The Courage We Lack: A SEAL's Story Of Silence, Belonging, And Tragedy

Forbes

21-05-2025

Intense white water spray against a black background. Perfect for compositing.
In 1995, a team of five Navy SEALs embarked on a high-risk mission in Venezuela to test a relatively unproven capability at the time—navigating extreme rapids in inflatable boats. The theory was that rivers could serve as highways through rugged jungle terrain inaccessible by road. If SEALs could be parachuted into such environments in rafts, they could carry out missions that would otherwise be impossible. Their entry point: the base of the Guri Dam.
To this day, the Guri Dam releases more water per second than Niagara Falls at full flood. At the dam's base, water is forced into a narrow chute—about 100 yards wide and over 700 feet deep—creating violent Class 5 rapids, some of the most dangerous in the world.
Four of the SEALs were experienced combat veterans. The fifth—Alex—was fresh out of training. Yet Alex brought years of experience as a professional whitewater rafting guide and had the deepest understanding of the dangers of such violent rapids.
As the team deliberated the best approach for their mission, Alex had significant concerns. Yet, as the rookie recruit, he was acutely aware that new SEALs were expected to prove themselves before offering input. He didn't want to seem disrespectful of his rank—or worse, be seen as lacking the courage it takes to be a true SEAL. And so, he said nothing, rationalizing that if these highly trained warriors felt it was safe to proceed, who was he to question otherwise? As he later told me, 'In that moment, I was more afraid of not being accepted than of the rapids themselves.'
Alex's decision that day shows that even the bravest among us—those willing to risk their lives in the world's most dangerous places—aren't immune to fear. But the fear that held him back wasn't of dying. It was the fear of losing face. Of looking weak. Of not belonging. Of being judged unworthy by those whose approval he sought.
Fear of social judgment wears many faces. Rarely does it appear as overt anxiety or panic. More often, it shows up in subtler forms: perfectionism, posturing, control, or compulsive busyness. On the flip side, it can show up as excessive humility, people-pleasing, or quiet compliance disguised as being a 'team player'. The irony is that when we are stuck in impression management - our fear of looking bad keeping us from speaking up or taking action - we surrender the very strengths we're trying to prove.
Having worked with many exceptionally talented leaders—some of whom fit the mold of 'insecure overachievers'—I've seen how fear often hides behind intellectualized emotions and a relentless need to prove oneself. Research published in Psychological Science found that status anxiety can significantly inhibit people from speaking up—especially in hierarchical environments—keeping them stuck in a cycle of insecurity alleviation. And the cost of silence in such moments can be far greater than the risk of voicing concern. Yet that 'timidity tax' is rarely obvious at the time. In our efforts to secure status with others, we must be careful not to betray ourselves.
When Alex's team launched their rafts into the river, they were immediately overwhelmed by the sheer force of the water. Their raft capsized, plunging them into a violent, raging current just upstream from its most perilous stretch. Armed only with life jackets and survival instincts, they fought for their lives to avoid being dragged under the wild and unforgiving rapids.
At the bottom of the rapids, Alex and three of the other SEALs pulled themselves out of the river—shaken, exhausted, but alive. Realizing their teammate Jason was missing, they began searching for him, eventually calling in a helicopter to assist. It would be three harrowing days before his body was found—20 miles downstream. Alex was the last person to see Jason alive. And the first to see him dead.
Alex's story runs through The Courage Gap as a sobering reminder that courage isn't just about laying our lives on the line (which most of us will never be asked to do). More often, it's about laying our pride, reputation, and status on the line—risking a bruised ego or disapproval in the eyes of those we're trying to impress. As I wrote in The Courage Gap:
While Alex has since gone on to lead in other arenas, it's the courage he's shown far from war zones that I've found most inspiring: the courage to reflect deeply, to confront the self-protective story he told himself after the tragedy, and to admit hard truths. The courage to make peace with his fallibility and embrace vulnerability as his deepest source of strength.
In a powerful and raw conversation on my Live Brave podcast, Alex and I unpacked how our unfaced fears—particularly the fear of judgment and rejection—often cost us far more than we realize. While most of us won't ever stand on the edge of roaring rapids, we've all stood at decision points—moments where the easier choice is silence, delay, or retreat, and the braver one is to speak up or step forward without a map or a guarantee. Fear widens the gap between what we know, deep down, we should do—and what we actually do. It takes courage to close it.
And here lies the paradox of courage:
The idea that fear holds us back isn't new. But we underestimate its reach or its cost. One study found that 76% of people at work avoid conflict while a survey by CrucialLearning found that nearly 75% of employees regularly withhold concerns—even when doing so could prevent major problems. It's why some of the biggest problems individuals and organizations face stem not with what was said—but with what wasn't – due to fear of how it would impact their status. As history shows, when fear governs decisions, it generally leads to worse outcomes over time.
So what's the solution? It starts with us. Just as we are our greatest source of risk—through what we ignore or deny—we are also our greatest resource in overcoming it. That begins with being honest about where fear is pulling the strings and recommitting to the values we want to live and lead by. Every day.
The root of our biggest problems isn't that we don't know what to do. It's that we don't do what we know. The only way to close this courage gap—the space between knowing and doing—is to become more committed to what we want to gain for ourselves and others than to what we fear we might lose in the process, including our place in the pack. Until we are, fear of looking bad will restrict our freedom to act—and limit the good we might otherwise do. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is risk being misunderstood.
The more we practice courage—a learnable skill—the greater our capacity to take the emotional risks that bold leadership and meaningful lives require. Every time we refuse to betray our values to keep false peace or win approval and risk judgment to show up as the person (and leader) we most aspire to become, we reinforce our agency and loosen the shackles that hold us captive to others' opinions.
At a time when the pace of change is relentless and external threats—GenAI, nuclear escalation, climate change—feel increasingly existential, the greatest danger to our future isn't 'out there.' It's within us—in our underdeveloped courage to confront these challenges head on and to risk what feels secure today for what could build a more secure tomorrow.
As Alex's story reminds us, when fear of judgment guides our decisions, we don't just undermine our integrity—we gamble with the outcomes for others. History doesn't just turn on events; it turns on the courage—or timidity—of people facing them.
So wherever you find yourself playing it safe today, ask yourself:
What would I do if I wasn't afraid of being judged?And what might it cost if I don't?
Not every act of courage will change the world. But any single act of courage might shift the trajectory of your life —or that of others. Perhaps more important, it will spare you the regret of wondering, 'But what if I'd tried?'
Alex knows that pain. Let his story be your call to courage.