the people who serve, sacrifice, and shape lives in quiet, consistent ways. Real heroes don’t always trend. But they hold the line while others cross it. Maybe it’s time we stopped measuring worth by fame, and started recognizing the power of those who show up when no one’s watching. And maybe that shift starts with us.  In the military, as in life, leadership sometimes means holding the line. Other times, it means making the line visible, and giving someone the chance to cross it with honor.
Years ago, while serving as superintendent at the Airey Noncommissioned Officer Academy, I was called into a situation involving a student, TSgt Michelle C. She had stopped running during a scheduled physical training session and later disclosed that she had a history of knee issues and shin splints. This wasn’t just about missing a run. She had failed to fully disclose her condition during in-processing. That choice alone was grounds for dismissal from the academy and a formal reprimand, both of which could have significantly derailed her Air Force career. At the time, I wasn’t her direct instructor. I hadn’t built a relationship with her. And frankly, I didn’t have a personal stake in whether she stayed or went. But I listened. She explained her actions, how she was afraid to report her condition, worried it would get her sent home before she even had a chance to prove herself. Her reasoning wasn’t sound, but it was human. She asked whether to call her leadership to let them know she was being sent home. She wasn’t trying to cheat the system. She was just scared. And up until that point, she had been a model student: academically solid, respectful, and engaged. I told her to hold off on calling her unit. Then I spoke with the senior leadership team at the academy. She hadn’t earned special treatment, but she had earned a shot. So, we created a plan. She would have a structured opportunity to prepare, to train, and to pass her physical evaluation the right way. No shortcuts. No waivers. Just work. She did it. She met the standard. She graduated. And she walked across that stage knowing she had earned every bit of it. Leadership Isn’t About Who Deserves a Pass…It’s About Who Deserves a Chance What TSgt C. needed wasn’t pity, it was clarity and structure. She needed leadership that saw the whole person, not just a checkbox on a roster. In the military and in other organizations, it’s easy to become number-focused. How many seats are filled? Who’s passing the assessments? Who’s dragging the metrics down? But behind every number is a name. A story. A life. Had she been a disciplinary problem? Had her attitude or performance been poor? This would be a different story. But she showed grit and integrity, even in the way she corrected herself during questioning. And as leaders, we owe it to people like her to see beyond the paperwork. Final Thought Leadership is about discernment. It’s knowing when to apply the standard without compromise, and when to dig a little deeper before making a call that could alter someone’s future. In this case, we didn’t lower the bar. We gave someone a clear path to rise to it. And that’s what real leadership looks like.  We recently had one of our teen black belts return to class after an extended break. His parents had reached out ahead of time, expressing some concerns about his behavior as he gets ready to enter high school. He’s a bright kid, valedictorian of his 8th-grade class, but like many his age, he’s trying to find his footing.
His dad brought him to class that evening, and as we exchanged greetings, I told him how glad I was to see him back. His dad smiled and said, “I told him if he’s not going to listen to me, then listen to Master Kinchen.” We chuckled, but the moment stuck with me, especially something I shared with the student then: “I know parents can feel overbearing sometimes. But all we want is to know you’ll be able to thrive in this world when we’re no longer here.” That thought stayed with me for days. And it brought to mind the old proverb: “Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime.” Isn’t that what parenting really is? We’re all out here trying to raise the best fishermen we can. We enroll our kids in strong academic programs. We sign them up for sports, music lessons, martial arts, anything that helps them build skill, character, and resilience. In a way, each of those experiences adds something to their tackle box: a stronger line, better bait, a sturdy rod. I told the student’s dad, it takes a village. School might give them the bait. Piano lessons might give them the line. Martial arts? We might give them the pole. And with enough time and guidance, they’ll learn to cast, to be patient, to endure frustration, and eventually they’ll catch. Leadership Lesson: Whether in parenting, coaching, or leading a team, our role isn’t just to hand out answers, it’s to equip others to find their own. It’s to help them build the tools, the mindset, and the confidence to face life without us standing over their shoulder. That’s real leadership. So parents, keep filling those tackle boxes. Keep teaching your kids to fish. And if you’ve got a few extra fish to leave behind, that’s okay too. They’ll need something to tide them over until they can catch their own.  The other day, my daughter said she’d never had something before, I can’t even remember what it was. But I paused and said, “You have had it. Remember?” She thought about it, then smiled and said, “Oh yeah… but it was just once.”
And without thinking, I said: “Once is still more than none.” She raised her eyebrows, probably not realizing she had just sparked a moment I’d be thinking about all day. The Power of One Moment As parents, we’re wired to look for patterns:
But we forget that every streak starts with a single rep. Every habit, good or bad, starts with once. And when a child does something once, it’s no longer impossible. It’s real. Documented. Proven. So when your child:
That moment matters. Because once is more than none. Proof That It’s Possible The beauty of “once” is that it becomes evidence. It’s proof that your child can: ✅ Do the hard thing ✅ Show up when it counts ✅ Make the right decision…even under pressure And when they’re struggling with self-doubt, insecurity, or fear of failure, you can say: “You’ve already done this once. That means it’s possible. And if it’s possible, you can do it again.” That’s not just encouragement. That’s truth. As a Parent, Don’t Dismiss the Small Wins We want to see momentum, but don’t forget to celebrate the first spark. That one time they showed patience. That one time they stood up for themselves. That one time they took responsibility. Once is the start of belief. Once is momentum waiting to be multiplied. And if you treat it like it doesn’t matter, your child might too. Final Thought As a parent, coach, and instructor, I’ve learned that progress isn’t always loud. It’s often quiet. Easy to overlook. And incredibly powerful when nurtured. So the next time your child says, “But I only did it once,” you can smile and say: “That’s all it takes to prove you can.” Because once…is more than none.  We all have moments when the pressure feels overwhelming, where the weight of time, uncertainty, and unclear direction threatens to knock us off course before we’ve even found our rhythm.
I once experienced one of those moments in the most literal way possible, in the center of a ring, under bright lights, facing a taller, powerful opponent in what would be my final professional kickboxing match. The stakes? A U.S. Light Heavyweight title. At 5’8” and 180+ pounds, I was on the shorter side for the division. My opponent stood six feet tall and was backed by a legend Joe Lewis, the first world heavyweight kickboxing champion and a training partner of Bruce Lee. In my corner were two of my close friends and fellow martial artists, Roger Dabney and Jim West, both accomplished fighters in their own right. The pressure was real. This was my last fight, against a formidable opponent, for a major title. And things went sideways almost immediately. The Pressure of the Unknown We met in the center of the ring, and the first punch thrown, a straight right, landed clean on my nose. To this day, I don’t remember it. My body responded on instinct, throwing a right hand–left hook combination that stunned my opponent. I finished the round, but I was dazed. I barely remember the second round. I was fighting on auto-pilot, rattled, unsure of where I stood, and uncertain how I’d push forward. Stress in those moments isn’t just physical. It’s mental. Time feels accelerated. The vision gets blurry. You start questioning your plan, if you even had one to begin with. When Leadership Steps In As I sat down after the second round, Roger doused me in cold water…literally. I didn’t realize it then, but my nose had been bleeding the entire round. He needed to cool me down, clear my head, and reset my body. Technically, Roger was my chief cornerman. But when Jim asked to jump in with some strategy, Roger didn’t hesitate. There was no ego, just teamwork. Jim calmly broke things down: “He’s been walking straight forward the whole fight. No angles. No head movement. Use your front leg side kick to stop his momentum. Then fire the same right hand–left hook combo. Grab him. Spin him. He’ll be disoriented, and you’ll have time to reset and move.” It wasn’t complicated, but it was clear, tactical, and confidence-building. It was the kind of leadership that turns chaos into clarity. Executing Under Pressure I followed the plan. For the next three rounds, I controlled the pace, stopped his forward momentum, and kept landing the left hook. We won a unanimous decision. My opponent’s cheekbone was fractured. And after the fight, Joe Lewis himself came over, shook my hand, and said, “I saw what you were doing, but my guy just couldn’t make the adjustment.” That moment stuck with me, not because of the win, but because of the lesson. 💡 Leadership and Stress Management Takeaways
Whether you’re leading a team through tight deadlines, guiding an organization through change, or stepping into a difficult conversation…remember: The most powerful thing a leader can do under pressure is bring calm, clarity, and confidence to the chaos. Because that’s what turns a shaky second round into a strong finish.  People sometimes ask me how I’m able to spot leadership, or the lack of it, so quickly in everyday life. Not just in boardrooms or business settings, but in parenting, coaching, customer service, or even a casual interaction.
The truth is, I do see it everywhere. And sometimes, I wonder if it’s a kind of sixth sense. But it’s not supernatural. It’s earned. It’s the result of years of life experience, military service, mentoring others, and constantly reflecting on what makes people rise, or fall, in leadership roles. I Didn’t Learn Leadership in a Classroom…At First I grew up in a household where structure wasn’t a given. My environment required resilience, not entitlement. And that reality shaped me. It taught me early on that real leadership isn’t about power…it’s about responsibility. That mindset stayed with me through my 30-year Air Force career, where I had the privilege of leading teams, mentoring young airmen, and navigating high-stakes missions. It continues today in my dojo, where I don’t just teach martial arts; I teach integrity, accountability, and self-discipline to students as young as five years old. Leadership wasn’t a theory to me. It was survival. It was service. It was lived. But I Did Study It…Deeply Later in life, I pursued my MBA with a concentration in Strategic Leadership. By that point, I had already led teams, developed programs, trained instructors, and helped shape futures. The degree didn’t teach me what leadership is, but it gave structure to what I’d spent decades doing intuitively. It provided language, tools, and frameworks that validated what I’d lived: ✅ That integrity isn’t optional, it’s foundational. ✅ That clarity, communication, and consistency matter more than charisma. ✅ That a great strategy falls flat without leaders who live the example first. Why I See Leadership Everywhere Because I’ve been in the room when leadership changed everything, and in the room when the lack of it nearly cost everything. Because I’ve followed strong leaders who inspired me, and had to lead in times when no one else would step up. Because I’ve watched people grow when someone believed in them, and shrink when no one did. So when I see a manager dismiss their team’s effort, I notice. When a parent avoids a hard but necessary conversation with their child, I feel it. When a student steps up to help another, without being asked, I celebrate it. I don’t see leadership because I’m looking harder. I see it because I’ve become it. The Real “Sixth Sense” It’s not a gift. It’s not a mystery. It’s a mindset. When you’ve lived it, led through it, studied it, and taught it long enough, you stop seeing leadership as a title or a role. You start seeing it as a daily decision. A commitment. A standard. And that standard doesn’t turn off when the office closes or the uniform comes off. My life, my childhood, my military service, my MBA, my dojo, my family, has trained me to recognize what others might miss. That’s not just leadership. That’s legacy.  I was just 14 years old when I got my first job, sweeping floors and taking out trash at a photo development and video rental store about three miles from my house in Detroit. The business was owned by an older couple, but run by their two adult sons, Skip and Scott.
At first, I was just happy to have a job and earn an honest paycheck. But over the next 2½ years, something important happened: I started learning. A lot. I learned how to mix developer solution for film, how to operate the machines that turned negatives into printed photographs, and eventually, how to run the video rental side of the business; including managing the software, inventory, and customer service. I became the kid who could do everything in the shop. But while my responsibilities grew, my pay didn’t. I was still making $3.75 an hour. At 16½ years old, I finally decided it was time to speak up. I walked into their office and respectfully said, “I’ve been here for over two years, I’m doing just about everything in this store, and I think I deserve a raise.” When they asked how much I was hoping for, I said, “Five dollars an hour.” Without hesitation, Scott said, “Good luck…we’re not paying that.” So I thanked them for everything they had taught me… and I walked out. At that moment, I realized something many adults never do, or worse, they realize it but don’t have the courage to act on it. I had been taken advantage of. I was doing far more than I was being compensated for, and the people benefiting from that had no intention of making it right. I was just a teenager. But I knew my worth. The Leadership Lesson: Integrity isn’t just about being honest with others; it’s about being honest with yourself. Too many people know they’re underpaid, undervalued, or overlooked, but stay silent. They tell themselves it’ll change, or they fear losing what little they have. But leaders know better. Leaders advocate for their value. They speak up, respectfully, clearly, and confidently. And if nothing changes, they have the courage to walk away from what no longer honors their worth. As leaders, we must also remember the flip side: if someone on your team is stepping up, taking on more, and adding value…reward them. Otherwise, you’ll watch your best people walk away from you the same way I walked out of that video store.  When I first stepped into the world of pharmaceutical sales, I was excited. It felt like the perfect fit; an opportunity to use my leadership and recruiting background to help others while building a career in corporate America. There was a clear ladder to climb and, most importantly, I believed I’d be contributing to patient care in a meaningful way.
After completing the training and getting certified, I was out in the field as a Diabetes Care Specialist. One key part of the job was monthly ride-alongs with the district sales manager. It was during one of these routine visits that I encountered a moment that would change my entire perspective. We were at a family practice clinic, waiting in the sample room. Among the items were insulin pens filled with saline, training tools used by doctors to teach patients how to administer injections. Multiple companies, including ours, provided them. Then, right in front of me, my district manager took all of the competitors’ pens, emptied them into the sink, and casually said, “When a provider reaches for our competitors’ pens and they don’t work, they’ll grab ours. When that works, they’ll write a script for our product.” It was a move he likely viewed as clever sales strategy. But I was stunned. I wasn’t a 23-year-old fresh out of college. I was 38, a husband, father, and veteran of both life and leadership. And what I saw wasn’t strategy…it was sabotage. Worse, it betrayed the very mission that drew me to the role: helping people. That moment was the beginning of the end for me in that industry. I began noticing other behaviors that lacked integrity. And while I know every industry has its flaws, I also believe that leaders have a responsibility to uphold the values they claim to stand for, especially when no one’s watching. The Leadership Lesson: Integrity is doing the right thing even when it’s not the easy thing. It would’ve been easy to look the other way. To shrug and rationalize the behavior as “just part of the game. ”But real leaders know the difference between clever and crooked. They don’t sacrifice values for numbers. Integrity builds trust, and trust builds lasting impact. Whether in martial arts, the military, or the boardroom, your character is the most important thing you bring to the table. Once that’s gone, the rest doesn’t matter. |
AuthorCliff Kinchen is a lifelong martial artist and seasoned leadership trainer who blends combat discipline with real-world leadership insight. With decades of experience—from Air Force instruction to corporate boardrooms—he helps others grow through confidence, character, and challenge. His writing sparks reflection, inspires action, and invites readers to lead from the inside out Archives
September 2025
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