As soon as one of my articles is published, I make a point of circulating it among a small circle of professionals with whom I have long-standing working relationships, friendships, or both. I do this deliberately. What I am looking for is not affirmation, nor agreement, but scrutiny. I want critique. I want friction. I want my ideas tested against other experienced minds who are equally committed to improving how we train, how we teach, and how we evaluate performance in high-liability environments.
The professionals I engage in these informal peer reviews tend to share two defining traits. First, they are contrarian by nature. Second, they are deeply dissatisfied with the status quo. They do not accept tradition simply because it is tradition, nor do they accept outcomes as proof of sound methodology. They are constantly searching for better ways to structure learning, deliver instruction, and create durable performance under real-world conditions. In that sense, they are very much aligned with how I approach training and instructional design.
When one recurring comment surfaced during those exchanges, it became clear that it deserved more than a brief response or a footnote. It deserved an article of its own. This is that article.
What follows is not a critique of any one program, agency, or discipline. Rather, it is an examination of a set of deeply ingrained assumptions about learning, skill acquisition, and performance maintenance that continue to undermine otherwise well-intentioned training efforts. These assumptions persist not because they are correct, but because they are comfortable. They appeal to our cognitive biases, reinforce our existing beliefs, and give us the illusion of competence without the burden of proof.
Learning Is Not Reserved for Educators
The science of how humans acquire, consolidate, and retain motor and psychomotor skills should not be the exclusive domain of professional educators or academic specialists. While formal training in educational theory has value, a basic working understanding of how learning actually occurs in the human brain is essential for anyone who trains others or relies on complex skills for personal or professional safety.
This includes instructors, supervisors, armed professionals, private citizens, competitive shooters, and even recreational participants. Without this understanding, individuals are left to judge training efficacy based on surface-level indicators such as course completion, time spent, or passing a qualification standard. These indicators feel reassuring, but they are often misleading. As I an very fond of saying, “Fluency is seductive.”
A foundational premise of NeuralTac-style thinking is that exposure is not learning, repetition alone is not mastery, and outcomes achieved in artificial contexts are poor predictors of future performance unless the underlying processes are sound. Learning is a biological process. It is governed by how the brain encodes information, strengthens neural pathways, and retrieves those pathways under stress, fatigue, or environmental complexity. When we misunderstand that process, we misinterpret performance, overestimate competence, and fail to detect degradation until it matters most.
Consider how often you have heard someone describe a task as a “perishable skill.” The phrase is so common that it is rarely questioned. But very few people stop to ask why skills perish in the first place. Fewer still ask whether deterioration is inevitable or whether it is a predictable consequence of how the skill was learned and maintained.
Have you ever found yourself performing worse at a task despite spending more time doing it? Have you ever trained consistently, only to discover that your performance had subtly changed in ways you did not intend or recognize? These experiences are not anomalies. They are the predictable byproducts of learning biases that most training models fail to acknowledge.
The Illusion of Learning and Stability Bias
In my professional work, I regularly encounter individuals and organizations that schedule quarterly or bi-annual assessments. Many agencies require periodic requalification with duty weapons, sometimes annually, sometimes more frequently. This pattern is not accidental, nor is it merely administrative.
In my experience, there are two primary reasons why motor skillsets require recurring intervention.
The first is that insufficient time and structure are devoted to moving skills beyond the cognitive phase of learning. Participants are exposed to material, practice briefly, and then tested against a minimum standard. Once that standard is met, the skill is declared “learned.” This belief is deeply flawed.
This phenomenon is commonly referred to as the illusion of learning. The learner mistakes familiarity for competence. The instructor mistakes successful task completion for durable capability. The organization mistakes compliance for readiness. Underneath all of this lies a powerful cognitive bias known as stability bias.
Stability bias is the assumption that once a skill has been acquired, it will remain stable over time unless actively disrupted. In reality, the opposite is often true. Skills that have not been deeply consolidated remain fragile. They are highly sensitive to interference, stress, contextual change, and time. When training emphasizes exposure and qualification rather than consolidation and transfer, it creates a false sense of permanence.
From a NeuralTac perspective, this is one of the most dangerous misconceptions in skills-based training. The brain does not treat all information equally. It prioritizes efficiency, relevance, and economy of effort. If a skill is not reinforced in a way that signals long-term importance and contextual utility, it is unlikely to be retained in a form that supports reliable performance.
When More Practice Makes You Worse
The second reason skills degrade is less intuitive and far more insidious. In some cases, performance does not deteriorate because the skill was under-trained, but because it was practiced in a way that allowed unrecognized variation to creep in over time.
I often refer to this phenomenon as performance mutation. It occurs when repeated execution of a task leads not to refinement, but to gradual deviation from the original procedure or standard. These deviations are rarely conscious. They are the result of the brain’s natural tendency to seek efficiency through pattern recognition and shortcut formation.
Human cognition is optimized for survival, not precision. Our brains are constantly comparing incoming information to internal models of what is familiar and expected. These internal models, known as schema, allow us to function efficiently in complex environments. When something deviates from a known baseline, we notice it, even if we cannot immediately articulate why.
Law enforcement officers often describe this phenomenon as “just didn’t look right,” or “JDLR.” Clinically, it is an expression of schema violation detection. The same process applies to physical performance. As long as outcomes appear acceptable, small deviations from the original method often go unnoticed. Over time, those deviations accumulate.
Heuristics play a central role in this process. Heuristics are mental shortcuts that allow for faster decision-making and reduced cognitive load. In many contexts, they are beneficial. In skill execution, however, they can introduce subtle changes in timing, sequencing, grip, posture, or decision-making that alter performance in unintended ways.
The danger lies not in the existence of heuristics, but in their invisibility to the performer. When the brain optimizes for efficiency, it does not announce the change. It simply updates the internal model. The individual continues to believe they are performing the skill as originally learned, even as the underlying mechanics have shifted.
Procedural Drift and Normalization of Deviance
The aviation industry has long recognized the risks associated with gradual deviation from established procedures. The term procedural drift is commonly used to describe the gap between how work is imagined and how it is actually performed. One of the most cited definitions comes from Stian Antonsen, who described procedural drift as the inevitable divergence between prescribed procedures and real-world practice over time.
This concept was examined in devastating detail by sociologist Diane Vaughan in her analysis of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. In her book The Challenger Launch Decision, Vaughan introduced the concept of normalization of deviance. She described it as the gradual process by which unacceptable practices become accepted as normal because they do not immediately result in catastrophic outcomes.
The relevance of this concept to training should be obvious. When deviations from standard procedures do not produce immediate failure, they are often reinforced rather than corrected. Over time, the deviance becomes institutionalized. New members adopt it as the norm. “We’ve always done it this way” becomes both justification and defense.
In firearms training and other high-liability disciplines, procedural drift can manifest in countless ways. Grip pressure changes. Trigger manipulation evolves. Decision thresholds shift. Safety protocols are abbreviated. None of these changes feel dramatic in isolation. Collectively, however, they can fundamentally alter performance and risk profiles.
Why Requalification Exists
Professional duty carriers are required to requalify not merely to satisfy administrative requirements, but to accomplish two critical objectives. The first is to verify baseline competence. The second is to identify and correct procedural drift before it becomes entrenched.
Requalification is, at its best, a form of performance audit. It provides an external reference point against which internal perceptions can be tested. It interrupts the feedback loop that allows deviation to persist unchecked.
This same logic applies to armed private citizens and serious defensive practitioners. The absence of a formal requirement does not reduce the biological realities of learning and drift. In fact, it often increases the risk because there is no external mechanism for correction.
In my own practice, I routinely work with private students who schedule training audits on a quarterly or bi-annual basis. These sessions are not designed to introduce new material. They are designed to assess existing performance, identify deviations, and restore alignment with sound principles. They can be harsh, they can be raw, but they WILL disrupt the student’s “Hey, I GOT this” mentality with a stinging slap of reality. More often than not, the student is genuinely surprised by what we uncover. The errors are not gross. They are subtle. They have developed gradually, reinforced by repetition and masked by acceptable outcomes. Because the student is the source of the variation, they are often incapable of detecting it themselves. This phenomenon is known as change blindness.
The Cascading Effect of Small Changes
One of the most important insights I try to convey to instructors and students alike is that skills do not exist in isolation. A change in one component often necessitates compensatory changes elsewhere. When these compensations are unconscious, they create cascading effects. A slight alteration in grip may change recoil management. That change may prompt a timing adjustment in trigger press. That adjustment may influence sight tracking. Each step feels logical in isolation, yet the overall system drifts further from the original standard. Because the brain is solving for efficiency rather than fidelity, it rarely flags these changes as errors. Performance feels smooth, familiarity breeds confidence, and the illusion of mastery deepens.
This is why self-assessment is so unreliable in skills-based disciplines. Without an external reference, internal models dominate perception. The individual believes they are performing well because nothing feels wrong.
Training & Performance Audits, Not Affirmation
When mentoring instructors, I often use the analogy of vehicle maintenance. Driving a car more frequently does not improve its mechanical condition. Wear accumulates. Components degrade. Regular inspections and tune-ups are required to restore function and prevent failure.
Training is no different. Practice does not guarantee perfection. Practice guarantees adaptation. Without periodic audits, that adaptation may move performance in the wrong direction. High-quality instruction is not about affirmation. It is about correction. It is about identifying drift, challenging assumptions, and restoring alignment between intention and execution.
Many people avoid audits for the same reason they avoid mechanics. They are afraid of bad news. They prefer the comfort of believing they are competent to the discomfort of discovering they are not. From a NeuralTac perspective, this avoidance is itself a risk factor. It reinforces stability bias, sustains the illusion of learning, and allows procedural drift to continue unchecked.
Procedural Drift Is Not Just a Performance Problem. It Is a Liability Problem.
Up to this point, I have discussed procedural drift and normalization of deviance primarily through the lens of human performance, learning science, and safety culture. That discussion is incomplete if it stops there. In professional training environments, particularly those involving armed personnel, these phenomena are not merely instructional failures. They are legal exposure points.
When agencies fail to identify, correct, and actively mitigate procedural drift, they are not just allowing performance degradation. They are creating foreseeable risk. And in the legal landscape governing law enforcement and other quasi-governmental actors, foreseeable risk has consequences.
Under 18 U.S.C. § 1983, individuals acting under color of law may be held civilly liable for the deprivation of constitutional rights. What is often misunderstood is that this liability does not arise solely from intentional misconduct. It frequently emerges from systemic failures in training, supervision, and policy enforcement. When performance errors occur that can be traced back to deficient training practices, the question is no longer whether the officer or employee “meant well,” but whether the agency exercised deliberate indifference to known or obvious risks. This is where procedural drift and normalization of deviation become legally relevant.
Agencies rarely wake up one morning and decide to abandon standards. Instead, small deviations from policy or training protocols are tolerated because nothing bad happens immediately. A safety check is skipped without consequence. A qualification drill is altered for convenience. A deviation from established technique becomes routine because it appears to “work.” Over time, these deviations are no longer viewed as exceptions. They become the norm. New personnel are trained in the drifted version of the procedure, not the original standard. From a liability standpoint, this progression is dangerous.
Courts have repeatedly recognized that failure to train can constitute a basis for liability when it reflects a deliberate or conscious choice by the agency. This is the foundation of Monell liability. Under Monell v. Department of Social Services, an agency may be held liable when an unconstitutional act is the result of an official policy, custom, or practice. Importantly, “policy” does not have to be written. A persistent pattern of tolerated deviation can function as policy in practice. Normalization of deviance fits squarely within this framework.
When an agency knows, or reasonably should know, that performance standards are eroding, that instructors are allowing drift, or that qualifications are measuring outcomes rather than processes, continued inaction becomes evidence. The agency is no longer merely negligent. It is indifferent to the risk that its personnel will act outside constitutional bounds because their training no longer reflects defensible standards.
From a NeuralTac perspective, this is precisely why training audits matter. They are not cosmetic. They are not optional enhancements. They are a risk-management control.
Training audits interrupt the normalization process. They force comparison between work as imagined and work as actually performed. They surface deviations before those deviations calcify into custom. When audits are absent, irregular, or superficial, agencies lose the ability to credibly argue that they took reasonable steps to ensure lawful, competent performance. This distinction matters in litigation.
When a use-of-force incident is examined, plaintiff’s counsel will not limit their inquiry to the moment force was applied. They will examine training records, qualification protocols, instructor notes, and remedial practices. They will ask whether deviations were identified. They will ask whether they were corrected. They will ask whether instructors were empowered, trained, and required to enforce standards, or whether drift was tacitly accepted in the name of expediency. If the answer is that “we’ve always done it this way,” the agency has a problem.
Procedural drift is predictable. Normalization of deviance is well-documented. Courts understand this. Agencies that ignore these realities do so at their peril. The argument that an error was unforeseeable becomes increasingly untenable when the science of learning, the safety literature, and decades of case law all point to the same conclusion: uncorrected drift is not accidental. It is systemic.
For individual officers, this has personal consequences. For agencies, it has institutional consequences. Failure to implement disciplined, process-focused training audits does not merely increase performance variability. It increases exposure under § 1983 and strengthens Monell claims by demonstrating a lack of meaningful oversight.
The uncomfortable truth is this: agencies do not get sued simply because something went wrong. They get sued because something went wrong in a way that could have been prevented through reasonable training, supervision, and correction.
Procedural drift is not just a training flaw. It is a governance failure. And in high-liability environments, governance failures are rarely forgiven. This is why outcome-based qualification models are insufficient. This is why repetition without audit is dangerous. And this is why instructors, training supervisors, and command staff must understand that learning science is not academic trivia. It is part of their legal defense. Training that does not actively resist drift does not merely fail to improve performance. It builds the factual foundation for liability.
Challenge the Assumption
If there is a single takeaway from this discussion, it is this: challenge the assumption that time spent equals skill retained. Challenge the belief that passing a qualification means mastery. Challenge the idea that familiarity is evidence of competence.
True learning is not comfortable. It is not linear. It requires friction, feedback, and recalibration. It demands humility and a willingness to confront error.
The irony is that those who are most confident in their abilities are often the least resilient when those abilities are tested under unfamiliar conditions. Confidence built on illusion collapses quickly. Confidence built on disciplined audit and correction endures.
Professional gun carriers owe it to themselves to ensure that their proficiencies with firearms are valid, and that the training they receive does more than validate self-image or merely satisfy administrative “minimum standards of adequacy.” Proper and effective instruction should interrogate performance, expose procedural drift, and restore fidelity to sound principles.
The truth may be uncomfortable. But in high-liability environments, comfort is not the goal. Competence is.
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