All of us could learn a lot from military history.

I’m not here to debate whether wars have made the world better or worse. That conversation could go on forever. What I am saying is this— if you want to understand how people get through the unthinkable, how thousands can be moved toward one goal, and how leaders hold themselves steady in the middle of chaos, military history is full of lessons and examples of greatness.

What strikes me most are the stories of personal mastery. Men and women who had to discipline their minds and bodies just to make it through the day. They didn’t have the option to quit. They didn’t have the option to skip the hard parts. They had to keep showing up under conditions designed to break them.

That’s why I study it. Not because I’m fascinated with war itself, but because the lessons carry. You don’t have to wear a uniform to learn from people who’ve been tested to their core. Their strategies, their focus, their ability to endure — that transfers into every part of life.

We lose something valuable if we ignore it. Too often we separate ourselves from those stories, as if they belong only to the past, as if they’re locked away in history books. But leadership is leadership. Resilience is resilience. The way someone holds the line under fire isn’t just about combat — it’s about the kind of character it takes to keep going when everything feels impossible.

One of the clearest examples of this comes from Admiral James Stockdale.

In 1965, Stockdale was flying over North Vietnam when his plane was shot down. He ejected, landed in a village, and was captured. From that moment forward, he knew his life was going to be defined by what came next.

He spent more than seven years as a prisoner of war in the notorious “Hanoi Hilton.” He was tortured. He was thrown into solitary confinement. He was cut off from the outside world, never knowing if he would see his family again. And yet he led.

Stockdale built systems of resistance to keep the men alive. He devised a tap code so they could communicate through the walls. He created rules to give them structure and dignity in the middle of chaos. He couldn’t stop the suffering, but he could give it meaning.

Later, when people asked him which men didn’t survive, he didn’t hesitate.

Stockdale saw what most of us miss: the danger of tying your spirit to a deadline. If your hope depends on an arbitrary date, disappointment will crush you again and again until you can’t carry it anymore.

Instead, he learned to live in a paradox. As he put it:

That paradox — holding absolute faith while facing brutal reality — became his compass.

It’s a powerful lesson on its own. But it isn’t the only thing military history can offer us. Another benefit is perspective.

Perspective shows us how ordinary citizens became extraordinary under circumstances most of us can barely imagine. It was success or death.

Think of young men storming the beaches at Normandy, knowing the odds were against them and charging anyway. Or prisoners of war like Stockdale, who built invisible chains of leadership and communication to keep their brothers alive in the Hanoi Hilton.

These were average people who became extraordinary because there was no other option. And when I remember that, I gain perspective on the real quality of my own problems. It’s true no one is coming to save me — but I’m here of my own volition and I’m also not being shot at.

What I’m facing is the toughest season of my emotional life. But it is not Normandy. It is not Vietnam.

One of the things I love most about working with the veteran community is this exact perspective. More often than not, they know the difference between a real problem and an inconvenience dressed up as catastrophe. Without perspective, every challenge in life can balloon into something monstrous. But when you remember what others have endured before you, the question shifts.

It’s no longer, “Can I do this?”
It becomes, “How do I do this?”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot because people ask me all the time, with the best intentions, how much longer I’ll be in North Carolina. Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you ready to go home? Don’t you miss your life, your loved ones? Your DOG? Isn’t this exhausting?

Yes. All of it. And that’s exactly why I asked people to stop asking. Answering those questions over and over didn’t move me closer to the goal, and tying myself to a deadline I couldn’t control wasn’t doing anyone any good.

When I first came out here, I told myself I’d be finished in five weeks. I even had a speaking engagement scheduled in California at the end of September. The plan was simple: handle everything, head west, and have this whole chapter behind me.

But within three weeks, I realized how wrong I was. The magnitude of the work kept unfolding — layers of details, paperwork, and decisions I couldn’t rush no matter how much I wanted to. That’s when I remembered Stockdale, and it saved me from falling into the trap of clinging to my own deadlines.

The timelines I set weren’t reality. They were fantasy. And I knew if I held onto them, each one would slip past and leave me with a sense of failure that wasn’t true. It took me about a week to fully release my attachment to that predicted “exit date.” But once I did, it was like setting down a heavy pack I’d been carrying for miles, only to realize it was full of nothing but rocks.

The relief was immediate. My shoulders dropped. My breath came easier. The path in front of me didn’t shrink, but it stopped feeling like punishment. It was still long, but I could walk it. The energy I had been burning on frustration, disappointment, and self-criticism was freed up for the work itself. And Stockdale’s words came back to me:

By letting go of the timelines, I wasn’t quitting. I was keeping faith alive without letting it turn into heartbreak.

But relief isn’t the whole story. There’s another layer, one that asks more of you. It’s not just can you endure it… it’s can you find a way to LOVE it?

Sounds crazy. Right? But that’s possible — if you’re bold enough to dive all the way in. To stop skimming the surface and throw yourself into the crucible of the experience. To not just tolerate the endurance, but to lean into it, to test yourself against it, and to love who you become through it.

That’s when the whole thing flips. You’re no longer being attacked — you’re advancing. It’s no longer life fucking with you — it’s you fucking with it.

Part of me absolutely loves knowing I can do things other people say would undo them. Part of me loves a really big challenge. I even get turned on by it. There’s a satisfaction in knowing I can bet on myself to overcome even the toughest challenges in front of me. Something wakes up in me when I’m being pushed, when I’m required to rise to the occasion — and then I do. Over and over again.

There’s nothing like it.

If you think this level of self-mastery is just for the legends and library books, you’re wrong. It attainable by anyone willing to work for it. And that means you too.

Starting is simple. Ask yourself: where are you tethered to an arbitrary timeline that’s crushing your spirit instead of fueling your perseverance? Where are you waiting for “Christmas” to arrive — and what will you do when it comes and goes? Where are you tempted to celebrate before the race is actually over? What would shift if you practiced the paradox — believing with everything in you that you will prevail, while accepting the hard facts of today without resistance?

Patience. Dedication. Unwavering resolve. That’s the work. And it’s the essence of the Stockdale Paradox: to hold unshakable faith in the end of the story, while facing the brutal facts of the present without flinching.

That’s the paradox. That’s the work. And in the end, that’s how you prevail.

-Sunny