SEAL Team 6 (and the island we almost didn't survive)

(Watch this week's video here)

We almost died on an island once.

Okay, "died" is dramatic. But six adults, a borrowed pontoon boat, a lake we didn't know well, and a thunderstorm we absolutely should have avoided — it got real.

It started with a house. Two of our friends wanted to see a place that was for sale on the lake. As we were heading out, friends of ours who'd lent us the boat passed us on the water and said, "Hey — storm's coming." You could already see the clouds going dark.

We waved them off. (Classic.)

We saw the house. Got back in the boat. The sky got darker faster than we expected, lightning started showing up on the horizon, and our friends passed us again on their way to shore — this time with a look on their faces that said what is wrong with you people.

Still, the two guys were determined to get us back to our cabin. Full speed ahead.

Meanwhile: my wife was Googling "what are the chances of lightning striking a pontoon boat." Another wife was laughing. I was highly suggesting we go to shore. Nobody was listening to me.

The water got shallow fast. We didn't know the lake. We hit bottom, the motor died, and we kind of... beached ourselves next to a small island in a full rainstorm.

We pushed the boat to the island, tied it to a dock, knocked on doors — nobody home. Found a little sunroom that happened to be unlocked, shuffled inside like drowned raccoons, and waited out the storm in a complete stranger's house.

Our friend eventually came and rescued us.

We still talk about it constantly.

Andrea and I have two other couples we do life with. One we met in college. The other — I actually worked at camp with over the summers. Our stories overlapped in that weird, only-God-could-arrange-this kind of way.

For years we tried to convince both families to move to our city. It was cool, it was trendy, they should obviously want to be here. They loved their small town. Nobody was moving.

And then something shifted for Andrea and me. We felt like maybe we were the ones supposed to move. Not to a better neighborhood or a bigger house — but toward them. So we called them and said something like: "We think God might be moving us up there. To love each other well. To love our neighbors together. But we're only doing it if you guys are in for this adventure with us."

They didn't hesitate.

A mentor friend of ours watched all of this and gave us a name: SEAL Team 6. He could see what we were — three families locked in, committed to doing life together no matter what it cost. Kids included.

But honestly? The name that fits better is FOM. Family on Mission. That's what we actually are. Three families, a pile of kids, and a shared conviction that we're better together than we'd ever be apart. When we go on vacation together we say "FOM wrecks [city name]." (We're a lot, in the best possible way.)

2016 was a brutal year for my business.

I was working harder than I'd ever worked, trying to manufacture success through sheer willpower and hustle. Nothing was clicking. Every week felt like pushing a boulder uphill and watching it roll back down. I was exhausted and embarrassed and honestly a little lost.

We were sitting around a table, the six of us — just a normal dinner, the kind we'd done a hundred times. Someone asked how work was going.

And I just... broke.

Not a single tear, dignified kind of broke. The ugly kind. I couldn't hold it together anymore. All of it came out — the fear, the frustration, the shame of feeling like I was failing.

And my friend Jay looked at me and said, without hesitation:

"Whatever you need, we've got you. Groceries. A mortgage payment. Whatever. We're here."

That's a 5-second moment. I've been reading a book lately — Storyworthy by Matthew Dicks — and one of his core ideas is that the most important moments in our lives aren't the big dramatic ones. They're the tiny, almost invisible moments where something shifts. Five seconds that change everything.

Jay's words were five seconds.

I didn't need the groceries. I didn't need the mortgage payment. I needed to know that someone was in it with me. That I wasn't alone in the dark. And in five seconds, I had my answer.

Last week, one of our friends in this group lost his dad.

We gathered. We cried. We sat together in that particular kind of grief that doesn't have a fix. And somewhere during that time, I felt it again — that same thing I felt at the table in 2016.

I am not alone in this.

Life is short. We know this, but we don't always feel it until loss shows up at the door and reminds us. And in those moments, what matters isn't the revenue or the strategy or the content calendar. It's who's sitting next to you.

Here's where this connects to something I think about a lot in my work.

The people you surround yourself with in business matter. Not just the ones who hype you up or tell you you're crushing it — the ones who will sit with you when you're not. The ones who ask the hard questions. The ones who have been where you're trying to go and will tell you the truth about what it actually took. The ones who'll say "we've got you" when you're at your worst.

That's what a great mastermind is. Not a networking group. Not a webinar dressed up as community. Actual people in your corner.

I lead a small group — twelve seats, that's it — for entrepreneurs who are building something real and doing it mostly alone. If you've never had a group like that, I want you to at least consider what it might mean for where you're trying to go. And if you've had something like it before and you're in between groups right now, maybe it's time again.

https://mastermind.ryankoral.com

Quick recommendation before I let you go: go grab Storyworthy by Matthew Dicks. It'll change how you think about your own story. Most people believe nothing interesting has happened to them. They're wrong. You have 5-second moments scattered throughout your life that shaped everything — you just haven't slowed down enough to notice them yet.

This newsletter exists because I'm trying to notice mine. And share them with you.

Thanks for reading. Means more than you know.

— Ryan

P.S. FOM is a real thing and I love them to death. If you have a crew like this, go tell them today. Don't wait for a thunderstorm or a funeral.

P.P.S. I'm actively interviewing for my next mastermind group - if you're interested, hit reply with any questions or check it out here.