196. Army Medic to Navy SEAL | Today EP | Failure, Faith & Finding Your Mission
- Paul Pantani
- May 19
- 9 min read
Updated: Jun 2
Juan "Gonzo" Gonzalez
In episode 196 of the Transition Drill Podcast, retired Navy SEAL Juan “Gonzo” Gonzalez shares a raw, compelling journey from his global upbringing as an Army brat to a career forged in grit, failure, and relentless growth. Gonzo opens up about his early struggles with identity, education, and discipline, leading to his first enlistment as an Army medic and a winding path that eventually brought him into the Navy SEALs—twice. His first attempt at BUD/S ended with pneumonia during Hell Week, but his return two years later marked a transformation in mindset and purpose. Gonzo reflects on his years in Special Operations, the challenge of maintaining identity post-service, and the harsh realities many Military Veterans face when transitioning into civilian life. He recounts his rocky entry into entrepreneurship, the failures that nearly broke him, and the lessons that ultimately shaped his resilience. Today, he’s channeling those lessons into a mission of service—coaching others through personal growth, faith, and reconnection with purpose. With honesty and humility, Gonzo reminds us that real strength lies not just in enduring hardship, but in using it to lift others up. His story resonates deeply with veterans, first responders, and anyone navigating their own career change or life after service.
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Born into a world defined by movement and military order, Juan “Gonzo” Gonzalez’s early years were shaped by his father’s career as a U.S. Army colonel and Foreign Area Officer. As an Army brat, Juan’s childhood was one of constant relocation—living across South and Central America, including stints in Argentina, Honduras, Panama, and Brazil. His family wasn’t just military; they were embedded in diplomatic life, often living within embassy systems. For a young boy, this lifestyle provided a unique worldview, cultivating resilience and adaptability through immersion in different cultures and communities.
But while the travel was enriching, it came at a cost. Frequent moves made it difficult for Gonzo to set down roots, particularly in his formative teen years. He and his two older sisters—plus a younger brother born much later—learned early how to make friends quickly, and how to say goodbye just as fast. By the time he reached high school, the glamour of international life had faded into frustration. The disruption took its toll on his academic focus. Despite flashes of potential during his sophomore and junior years at a Catholic school in Georgia, Gonzo struggled to stay motivated. His final year saw another relocation—this time to El Paso, Texas—where he barely managed to finish school, lacking the grades or test scores to pursue college with any serious intent.
Rather than waste his parents’ money on an unfocused college experience, Gonzo made a pragmatic decision: enlist in the military. Drawn by the promise of structure and a path to a career, he signed up for the Army through the delayed entry program, just months after graduating high school in 1991. While he harbored vague aspirations of becoming a doctor—sparked more by a friend’s relative with a nice car than a true passion—he knew the Army could be a vehicle for growth and exploration.
He chose to become a 91B Combat Medic, a role that combined his interest in medicine with the gritty realism of infantry life. Stationed at Fort Campbell with the renowned 101st Airborne Division, Gonzo deployed to Egypt for a multinational peacekeeping tour. Although he deeply respected the history and camaraderie of his unit, the experience also revealed cracks in his desire to stay long-term. The Army machine—the bureaucracy, the hierarchy, the rigidness—felt stifling. As the son of an officer, he had seen one side of military life growing up. As a young enlisted Soldier, he now lived the other side, and the contrast was jarring.
By the time his short active-duty contract ended, Juan was just 20 years old and unsure of his next step. He had completed his two years of active service and was entering the reserve component. The plan was simple: go to college, use the GI Bill, and figure out the rest along the way. But a lingering sense of unfinished business and a curiosity about special operations would soon pull him back toward military life—this time, in a way he never could have imagined.
Gonzo may have left the Army, but the military never really left him. After serving as a combat medic with the 101st Airborne Division and completing a tour in Egypt, he returned to El Paso with plans to pursue engineering through the GI Bill. He enrolled in college, and despite his rough start in academics, he dove into challenging coursework, tackling advanced math and science classes—proof to himself that he could do hard things intellectually. But something was missing.
That pull toward the military—the team, the mission, the intensity—never went away. College gave him time to think, and that space stirred something inside. The voices of his Army days hadn’t quieted; in fact, they got louder. Inspired partly by the elite soldiers he’d seen during his time at Fort Campbell, Gonzo decided to revisit an idea he’d brushed off years before—joining the Navy SEALs.
Walking into the Navy recruiter’s office, he announced his intent: “I want to go to BUD/S.” What followed was an uphill battle. Gonzo was in his mid-twenties, technically still tied to an Army Reserve obligation he was no longer attending, and he needed waivers, approvals, and even a personal phone call from his father—leveraging military connections—to help clear the path. Eventually, he got back in, and chose the shortest route to BUD/S: Aviation Ordnanceman, a five-week A-school that would get him to the SEAL pipeline faster.
But reentry wasn’t easy. He found himself back in Navy bootcamp, surrounded by teenagers learning how to march, feeling frustrated and out of place. He pushed through. Despite suffering early IT band issues from the heavy “boondocker” boots, he passed his Physical Screening Test (PST) by narrow margins—just enough to secure his shot at SEAL training.
Once in A-school, everything changed. He met a fellow SEAL hopeful—an elite decathlete from Kansas State—and trained beside him daily. The friendship became the turning point. Trying to keep up with his new training partner transformed Juan’s conditioning. By the time he arrived at Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training in 1998, his fitness level had skyrocketed.
Still, nothing could fully prepare him for the brutality of pre-phase. Wearing wet jeans and boots on the beach, he endured workouts so intense he temporarily lost his hearing from sheer physical exhaustion. But it wasn’t injury that stopped him. In Hell Week—just two days in—he was struck down by pneumonia. Faced with a choice, Gonzo was told he could ring out and reattempt BUD/S later or risk long-term health issues. He chose to step back—a gut-wrenching decision.
Rolled out of training, he was reassigned to a shore duty station in Italy. Yet even in limbo, he stayed focused. Alongside other “rolled” candidates, he kept training, targeting weaknesses like swimming and improving his mindset. The experience transformed him. He returned to BUD/S two years later with renewed perspective and mental toughness. No longer unsure or hesitant, he now knew exactly what he wanted. And this time, he pushed through—past Hell Week, pool competency, and the endless grind of evolutions that break lesser men.
When Gonzo finally earned his Trident, it was post-9/11. The world had changed—and so had the SEAL Teams. He was assigned to SEAL Team 1 just after the unit returned from Afghanistan. Combat operations were increasing, and now he had to prove himself all over again—not in training, but among seasoned operators.
Earning your Trident may be the goal of many SEAL hopefuls, but Juan understood that wearing it was just the beginning. His first deployment cycle was steeped in Vietnam-era tactics, but as the war on terror escalated, the teams evolved rapidly. Month by month, tactics were rewritten, incorporating real-world lessons from Iraq and Afghanistan. Juan found himself surrounded by men with experience and gravitas—some of whom had already seen heavy combat.
At Team 1, he was assigned to communications, a role that required precision and calm under pressure. While his prior medic experience wasn’t leveraged here, his ability to learn and adapt made him an asset. The real challenge, however, was internal—measuring up to the expectations of a brotherhood where failure isn’t just personal; it can cost lives.
He wasn't the best swimmer in his class. He didn’t breeze through pool comp—in fact, he passed it on his third try. But what set him apart was his ability to process failure and rebound quickly. That mindset—refusing to be defined by setbacks—would carry him through a long and successful military career.
Gonzo served a total of 16 years in Special Operations, with a career that spanned active duty, reserve service, and advanced tactical training. Incredibly, at the age of 40, he was selected for and completed SEAL Sniper School—a grueling feat at any age, let alone for someone approaching retirement. But it was classic Gonzo: find the next challenge, lean in hard, and overcome.
When he ultimately retired from the Navy, it wasn’t because the fire had gone out. It was because he was ready to answer a new calling—one that would test him in even more unpredictable ways outside the wire of military life.
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When Gonzo left the Navy after his first enlistment, he wasn’t walking into a stable civilian life—he was stepping into the unknown. At the time, he had two homes in San Diego, one rented out and one with a mortgage he needed to cover. He was a newlywed, starting a family, and like many military veterans transitioning out of active service, he thought he had a plan. He had been doing private security work on the side, and it looked promising. But then, as it often happens, the project was unexpectedly canceled. Just like that, his income vanished.
He hadn’t built a safety net. No savings, no fallback. One day he was part of the most elite fraternity in the military—the brotherhood of the SEAL Teams—and the next, he was staring down unpaid bills with no idea how to bridge the gap. For many, that kind of abrupt transition becomes the first major test of life after service. For Juan, it was a humbling reset. Still, he didn’t quit. He leaned into the next mission: building something of his own.
Determined to stay in the protection space, he threw himself into entrepreneurship, starting a business in the executive protection industry. At first, it was pure hustle—networking, chasing contracts, proving himself in a new environment where military accolades didn’t automatically translate to credibility. Executive protection is a tough business. The stakes are high, the clients demanding, and the margins thin. Early failures were frequent. Jobs dried up. Leads disappeared. At times, it looked like the entire venture might collapse.
The pressure wasn’t just professional—it was deeply personal. Trying to raise a family while navigating financial instability created strain at home. His desire to be present, after years of being deployed or on standby, now collided with the stress of trying to provide through a fragile business. And yet, even in those darker seasons, Gonzo never let go of the belief that he was supposed to be building something that mattered.
Through grit, constant adjustment, and relentless networking, the business slowly took form. He learned how to negotiate better, how to lead teams in the private sector, and how to manage client expectations without compromising integrity. Just like in the Teams, he started surrounding himself with people who were sharper, faster, more experienced—people he could learn from. And as the company grew, so did he.
Gonzo’s story in this phase of life isn’t one of instant success—it’s a blueprint in perseverance. A career change like his—going from Navy SEAL to civilian entrepreneur—isn’t linear. It’s jagged, uncertain, and filled with setbacks. But it’s also a testament to what’s possible when a Military Veteran brings the same mental toughness to the civilian world that they carried downrange. By the time he found his rhythm, Gonzo had already lived multiple lifetimes of intensity. But this season of failure, reinvention, and entrepreneurial struggle would become just as important to his evolution as his years in uniform.
Today, Juan “Gonzo” Gonzalez is no longer wearing a uniform, but he’s more mission-driven than ever. After years in the executive protection industry and a long career in Special Operations, he has transitioned into a new role: coach, mentor, and guide for others navigating their own transformations. It’s not just a job—it’s his purpose.
In addition to his EP business, Gonzo's passion is in the coaching space, where he brings a brutally honest, experience-forged perspective to those seeking personal growth, especially military veterans struggling with identity, transition, and purpose. He doesn’t preach from a pedestal—he shares from the scars. His coaching isn’t about tactics or checklists. It’s about reconnecting people to who they are, helping them find meaning in their pain, and urging them to ask hard questions: “Who am I without the uniform?” “What do I really want to do?” “What’s my mission now?”
Having personally battled through the uncertainties of a Military transition—not once, but multiple times—Juan understands the emotional and psychological toll it takes. He has witnessed close friends lose their battles with depression and suicide, and those losses lit a fire in him to act. Through coaching, speaking, and one-on-one mentorship, he helps others reframe their past experiences as fuel, not anchors.
His message resonates deeply with fellow SEALs, Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines who are stepping away from service and into a civilian world that often feels foreign. He’s a walking example of what life after service can look like when it’s built with intention. His story shows that a career change isn’t about walking away from what you were—it’s about choosing who you’ll become.
Gonzo’s faith plays a quiet but foundational role in his current chapter. While he doesn’t force it into the conversation, he’s open about how hitting rock bottom led him back to God—and how that spiritual awakening gave him strength and clarity when everything else was crumbling. For him, service never ended. It just evolved.
Whether it’s through formal coaching programs or impromptu conversations that change lives, Gonzo continues to live by one guiding principle: service to others. For veterans searching for meaning, for those wrestling with the trauma of transition, or for anyone standing at the edge of a new chapter, Juan Gonzalez isn’t just a voice of experience—he’s proof that transformation is possible.
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