The When Ego Meets Reality at Sea

December 7, 2025 by Mike Manazir – (4-5 minutes)

What Happens When Confidence Outruns Judgement?

The night I nearly hit the USS Carl Vinson didn’t start as a crisis—it started as confidence.

I was now the Captain of the USS Sacramento, the fast combat support ship for the Carl Vinson Strike Group. I had just finished my XO tour aboard Vinson, and now Rick Wren—my former CO, friend, and mentor—was still in command of the carrier. Two friends. Two massive ships. Both of us loving our jobs.

And on that dark night, my ego told me I could maneuver my 50,000-ton supply ship like a fighter jet. It almost got all of us killed.

We had been fifty miles out, heading in to assume plane-guard position—a role normally reserved for destroyers. My Officer of the Deck (OOD), Lieutenant Rebecca Domzalski, was sharp, steady, and newly qualified. We were closing on the Carl Vinson at thirty knots.

The plan was simple: approach down her starboard side, turn 180 degrees, and settle a mile behind.

But I wanted to impress Rick. First mistake.

Rebecca calmly said, “Captain, we need to come left.”

I didn’t listen. Second mistake.

She came back—firmer. I still resisted.

Then she stepped closer, almost shouting:

“Captain, we have to come left!”

Her urgency snapped me out of my tunnel vision.

I jumped from my chair, looked out the windows—and froze.

We were on a collision course with a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier.

At that exact moment, Rick came over the radio:

“Looks pretty exciting.” Code for: Do something. Now!

I ordered, “Left full rudder!” The ship heeled violently as we swung away—passing Vinson by about 500 yards. That’s too close. Much too close. When we finally slid in behind the carrier, clumsy but safe, I looked at Rebecca and said quietly:

“Thank you.”

She had saved hundreds of lives, two ships, and my career.

I had come from a fighter-pilot world of “go big or go home.” We stretched limits. We pushed edge cases. We took risks because combat required it.

But ships aren’t jets. And an unchecked ego becomes a liability when thousands of lives depend on your judgment. Rebecca showed courage that night. She told the Captain he was wrong—and didn’t back down.

Great leaders need teammates like that. And great leaders must be willing to listen. The further I went into command, the more I realized something important:

Leadership greatness doesn’t come from individual brilliance. It comes from the team around you.

Captain Wren taught me to drive carriers.
Captain Bud Weeks showed me the “Texas two-step” in the San Diego channel—lessons that later saved me twice.
Rebecca confronted me when I needed it most.
Senior enlisted mentors taught me judgment and humility.
Junior officers taught me things I didn’t yet know I needed to learn.

Every moment of growth in my leadership came because someone else made me better.

Risk is unavoidable in leadership. Growth requires it. But risk without humility becomes dangerous. What saved me that night wasn’t my skill. It wasn’t my experience. It wasn’t even my command authority. It was a young lieutenant who refused to let me ignore a reality she could see and I couldn’t.

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Let’s raise up a generation of leaders who know how to Lead to Win.

Mike Manazir
Bestselling Author | Navy Admiral | Fighter Pilot | Leadership Coach

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