Before the mud dries...

The floodwaters in Central Texas have receded. The cameras have moved on. Families are grieving. Investigations are underway. And across the region, exhausted responders are finally catching their breath after days (sometimes weeks) without sleep. The intensity of the disaster has given way to a silence that feels almost sacred, almost dangerous.

Because this is the moment where we either grow… or go back to sleep.

Physical and mental recovery after a disaster is not just important; it’s essential. For those who responded, rest is necessary. For those who lost, grief must be honored. But there is a razor-thin line between recovery and retreat. And if we lie still too long, we risk letting this tragedy pass without ever fully confronting what it revealed about us; about our systems, our blind spots, and our vulnerabilities.

There will be a brief window in which it will feel like it’s finally over. The press will turn its spotlight elsewhere. The water will vanish into the soil. And the towns that were underwater will begin to move again. Slowly, life will try to go back to normal. But “normal” is the very thing that failed us.

This is the time for introspection, not just for responders, but for entire agencies, departments, communities, and regions. Right now, while the debris is still in piles, while ribbons still cling to fences, while candles still melt in the Texas heat… we must gather our thoughts and examine what happened. Not just what went wrong, but what didn’t happen that should have. What wasn't said. What wasn't shared. What wasn’t done.

Because if history is any guide, this moment will fade.

Within weeks, many of the people who have the clearest insight, the front-line responders, the shelter workers, the dispatchers, the emergency managers will be back to the grind, answering emails, catching up on reports, preparing for the next council meeting. And yet this is the time to ask the hard questions, to challenge assumptions, and to change course where needed. This is the time to do the work but not just the recovery. There needs to be a reckoning.

And to those beyond Texas: this is your moment too.

Study what happened in Central Texas. Don’t just shake your head and send condolences. Ask yourself: What would it take for this to happen here? What would your “Mystic Camp” be? A refinery explosion? A mass casualty crash? A tornado slicing through a school zone? A wildfire consuming a retirement community?

If the answer is “we’re not sure,” then you’re not ready.

By 2026, conferences across the nation will be full of “Lessons Learned” presentations on this disaster. And most will be moving tributes full of heroism, full of commendations, and rightly so. But I ask this: will they be more than that? Will they reflect real learning?

We must remember what the word “learned” actually means: “Having much knowledge acquired by study.”

And what is “learning”? “The acquisition of knowledge or skills through experience, study, or by being taught.”

A timeline isn’t a lesson. A memorial isn’t maturity. And an after-action report isn’t transformation unless it leads to action.

I’ve been in this profession for decades. I’ve seen disaster after disaster be followed by talk, by analysis, by panel discussions. But I’ve also seen how little real change follows when the pressure eases. If we want to break the cycle, if we truly want to honor the lives lost and the sacrifices made, then we must demand more of ourselves and our institutions.

Don’t wait for the flood to come to your town. Don’t wait for the sirens or lack of them. Don’t wait for the hashtags or the praying hand emojis. Look now. Listen now. Study now. Learn now. Really learn.

Because the next disaster won’t ask if you’ve had time to catch up. It won’t care what your last presentation covered. It will simply expose what you failed to prepare for.

Let this be a turning point not just for Central Texas, but for all of us. The question isn’t whether we will recover. The question is: Will we evolve?