I got front-ended on July 4th.
Not the fireworks-and-flag-waving kind of story you’d expect from that day. Instead, it’s the parking-garage kind.
I was stopped in line, waiting to pull into the gate. The car in front of me suddenly backed up and crunched into my front bumper. He felt terrible. I felt bad for him. And yes, I’ll admit it, I felt a pang looking at my car all banged up. It’s not just a car to me. It’s my faithful, sturdy, and cute car.
I was also late for a dance workshop.
So there I was. A crunched fender, a guilty stranger, and a clock ticking. A completely ordinary bad moment.
But it’s exactly the kind of moment I’ve spent years studying, first at NASA, now on stages in front of leaders and high performers who are all wrestling with some version of the same problem.
The Crash Wasn't the Moment That Mattered
Here’s what I want you to notice. The actual collision took maybe two seconds. I didn’t control
that. Nobody does.
What I *did* control was everything that happened in the sixty seconds after. And that’s where the real test was.
I call moments like this Moments of Truth. High-stakes, no-warning, no-time-to-prepare
situations where what you do next reveals more about your performance under pressure than
anything you’d planned or rehearsed.
Most people think performing under pressure is about big, dramatic moments. A major
presentation. A leadership decision. A crisis at work. But the truth is, these moments are
constant, and they’re often as small as a fender bender in a parking garage.
The Method to Use (Without Thinking About It)
At NASA, we didn’t get the luxury of waiting for perfect conditions. We worked with what we had and made precise, real-time adjustments to keep things moving forward. That discipline doesn’t disappear just because you’re not in a control room anymore. It applies just as much
as standing next to a dented bumper.
Here’s the three-step protocol I now teach, and the one I ran through automatically that
morning:
**Detect.** Notice what’s actually happening, right now, without the story you’re tempted to
tell yourself about it. Something’s wrong. The car’s dented. I’m running late. This guy is
spiraling with guilt.
**Verify.** Check what’s actually true against what you’re afraid might be true. Am I hurt? No. Is the car drivable? Yes. Is this actually a crisis, or is it a fender?
**Act.** Do something, based on what’s true, not what you’re afraid of. Exchange
information. Reassure the guy. Go dance.
That’s it. That’s the whole method. Three steps, applied in real time, under pressure, without a
script.
The Real Villain Wasn't the Other Driver
If you’d asked me, in the moment, what the “wrong” move would have looked like, it wouldn’t
have been anger. It would have been Refusal.
Refusal is what happens when a capable person hesitates, overthinks, or lets a small thing
balloon into a big thing, not because the situation demands it, but because their head won’t
let it go. In this case, Refusal would have looked like ruining my whole day over sheet metal. Making the other driver feel even worse than he already did. Skipping the workshop to sit at home stewing about a bumper.
None of that would have fixed the fender. None of it would have undone the crash. All it would have done is cost me a day I could have spent doing something I love.
This is the same Refusal that shows up in a boardroom when someone stays quiet instead of speaking up. The same Refusal that shows up when a leader delays a decision they’re fully
qualified to make, because they’re waiting to feel more certain first. Certainty isn’t coming. It never does. The people who perform well aren’t the ones who feel the least doubt. They’re
the ones who’ve learned to act while the doubt is still there.
Refuse to Refuse
I didn’t sit in the parking garage stewing. I didn’t let a bent fender become a bent day. I exchanged information, told a clearly rattled stranger that everything was going to be fine, and went and danced.
The car will get fixed. It’s just a car.
The moment where I decided that, quickly, without drama, without letting a small problem
become a big one? That’s the moment that actually mattered. And it’s the same kind of moment you’re facing more often than you probably realize, just usually with higher stakes
and a lot more people watching.
Detect what’s real. Verify what’s true. Act anyway.
Refuse to Refuse.
