In the modern military, leadership is often defined not by how high one climbs the rank structure, but by the depth of human connection, resilience, and emotional intelligence displayed along the way. Few embody these values more authentically than Michael Komorous and Amanda Evans—two officers whose intertwined journeys through the Air National Guard, Air Force Reserve, and Pentagon reveal the profound, personal side of public service.

Their stories traverse hardship and triumph, pilot training challenges, family separation, policy-making, and even plans to start a puppy-centered nonprofit. From enlisted beginnings to high-ranking influence, Komorous and Evans illuminate what it truly means to lead with purpose, integrity, and heart.

Pushing Boundaries in Pilot Training

Michael Komorous’ road to the cockpit was anything but ordinary. Nearing the age cutoff for pilot selection at 28, he faced institutional barriers and systemic biases that tested his resolve. “If I had applied on the active-duty side, they wouldn’t have selected me that first year,” Komorous said. “And once you’re in the waiver pile, you rarely get picked.”

Rather than accept that fate, he pivoted to the Air Force Reserve, where he could actively shape his path. He initially set his sights on flying F-16s out of Buckley Air Force Base, driven by a passion for fast jets and elite missions. But a chance encounter with a C-17 pilot reshaped his trajectory. That pilot asked him a simple yet powerful question: “Do you want to live in a tent for $3.50 a day or travel the world with a crew, a hot meal, and a bathroom?”

It was a practical and emotional pitch that struck Komorous deeply. The promise of global reach and a crew-centric culture felt more aligned with his vision of service and family. “That’s when I started rushing units,” he said, referring to the Guard and Reserve’s unique process of unit interviews—akin to fraternity recruitment. Unlike active duty, these roles offered agency, culture fit, and long-term community, shaping not just a job, but a 20-year relationship.

Reserves, RPAs, and Relentless Tempo

While the Guard and Reserve may offer more control over one’s path, Komorous quickly discovered the intense operational demands. “My last year in the Reserves, I was gone 270 days,” he recalled. Missions, schools, and volunteer orders filled his calendar, while home life strained under the weight of constant absence.

To create more balance, he transferred to the Nevada Air National Guard, flying Remotely Piloted Aircraft (RPAs) out of Las Vegas. This transition offered a full-time position under Active Guard and Reserve (AGR) orders, bringing him stability to support his growing family and access to consistent benefits like TRICARE.

In time, Komorous’s operational excellence earned him key staff assignments, including a position as executive officer to a general officer, and later as a group commander. But even success brought its challenges. A major administrative error regarding pilot bonuses—where personnel mistakenly received entitlements they weren’t eligible for—became a flashpoint. Komorous warned the airmen, documented the issue, and took a hard ethical stance. Still, complaints were filed, Inspector General (IG) investigations were opened, and even Congressional inquiries were submitted.

“I’d come home and tell my wife, ‘I didn’t take the money. I didn’t do anything wrong.’ But when people use the IG as a weapon, it can end your career,” he said. The experience underscored how fragile leadership reputations can be in bureaucratic systems, no matter how principled one’s actions.

Amanda Evans’ Enlisted-to-Officer Journey

Amanda Evans took a very different route to leadership. Enlisting at 17 years old, she turned 18 during basic training and was stationed at Grand Forks, North Dakota—a harsh cultural shift from sunny Salinas, California. “Everything was a culture shock,” she laughed. “I was a cheerleader who thought the camo BDUs were just for basic.”

Yet from those humble beginnings, Evans observed a powerful dynamic: the family-centric culture of a tight-knit base. She babysat for NCOs, attended family events, and experienced firsthand how leadership could be both professional and personal. That early exposure left a lasting mark.

Years later, as an officer, she brought her own children into the unit as a squadron commander in Hawaii, modeling inclusion for others. “If I brought my kids, others felt safe doing the same. It shifted the culture to one of openness and support,” she said.

Serving later as a group commander in Connecticut, Evans faced the emotional toll of geographic separation, commuting from D.C. while raising three children with a husband also serving full-time. “I had mom guilt,” she admitted. “I flew home three weekends a month, but I still missed 21 nights. You ask yourself—was it worth it?”

The answer lies in how her service elevated not just her career but the confidence and resilience of her children, her husband’s role as “soccer dad,” and her own visibility as a female officer leading with vulnerability.

A Shared Commitment to Family, Ethics, and Belonging

Both Komorous and Evans share a passion for building ethical, people-centered organizations. While their experiences differ—one rising from the enlisted corps, the other from the cockpit—they converge in their belief that leadership begins with knowing your people.

“I had a leader who never knew I was married,” Komorous said. “Didn’t know my kids’ names. That disconnect can be dangerous in a mission where lives are on the line.”

Evans agreed. “You can’t expect your people to give their all if they don’t feel seen. I care more about how my subordinates feel than what senior leaders think of me,” she said. She even authored a strategic paper on “Leading with Love” at the Army War College, challenging conventional notions of command. “If the word ‘love’ makes you cringe, that’s why we need it,” she said. “People are leaving the military because they don’t feel appreciated.”

Their shared commitment to emotional intelligence has shaped not just the teams they lead, but how they reflect on their own pasts. Komorous, now in PTSD counseling, opened up about his time flying RPA strike missions. “It took 45 seconds to change my life,” he said of one particular mission. “I realized I’d rather save lives than take them.”

Adoption, Empathy, and the Power of Family

Outside the uniform, both leaders have navigated extraordinary adoption journeys. For Evans, a medical condition discovered while stationed in Germany made biological children unlikely. Her husband’s immediate response? “Sweet. We’ll just adopt.”

Their first son was adopted through a California agency but was born in Pennsylvania, the same town as her husband’s family—a moment she calls a “God thing.” They later adopted a daughter from China, and while deployments made milestones difficult—Evans missed Mother’s Day the first year with her daughter—her family grew stronger through shared resilience.

Komorous, too, witnessed the emotional weight of adoption when his sister nearly placed a child, only to change her mind after holding the baby. These deeply personal stories now inform their empathy as leaders—and parents.

Policy vs. People: Life at the Pentagon

Both leaders also experienced the gap between policy and practice while serving at the Pentagon. Evans described her current job in a policy-heavy cubicle as “soul-draining.” “I miss the people,” she said. “I want to lead. I want to grab coffee for the person next to me. That’s who I am.”

The frustration with untested systems, sunsetted tools, and manual finance failures often leaves units in chaos. “We need feedback loops between the wings and NGB,” Evans stressed. “Otherwise, we keep creating systems that don’t work at the unit level.”

Pentagon Puppy Pod

Out of this frustration was born an idea that’s equal parts brilliant and heartwarming: the Pentagon Puppy Pod. A nonprofit dream of Evans’, the concept is simple—partner with breeders and shelters to bring puppies into the Pentagon several days a week for staff to cuddle.

No sales. No adoptions. Just puppy therapy.

“Imagine walking downstairs for a 15-minute break from strategic chaos and cuddling a puppy on a beanbag,” Evans said, lighting up. “It’s not silly. It’s science. It’s healing.” Dubbed the Triple P, her vision includes a storefront space, scheduled puppy appearances, and volunteer staffing. “It’s joy. That’s what I want to give.”

Komorous agreed instantly: “You’re going to do it. We need this.”

Conclusion

What makes the stories of Michael Komorous and Amanda Evans so powerful isn’t their impressive resumes, rank, or assignments. It’s the humanity behind their service—the quiet sacrifices, moral courage, and fierce commitment to people-first leadership. From pilot training rejections and IG complaints to military adoptions and nonprofit dreams, they show that leadership is less about authority and more about authenticity.

Whether they’re navigating high-stakes policy or dreaming of puppies in the Pentagon, both leaders represent a future where emotional intelligence, empathy, and purpose-driven service aren’t just valued—they’re vital. Their stories remind us that the most enduring legacy of military service isn’t medals or titles—it’s the lives touched, families built, and the culture shaped by those who lead with love.