“You’re dead.”

My hand was on the gun, but he was too close—and his knife was even closer. I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath. I was going to pull the trigger. I tried to recall the training by Officer Beers—the exceptions—the guidance: don’t escalate, don’t use excessive force, evaluate the individual.

The man seemed dejected—and angry. He wouldn’t tell me his name. He moved slowly and brought the knife to his neck. Deadly force should not be used against a person who is only a threat to themselves-unless the individual poses an imminent threat of danger or serious physical injury to the officer or others in close proximity. The man lowered his hand that clutched the knife, stopping at his waist. The blade was illuminated by the spotlight. The man was talking now, moving slowly in my direction- is that too close?

I ordered him to stop- louder this time, trying to will him to comply.

I released the safety clasp on my holster.

I started to pull out my gun- I hesitated—for a moment.

He moved. Too quickly.

And then it happened.

I was dead.
Game over.

My shoulders slumped as I turned toward the police vehicle I had driven into the dimly lit warehouse at the Truckee Town Public Service Center just six minutes earlier. I was stunned by how fast everything had unfolded—yet somehow, it all felt like it had happened in slow motion. I had responded to a report of a despondent male in a vehicle. After pulling into the warehouse, I flipped the switch to activate the spotlight on the side of the vehicle and stepped out—donning a bulletproof vest, my hand hovering near the Glock 22 in the duty holster strapped to my waist. I was prepared to help. But it was so much more complicated than that. I now know—that’s usually the case.

I had started the evening’s training with the Truckee Police Department (TPD) filled with cautious optimism about my mental acuity and my ability to assess people, situations, and respond accordingly. I was finishing the evening with humility, self-effacement, and a profound appreciation for the mental calculus law enforcement officers must perform daily—and often in life-or-death situations. I was safe—the environment was controlled, but the experience was sobering. I was reminded of the adage: “Don’t judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.”

My adrenaline producing experience was part of a training simulation orchestrated by the skilled instructors at TPD for the Truckee Chief’s Advisory Committee (CAC), a group of engaged citizens who meet monthly with TPD Chief Danny Renfrow, Lieutenants Kyle Vickers and Lisa Madden (and of course, the beloved mascot Captain Mugz) to share community feedback, discuss ideas and improvements, and work toward the overall goal of strengthening the bond between TPD and our community.

I am currently in my fourth year as a member of the CAC. Our meetings are educational and often filled with spirited conversations that deepen our understanding of community needs and public safety issues. Truckee Town Manager Jen Callaway regularly joins us to keep CAC informed on the latest Truckee news, key projects, and community initiatives. Over the years, we’ve had the opportunity to engage with a variety of experts and public safety professionals, including Robert Womack, former Emergency Services Manager for the Town of Truckee, and Shannon Decker, Co-Founder and Executive Director of The Speedy Foundation and member of the Know Overdose Nevada County Coalition.

I always leave CAC meetings more informed—and sometimes frustrated. The reality is the issues facing our community are layered, nuanced, and often without easy solutions. I’m grateful for the community members, leaders and professionals who show up, lean in, and work tirelessly to do the right thing for Truckee.

And the simulation? It underscored that appreciation in a way nothing else ever has.

The truth is, as a former criminal defense attorney and prosecutor, I spent over 15 years evaluating thousands of police reports—scrutinizing every decision and every action made by law enforcement. I have examined hundreds of officers on the witness stand, assessing their compliance with the law and officer standards. In theory, I thought I understood the job of law enforcement.

But theory doesn’t replicate the flood of information—or the lack of it—when you’re face-to-face with someone in crisis. It doesn’t simulate the weight of uncertainty, the split-second calculations, or the consequences of hesitation. It doesn’t teach you how to stay calm when someone is yelling at you, trying to force a reaction; and it doesn’t prepare you for walking up to a stranger in a dark car not knowing what is going to come out of the window.

In the safety of a courtroom, I could analyze the actions and decisions of an officer with precision and detachment. In that warehouse, suited up and staring down a man with a knife—even knowing it was just a simulation, I felt the raw weight of every decision.… all in real time.

That training simulation gave me something the courtroom never could: perspective. It didn’t just teach me about tactics or protocols—it gave me a deeper respect for the complexity, responsibility, and humanity that officers carry with them every day. I can humbly admit, I know law enforcement is a job I neither have the courage, demeanor or selflessness for.

I am thankful for the officers and staff at the Truckee Police Department. They do an incredible job keeping our town safe and thriving, and they do so with professionalism, compassion, and a commitment to our community.

Traci S. Mason is an attorney at Porter Simon licensed in California. She is the lead attorney for the firm’s Family Law Division where she focuses on all aspects of family law. Traci can be reached at mason@portersimon.com or http://www.portersimon.com.