 A couple of days ago, I found myself talking with one of our dojo parents. She shared that she’d recently left her job after running headfirst into her organization’s shaky approach to performance evaluations. It only took a few questions for me to see the real issue: their system was missing some critical components that every solid performance management process needs.
It reminded me of a class I once taught on performance management. I explained to the group that while feedback can, and should, happen anytime, there are three essential points where it must happen:
During that class, one of the students shared that she had recently completed an evaluation on one of her team members. Their rating system ran from 1 to 5, with 5 being the highest. I asked if she had used the three-step process I’d just laid out. She said she had. So I asked, “What rating did your employee get?” She said, “A 4.” I followed up: “Did she not meet the expectations you set at the start?” “Oh, she met the expectations,” the student said, “but I felt she needed to do more to get a 5.” Then I asked the question that cut to the heart of the issue: “How much more?” That’s when it all clicked. If we as leaders keep moving the line, or never clearly draw one in the first place, how can someone ever know how well they’re doing? This doesn’t just create confusion. It breeds frustration, burnout, and can drive good people right out the door…like the mom who’d sparked this entire conversation. As we talked through this, I saw the weight of realization hit her. Tears welled up in her eyes. She thought she was pushing her team member to grow. But in reality, she had unwittingly hurt her career by giving her a rating that could limit her advancement, despite meeting every expectation set. This is where the facilitation side of my teaching style matters. We paused the session to give everyone a moment to process. Leadership isn’t just theory, it’s personal, and it impacts real people. Right then and there, she picked up the phone, called her team member, and apologized. That was growth in action: recognizing a misstep, taking responsibility, and making it right. The Leadership Lessons
At the end of the day, leadership isn’t about keeping people guessing; it’s about giving them a clear path to succeed, grow, and trust you enough to follow. Draw the line. Communicate it. Then stand by it. That’s how you build teams, and people who thrive.
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 When I was 17 and a senior in high school, my mother died suddenly in her sleep.
It rocked our family to the core. She wasn’t just the heart of our home; she was the glue that held together two huge extended families on both my parents’ sides. Just a month before, my parents had signed the papers allowing me to join the Air Force, since I was still a minor. Losing her wasn’t something I could prepare for. It’s the kind of event that shifts the ground under your feet and never really settles the same way again. It shattered my father. After over twenty years together, he was never the same. And truthfully, none of us were. 🔍 The Moment Responsibility Found Me I left for the Air Force about ten months later, hoping distance, discipline, and a new future might help me sort through the wreckage. But back in Detroit, life got rougher. My father, still crushed by grief, struggled to care for my younger brothers. That’s when the calls started coming. I learned no one in our vast family circle—my father’s six siblings, my mother’s fourteen—could step in to take care of my youngest brother, Chris, who was only five at the time. So at 19 years old, on the other side of the country and barely figuring out adulthood myself, I did something that still shapes how I see leadership to this day: I petitioned the court for guardianship of my little brother. It took about six months. I wasn’t ready to take care of Chris. I didn’t have a master plan. But I got ready. Because no one else could, or would, step in. 🏢 How This Applies To Business (and Life) That lesson echoes every time I’ve been in a room where something important was at stake; whether it was in the classroom, in a boardroom, or running my own business. Because in organizations of every kind, there are moments when the person with the title or position simply can’t lead effectively, or chooses not to. That’s when true leaders reveal themselves. They’re often the ones without the formal rank. They don’t wait to be asked. They see what needs to be done, and they shoulder the load; not because it’s convenient, but because it’s necessary. I’ve seen countless teams stall waiting for the official “leader” to make a decision. But I’ve also seen incredible informal leaders step up, keep people calm, drive results, and steer everyone through uncertainty, often without ever having their name on the door or their pay grade matching their impact. 🌱 The Leadership Lessons 1️⃣ Leadership often begins in pain, not in confidence. No one ever talks about this. Most people think leadership starts when you feel equipped. The truth is it usually starts when you’re broken, scared, or grieving, and you decide to keep moving forward anyway. 2️⃣ Responsibility chooses you long before you feel ready. When no one else stepped up for Chris, that responsibility landed squarely on me. It didn’t matter that I was young, untested, or still sorting through my own losses. Real leadership starts when you say “I’ll handle it,” even if inside you’re saying “I don’t know how.” 3️⃣ True impact rarely waits for your permission slip. Most of the defining moments of your life won’t wait until your schedule clears or until you’ve had a chance to build up your confidence. They crash in. And you either answer the call, or you don’t. 📝 The Takeaway For Leaders Everywhere If you’re in business, running a team, or just guiding your own family through life’s chaos, remember this: Titles don’t make leaders. Decisions do. The willingness to step forward, to carry weight when everyone else steps back, is the rawest form of leadership there is. I didn’t become a guardian to build my resume or prove something. I did it because someone had to, and because deep down, I knew if I didn’t, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.  Over the years, I’ve had parents pull their children from our martial arts program for all kinds of reasons.
Some wanted to try other activities. Some children became temporarily disinterested. Other parents simply treated martial arts as a seasonal activity, and when soccer season rolled around, they pulled them out. I always try to share the benefits of keeping their kids in classes, even if it’s just once a week during those seasons. What many don’t realize is how martial arts doesn’t compete with other activities…it enhances them. It gives kids an edge on the field, on stage, in the classroom, and everywhere else. The Lost Potential We May Never See Recently, one of our students left because their parent decided to pull them out. This student genuinely enjoyed martial arts and had so much untapped potential. Now, will this child go on to live a good life without martial arts? Of course. They’ll probably be just fine. But, what if? What if the confidence and self-esteem they built here gave them the courage to audition for band, try out for dance, or apply to one of the top performing arts schools in the country? What if that led them to become a top graduate and the next award-winning choreographer behind a major production? We can’t predict exactly what will happen for each child. But we know the potential, because we’ve seen it time and again. I’m Living Proof of What’s Possible I know firsthand the power of martial arts. I grew up on the rough streets of Detroit, where the odds were stacked against me. But martial arts gave me confidence, discipline, and resilience. It helped me rise to become a senior enlisted leader in the U.S. Air Force, work for a Fortune 500 company, start my own business, and even appear on a major network docuseries. More importantly, it’s allowed me to mentor and inspire thousands of children and adults over the years through the incredible vehicle of martial arts. How Other Sports Help — But differently Make no mistake, I believe most sports and recreational activities offer tremendous value:
Why Martial Arts is Different — and More Complete I’m admittedly biased toward martial arts, but only because I’ve seen, and personally lived the difference. There’s simply no other activity that provides the same complete package of internal and external development. Martial arts builds:
It’s not just another sport. It’s a character development journey. A Final Thought — And An Invitation If you’re a parent reading this, think about the long-term impact martial arts could have on your child, even alongside their other activities. And if you’re local to us, know that our academy isn’t some strip-mall franchise chasing attendance numbers. We’re a private academy that specializes in personal development, teaching leadership, confidence, and resilience through martial arts. If you want more for your child, more than just sports skills, more than just recreation, we’d be honored to help unlock their full potential. Kinchen Martial Arts Academy 10308 Bailey Rd, Unit 420 Cornelius, NC 28031 wwwkinchenmartialarts.com  Today wrapped up the last day of this week’s summer camp we hosted with the city. We had a group of 16 kids ranging from 7 to 12 years old. Throughout the week, they trained in various martial arts techniques; building discipline, coordination, and a bit of sweat equity. The camp was designed to culminate in each of them breaking a wooden board: 12 inches wide, 6 inches tall, 1 inch thick. Just your basic whitewood from Lowe’s; the same type you might use for shelving, but real boards. No pre-cut lines. No gimmicks. Just focus, technique, and a healthy dose of self-belief.
They had plenty of practice on training boards, some of which are actually harder to break than the real wooden boards. I use these real boards for a reason: because there’s something uniquely powerful about knowing you can generate enough force, with your own body, to break solid wood. It builds a type of confidence that runs deep, the kind that might one day make the difference between freezing up or defending yourself if you ever had to. What struck me today wasn’t just the cracking of the wood. It was what happened before. What Kids Teach Us About Fear Over the years, I’ve learned something about children: they don’t know what they can’t do. They haven’t been taught all the limits yet. They haven’t internalized fear the way adults have. Sure, that lack of fear can be dangerous in the wrong context; like wandering too close to a busy road or picking up a snake. But in the right setting, it’s a gift. When it comes to breaking a board in martial arts, standing up to a bully, telling the truth even when it’s hard, or trying something new; kids often jump in before fear has a chance to tell them not to. They don’t yet believe the stories we adults tell ourselves about how hard or impossible something is. How We Learn Fear — And How It Holds Us Back Fear is a necessary instinct. It teaches us to pay attention to real danger. But too often, fear becomes a cage, especially when it’s instilled at a young age. When a child learns to fear something, not out of real physical danger, but out of stories told by others; they start believing they can’t do it. Not because they physically can’t. But because mentally, they’re convinced it’s beyond them. Their minds don’t always distinguish between “this is actually dangerous” and “someone once told me this was too hard.” That’s the relationship between not knowing you can’t do something and learning to fear it. Before fear steps in, kids are free to try. Once fear takes root, it’s hard to tell the difference between something you genuinely can’t do, and something you’re simply afraid to try. Back to the Boards Today, some of the kids hesitated when it was time to break the real wood. They had already crushed the plastic training boards with the same exact techniques. But now, staring at an actual piece of wood, they doubted themselves. Why? Because somewhere along the way, they’d learned that breaking wood is hard, maybe even impossible. They’d been taught to fear it, or at least to be wary of trying. But the kids who didn’t know any better? Who hadn’t yet been told it was supposed to be difficult? They broke right through it. The Leadership Lesson As leaders, whether we’re leading a dojo, a team, a company, or a family, we need to recognize the weight of the fears we’ve picked up along the way. And more importantly, we need to challenge them. So many of the limits we think we have aren’t physical or skill-based, they’re stories. They’re fear disguised as wisdom, holding us back from discovering what we’re truly capable of. It’s also a reminder that when we lead others, especially young people or those early in their journey, our words and expectations matter. We can plant fear, or we can nurture courage. The Bottom Line Sometimes, not knowing you can’t do something is the very thing that allows you to do it. That’s why we keep putting boards in front of kids and adults alike; not just to see them break the wood, but to watch them break through the invisible walls they’ve built in their minds. Because on the other side of fear is where real confidence, growth, and leadership begin.  A few days ago, I was having a conversation with one of our adult students, a gentleman in his 40s who’s been training with us for a couple of years. He’s the type of person everyone likes: respectful, kind, considerate, humble. The kind of man you’re always glad to see walk through the dojo doors.
Our discussion revolved around a sparring session he recently had with one of our new adult students. The new student, also a nice guy, just hadn’t yet picked up on all the finer points of our dojo’s sparring etiquette. While we do spar with light contact to the head, it’s always controlled, and if someone doesn’t want to be hit in the head, we absolutely respect that. During the round, the new student tagged our long-time student in the face several times. After asking him not to do that, he still got hit a couple more times. So, our student delivered a well-placed hook to the ribs to get his attention. Later, he admitted he felt a little guilty about it. We talked it through, and I told him that sometimes that’s just how it goes; you give someone a heads-up, but when they’re still getting the hang of our sparring etiquette, you might have to do something to gently reinforce the boundary and keep things safe for both of you. Then he said something that really stuck with me: “You know, my old self wouldn’t have said anything or thrown that hook. I would’ve just gone home upset.” He was genuinely surprised by how much he’s grown through training. I’ve known this man for years, long before he started martial arts. In fact, it took quite a while for him to step onto the mat in the first place, because he admittedly felt some apprehension. I pointed out that his old self might not have come back to training at all after an incident like that, and he agreed. That’s the beauty of this journey. We can all grow, sometimes in ways we never expected. Often that growth is only revealed in moments of pressure. The Leadership Lesson As the leader of our dojo, it’s my responsibility to help our students achieve this kind of growth. It’s not just about sparring. It’s not just about martial arts. It’s about preparing people for life. In business, that same growth helps someone stand up for themselves in uncomfortable situations. It gives them the courage to ask for the promotion or the raise they’ve earned; things that often aren’t simply given, but must be pursued with quiet confidence and self-advocacy. As leaders, it’s imperative we cultivate that kind of personal growth before we step into leadership roles. Because once we’re in that position, it’s not just about us anymore. It becomes our responsibility to shield our teams from the unnecessary hits, so they can do their work effectively. It’s not just our voice we’re speaking up for…it’s theirs. And so, we keep growing as individuals. We keep growing as leaders. Because ultimately, leadership isn’t about how many times we can take a hit; it’s about how many times we can stand up, speak up, and protect those who count on us.  Several years ago, while I was serving in the Air Force as a recruiter in Richmond, Virginia. At the same time, I was still chasing my passion for martial arts. I trained regularly at my buddy Roger Dabney’s karate school, working out, helping with classes, and keeping my skills sharp. Roger and I were both professional kickboxers, so it didn’t take much to light the competitive fire again.
One day after a tough training session, Roger looked over and asked if I wanted to compete again. At that point, it had been about five years since my last professional kickboxing match. Between work obligations and life in general, stepping into the ring hadn’t been a priority. But if you know me, you know how much I love martial arts, and how much I love testing myself in a controlled environment. So I agreed. We kicked off a training camp, and I was scheduled to compete in the super middleweight division on the undercard for the International Fighters Association. It was a small promotion, the perfect opportunity to shake off the rust and get my feet wet again. When we arrived at the venue, we were met with a curveball. The promoters pulled us aside and explained that one of the main event fighters wouldn’t be competing. They never did tell us why, but they needed a last-minute replacement. Since the main event was also in the super middleweight division, they wanted to know if I’d step in. Naturally, I was apprehensive. I hadn’t competed in a full-contact fight in years, and jumping straight into a main event title fight wasn’t exactly what I’d envisioned for my return. But after a moment, my mindset shifted. If I lost, it would make sense, I’d been out of the ring for a long time. It would still be a great way to dive back in and truly test myself. So I agreed. Suddenly, I was fighting Lamont Davis for the North American Super Middleweight Title. The fight started with us feeling each other out. Then I saw an opening, fired a jab-cross combo, and as he leaned forward, I launched a kick that landed flush on his face. I thought I’d knocked him out. Roger actually jumped up on the apron thinking the fight was over. But to both of our surprise: it wasn’t. I had to quickly regroup. I’d mentally prepared for a three-round fight, but now I had to dig deep and adjust for a full five-round battle. In the end, I won and became the North American Super Middleweight Champion. The Leadership Lesson That night taught me two major lessons. First, things rarely go exactly as planned. You have to be able to adapt on the fly and handle the unexpected with composure. Second, and this is the one that’s stuck with me the most, is captured in a quote I often share: ”Opportunity isn’t something you’re presented. It’s something you make, when you do the prep work.” It’s easy to think opportunity just shows up at your doorstep. But more often than not, it comes disguised as something unexpected or even uncomfortable. The truth is, opportunity reveals itself to those who’ve put in the work long before the moment arrives. If I hadn’t been training consistently, sharpening my skills, and staying ready, that last-minute title shot would have passed me by. I wouldn’t have had the confidence or the capacity to step up. The same is true in leadership and in life: when you consistently do the work, stay prepared, and build your capabilities, you create the conditions for opportunity to appear, and to succeed when it does. So keep training. Keep learning. Keep preparing. Because when opportunity squares up with you, you’ll be ready to go the distance…and claim the victory!  When I was about 15 years old, my father pulled me aside for one of those conversations that, at the time, I didn’t fully appreciate.
I had a girlfriend I wanted to go see, but I’d done something wrong and my mother decided I was staying home. I was angry, typical teenager stuff, frustrated that she was keeping me from seeing the girl I liked. That’s when my father stepped in. He told me something that stuck far longer than any teenage romance. The Lesson My Father Taught Me He said, “When you have a girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, or husband, it’s important to create a balance between them and your family. You shouldn’t put your family above your significant other, and you shouldn’t put your significant other above your family. You should always try to find a balance between the two.” He paused, then added something that’s shaped how I see relationships ever since. ”Sometimes, life will require you to prioritize one over the other. That’s normal. But as soon as you can, you want to reestablish that balance. And if someone ever demands that you choose them over your family, or the other way around, that’s the one you need to leave alone. If they really cared about you, they’d never ask you to choose.” I took that to heart. If someone genuinely cares, they’ll never force you into an either-or. How It Shapes My Leadership Today I’ve carried that lesson far beyond teenage relationships. It’s become a cornerstone of how I lead. As leaders, we should never create an environment where our people feel they have to choose their job over their family, or anything else that gives their life meaning. It’s on us to make work-life balance more than a catchy phrase for the company website or a line in a job interview. It should be something real. That means:
Because the truth is, many employees will naturally sacrifice their family time for work, thinking it’s what’s expected. When we show that we see and respect those sacrifices, it not only strengthens their bonds at home, it deepens their loyalty and connection to the team. In the long run, that kind of trust leads to better work, more engagement, and a healthier culture. The Leadership Lesson A good leader helps create balance, not force a choice. When we protect our people’s families and personal lives, we build stronger teams, healthier organizations, and relationships that last well beyond the next deadline.  People sometimes tell me I have a way of making almost anyone comfortable.
They notice that I’ll pick up a slight accent, use words and phrases that fit the person I’m talking to, or naturally steer the conversation into territory they know well. Family members have even teased me about it. They’ll say, “You start sounding like whoever you’re talking to.” They’re right. But it’s not fake. It’s how I build trust. And it’s a skill I learned long before I ever wore a uniform, taught a martial arts class or became a leadership trainer. Where It Started Growing up in Detroit, you had to learn quickly how to read people and adapt. Some of it was survival. The way you talked to the older guys on the block wasn’t the way you’d talk to your teachers, or the older lady at the corner store, or the kids from a different part of the city. Each group had its own language, its own rhythms, its own signals. If you wanted to stay out of trouble, get respect, and sometimes just get by without problems, you learned to switch gears. I didn’t have a word for it back then. It was just life. But looking back, I see it for what it was: ✅ Code-switching. ✅ Social mirroring. ✅ Relational intelligence. Whatever you want to call it, it taught me to meet people where they are; to use language, tone, and even body language that made them feel like they were talking to someone who understood them. Someone who was, in a sense, “one of their own.” How It Shaped My Leadership Years later, in the Air Force, that same skill became one of my biggest assets. I could talk to a kid from Appalachia one moment, a Bronx native the next, then turn around and brief a general officer or collaborate with international partners. On the dojo mat, it lets me connect with a shy 7-year-old, an anxious parent, or a seasoned executive all in the same hour. It’s how I get people to trust me, open up, and take the next step; whether it’s throwing a kick, taking on a new leadership role, or just believing in themselves a little more. The Leadership Lesson Most leadership books talk about vision, decisiveness, and discipline (all critical, don’t get me wrong). But they rarely talk about this: Great leaders meet people where they are. They speak in ways others understand, build comfort, and create trust. Detroit taught me that. It’s one of the most valuable things I carry with me, from the streets to the squadron to the dojo floor to the boardroom.  Most people think leadership is about big speeches, impressive titles, or dramatic moments under bright lights.
But the truth is, real leadership usually doesn’t look like that at all. It’s built quietly, in long hours, tough conversations, mundane habits, and a relentless commitment to show up, even when nobody’s watching. I learned that lesson firsthand during my years in the Air Force. There came a point when I was honored to be named Senior Noncommissioned Officer of the Year for the entire Air Education and Training Command; a command that oversees hundreds of thousands of Airmen. On the surface, it looked like a big, shining moment. And don’t get me wrong, it was an honor I’ll always be grateful for. But here’s what most people didn’t see:
None of that was glamorous. Most of it wasn’t even all that interesting. But stacked day after day, month after month, it’s what built trust. It’s what created a climate where people could grow, develop, and perform at their best. It’s what ultimately led to someone somewhere deciding that was worth recognizing. The Leadership Lesson If I took anything from that chapter of my life, it’s this: Greatness isn’t built in the grand moments. It’s built on the mundane, repeated consistently. Leadership doesn’t demand perfection. It demands you keep showing up; leading by example, even when it’s inconvenient. It demands you do the small things right, over and over again, without cutting corners or lowering your standards just because nobody’s watching. I still carry that into my life today, whether it’s running my private dojo, coaching students on the mat, or working with corporate teams. Because in the end, it’s never the awards or the titles that matter. It’s the people who walk away better, stronger, and more prepared for life because you decided to lead well, even when it was hard…and even when nobody would have known if you didn’t.  My father was never the kind of man who sat me down to talk about his feelings. He didn’t give pep talks. He didn’t tell me he was proud of me. We didn’t have long conversations about life or what love looks like. He was also never much for planning or responsibility. After my mother passed, he got a $10,000 insurance payment. It could have helped steady us, maybe changed our course. But he spent it quickly, and we were left to keep getting by however we could. Even after I left for the Air Force, he kept moving from place to place with my brothers. In his last months, he was living in my sister’s basement. Through all of it, from the time I started working at 14 until he died, he never once asked me for money. I used to think it was just pride. That he didn’t want to look weak in front of his oldest son. But looking back, I think it was more than that. I think, deep down, he knew he hadn’t been the father he was supposed to be. And once I started making my own way in the world, he didn’t want to risk pulling me backward. I believe it came from a quiet place of love; a way of protecting me, even if he couldn’t put it into words. Maybe not asking me for money was his silent way of saying: “I’ve already failed you enough. I won’t make my burden yours to carry.” The Leadership Lesson: That’s the thing about leadership…and about love. It’s not always loud or obvious. Sometimes it’s in what we don’t do: not asking someone to bear a load that’s ours to carry, not making our shortcomings someone else’s problem. Real leaders, and real parents, take responsibility on themselves, even when it’s hard, even when it means they struggle alone. They don’t hand off their obligations just because it’s convenient. That’s a lesson I carry with me. In my life, in my family, in my dojo. We lead best not by avoiding hard truths, but by handling them ourselves so the next generation doesn’t have to.  |
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 ArchivesCategories |
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