What Drowning Taught Me About Leadership

I used to be terrified of water.

As a kid, the thought of drowning wasn’t abstract— it felt inevitable. I’d make up excuses to skip swim class and fake injuries just to avoid getting in the lake. That fear gripped me for years.

In high school, I finally carved out a space in the water. I’d show up early, stay late, swim alone. I never loved it, but I understood it, and beyond the physical motion solitude alowed time to think and find clarity. Then one of the teachers I was close with, trying to mimic the same use of the pool for his track team, had a tragedy on his hands. One of them drowned.

That single event rippled across every school in the district. Suddenly, lifeguards were mandatory 24/7. The quiet, unrestricted space I’d made for myself vanished overnight. I still think about how close we were that season— how that extra time in the water might have made the difference. We might have gone undefeated.

By the time I got to college, fear was no longer the issue. I was pushing my limits. Weight belts on long butterfly sets. Brownouts weren’t rare they were part of training. I learned what it really felt like to drown. Not metaphorically. Actually. There were moments I could distinguish the onset of hypoxic and retain some control. Vision fading, limbs heavy. But oddly, that’s where I found something that’s become one of my greatest advantages.

From what I can decipher from case studies, unfortunate, videos, and my own experience, most people, when they drown, underwater or in life, they panic. They shut down. Their thoughts blur into noise, and their mouths blurt something nasty, dismissive, or defensive just to stop the pressure.

But when I’m drowning, I can still think clearly.

I could finish the hardest set and still have a calm, conscious conversation while others around me were curled up, snapping, melting, or quitting. That clarity in chaos became my edge, not just in the pool, but everywhere else too.

I think sometimes everyone drowns. In business, in leadership, in parenting, in life. It’s about being overwhelmed by expectations, responsibility, fatigue, information, fear. And most people, even brilliant ones, make bad decisions when they can’t keep their head above the metaphorical surface.

I often see leadership fail, not from lack of skill but, from decision paralysis. Their head dips, and suddenly, there’s no oxygen left for clear thought.

I’m not superhuman. I need sleep. I need fuel. I’m not a 4x4 that can run on fumes- I’m a race car. And race cars need high-octane fuel and lots of requirments due to their fragility. Sleep, food, quiet. But when I have those, I’ve been told: “If you were dropped on Mars with a stick, you’d build a rocket ship to get home.”

Perhaps my tolerance for drowning is higher. Perhaps in those sectors of life, I’m just less afraid allowing me less operational stress which can compound quickly out of control for others. I am no afraid of drowning, and I metaforically do often, but I still respect it.