A Crash Course in Trust, Velocity, and Adaptation.
By Alan Prushan
I didn’t see him coming.
Just three weeks into our planned 8-week stay in the Colorado mountains—a working trip to explore whether we might one day live there—I was hit from behind while skiing with my cousin Marc. We’d just finished lunch and were taking a mellow cruising run when I was suddenly airborne, tumbling violently down the mountain. I landed on my back, dazed and in agony, my left arm completely immobilized. Both skis had released, sparing my knees but not my ribs or clavicle. Marc had stopped ahead of me and turned around just in time to see me cartwheeling toward him. He climbed uphill through thin mountain air to reach me, while the young man who hit me—21 years old, skiing too fast and out of control—stood nearby, apologizing and admitting he couldn’t stop.
Ski patrol arrived, followed by two mountain hosts—one of whom had seen the entire collision from the lift and confirmed that the skier had slammed into me. I was loaded into a narrow sled, bracing against every bump, then transferred to the mountain ER where I was diagnosed with six broken ribs and a fractured clavicle—later updated to seven ribs, three of them displaced. I was moved to a nearby hospital, classified as a level two trauma patient due to my age. Surgery came fast: a metal plate and ten screws were inserted into my clavicle. By 10 p.m. that same night, I was walking laps in the ICU. I spent the next several weeks recovering at altitude, sleeping with an oxygen tank and relying on pain medication, unable to drive or fully care for myself.
The crash shattered more than a few bones. It shattered my illusion of control. Recovery required surgery, rehab, and—more than anything—humility.
But it was also a gift. Because it reminded me of something I’ve taught my clients for years:
You don’t build real resilience in ideal conditions.
You build it in the moment after your footing disappears. When the plan evaporates, when you're blindsided by something you didn’t anticipate or cause—who are you then?
It took me lying flat on my back to really understand that.
The Instinct to Clamp Down
When chaos hits, most leaders do the opposite of what’s needed. They tighten their grip. They insert themselves into every decision. They confuse their presence with control, and their title with clarity.
It’s understandable. Our nervous system doesn’t differentiate between an organizational crisis and a survival threat. So we brace. We micromanage. We demand updates, control narratives, and make ourselves the bottleneck. Why? Because it gives the illusion that we’re doing something.
But as I learned on that mountain, bracing doesn’t stop the fall—it often worsens the injury.
In a crisis, the reflex to control is strong. But trust is the real discipline.
You Can’t Outsource Trust
The question isn't “How do I keep my plan intact?”
The question is, “How fast can my team adapt when it shatters?”
That speed is directly proportional to how much trust you've already built—and how much you're willing to extend in the moment.
Most teams aren't underperforming because they lack talent. They’re underperforming because they’re waiting for permission. And too many leaders are stuck in the habit of giving instructions instead of giving authority.
Reciprocating Authority teaches that leadership isn't about having all the answers—it’s about distributing ownership in a way that accelerates performance and deepens trust. It's not theoretical. It's observable.
You can feel it in the room when a team trusts each other—and their leader. Meetings move faster. Ideas are shared more freely. Responsibility is picked up before it's assigned. That’s not magic. That’s distributed authority in motion.
Let Others Carry You
After my accident, I was limited by my eight broken bones as to what I could do myself. I had to ask for help—to be driven, meal prep, cleaned up, supported. It felt vulnerable, even embarrassing, like when my wife had to put my carry-on in the overhead and retrieve it, despite my being 6’4” and her being 5’6”. But it also cracked something open in me. I saw how much I had prided myself on being the strong one, the responsible one, the one others could count on.
But real strength? It’s not about being the hero. It’s about being part of something larger than yourself.
Too many leaders still think their job is to protect their team by shielding them from chaos. But shielding can easily become smothering. And control disguised as care is still control.
Instead, what if your job in crisis was to open space, not close it? To name the reality, yes—but then to ask questions like:
“Who else sees what I can’t?”
“What do you need from me to take ownership?”
“Where can I step back so you can step up?”
The fastest way through the unknown is together. But that requires you to stop clutching the wheel and start building real conditions for shared momentum.
Posture Over Performance
When your business gets blindsided, people aren’t watching your plan—they’re watching your posture.
They’re asking: Are you grounded? Are you present? Are you listening?
In Reciprocating Authority, we talk about ways of being as the central lever of influence. It’s not your plan that gives people confidence. It’s your presence. The steadiness in your eyes. The openness in your questions. The courage in your willingness to not know, without disappearing.
This is the paradox most leaders miss: Certainty is attractive when things are stable. But in chaos, it becomes brittle. What actually creates psychological safety in the unknown is relational trust. It’s knowing, “Even if we don’t have the answer, we’ll figure it out together.”
A Practice for the Week Ahead
If you're in a storm right now—or sense one coming—try this:
Name the Disruption. Say what’s real. Be clear and human. “This caught us off guard. It’s uncomfortable. We don’t have all the answers.”
Audit Your Reflex. Ask yourself: Am I hoarding decisions? What’s my posture—tense or curious?
Invite Ownership. Pick one decision you’d normally make, and hand it to someone else. Tell them why you trust them. Then actually get out of the way.
Model Trust. Your team won’t risk stepping up if you’re sending signals of fear or micromanagement. Show them what shared authority looks like.
Debrief as a Team. After the storm, don’t rush to normal. Ask: What did we learn about how we operate under pressure? What trust did we earn—or erode?
We don’t get to choose when the unexpected happens. But we do get to choose how we lead in that moment.
My fall on the mountain taught me something I wish I’d learned sooner: It’s not about getting back to the plan. It’s about getting back to each other.
Because leadership isn’t about control. It’s about creating the conditions for trust, especially when the ground shifts.
And if you can do that, velocity returns. Not because you forced it, but because you released it.