Some mornings arrive heavier than others. You wake up carrying more than you expected, unsure where the weight came from, only knowing that it is there. In those moments, the quiet around your work, your words, and your efforts can feel louder than any criticism. This reflection comes from one of those mornings.
This blog post is a form of self-talk for me. It is equally written for anyone else who is struggling quietly right now.
Leadership can be deeply meaningful, but it can also be profoundly lonely. We are encouraged to share our thinking, our learning, and our growth. We are reminded that vulnerability builds trust and that authenticity matters. Still, there are times when we share something heartfelt. We direct it toward others or put it into the world with care, and nothing comes back. That absence can hurt in ways that are hard to explain.
I have learned that sometimes our ideas are not heard in our own backyard. That realization can sting, especially when the words came from a sincere and hopeful place. It is also why it is essential to find spaces and platforms where your voice can breathe. For me, that space is writing. It is blogging. It is podcasting. These are the places where I process, reflect, and continue learning out loud.
It is easy to fall into the trap of measuring impact by numbers. Views. Downloads. Likes. Shares. Over time, those metrics can quietly convince us that our work only matters if it reaches a certain volume. I am still unlearning that thinking. Today, I remind myself of something simple and grounding. If one person finds what they need in something I share, then the work has meaning. If one person feels seen or steadied for a moment, then the effort was worth it.
This reflection is a reminder to keep showing up anyway. It is an invitation to keep sharing your thoughts even when the response is uneven or delayed. It is a quiet act of trust in the belief that someone is listening, even when you cannot see them. The work of leadership is not about being the loudest voice in the room. It is about being a steady one.
I am writing this to remind myself that my voice still matters on the days when it feels unseen. I am also writing it for anyone else who needs permission to keep going without guarantees. The quiet does not mean you failed. Sometimes it simply means your words are traveling, settling, and finding their way to the right person at the right moment.
Hope does not always arrive with applause. Sometimes it shows up as resolve. Sometimes it shows up as consistency. Sometimes it shows up as choosing to center people over metrics and meaning over momentum.
For today, choosing to stay human in the work is enough.
There are albums that arrive in your life right on time. There are also albums that feel as if they have been waiting for you all along.
Neil Diamond’s Gold is that kind of record for me.
It was recorded live at the Troubadour on Santa Monica Boulevard in July of 1970. Just about ten miles away, in Inglewood, I was two months old and brand new to the world. I did not know it then, but something meaningful was happening nearby. A voice was finding its footing. A performer was stepping into himself. A bridge was being built toward what would come next.
I did not discover Gold until my junior year of college. I found it in a used record store in Washington, D.C., sometime around 1990 or 1991. I remember taking it back to my dorm room. I lowered the needle and felt something familiar. It was something I could not yet name. Even then, it sounded like an album caught between chapters. Confident, yet searching. Grounded, yet reaching.
That feeling has only deepened with time.
Gold captures Neil Diamond in a liminal season. He was between record labels. He had experienced success in the 1960s, yet the full arc of his 1970s creative breakthrough had not fully arrived. This was not a greatest hits collection, even though the title suggests one. It was something far more human. It was a document of becoming.
The band matters here. Carol Hunter’s guitar work has a raw edge. It gives the music a sense of forward motion. Her style was shaped by time alongside artists like Bob Dylan. Eddie Rubin’s drumming, informed by deep jazz roots and work with artists like Billie Holiday, brings both restraint and release. Randy Sterling’s bass provides an anchor that allows everything else to breathe. This was a group capable of listening, responding, and taking risks in real time. That truth is audible.
Then there is “Lordy.”
That song feels like a door being pushed open. Gospel-inflected. Theatrical. Unfiltered. It hints at the ambition that would soon fully emerge on Tap Root Manuscript. On this album, “Cracklin’ Rosie” would become Neil Diamond’s first number-one hit. “The African Trilogy” placed on Side 2 of that album would expand his songwriting into something expansive and cinematic. “Lordy” is not the destination. “Lordy” is the signal.
This is why Gold resonates so deeply with me right now.
I find myself in my own in-between season. Years of experience remain present. Familiar structures are loosening their grip. Listening has become more important than certainty. This album reminds me that the middle matters. The bridge is not wasted time. Confidence is often built quietly in rooms that do not yet resemble arenas.
My connection to Gold also brings to mind the film Song Sung Blue. I love that movie deeply. The film is based on the real life story of Mike and Claire Sardina, who form a Neil Diamond tribute band known as Lightning & Thunder. Watching the two main characters played by Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson is profoundly life-affirming. They challenge the impossible until it becomes possible. The film honors persistence, hope, and belief without irony. It treats becoming with dignity. The music performances are truly “so good, so good!”
That same spirit lives inside Gold.
This record honors the becoming.
This post accompanies the latest episode of #LeadershipLinerNotes. In it, I share more about this album and the Troubadour. I explain why this particular season of my life feels so closely tied to it. You can listen to the podcast version here: Spotify/Megaphone:
I would love to know what your Gold has been. Was there an album, moment, or season that met you in the middle? Did it quietly remind you that something meaningful was still unfolding? Please share in the comments. I would love to hear from you.
Sometimes the gold is not found at the beginning. Sometimes the gold is not waiting at the end. Sometimes the gold lives right in the in-between.
Some blog posts arrive quietly. Others land with weight and warmth.
When Lauren Kaufman’s latest post, People Come First, landed in my inbox, I paused before opening it. Not out of hesitation, but out of trust. I knew, just as I always do, that I would walk away feeling enriched. I would feel inspired. I would be nudged to be better in my own practice after reading her words.
That has been the gift of being a long time reader of Lauren’s work. It has also been the gift of friendship and thought partnership with Lauren.
Lauren Kaufman is a district leader, a disciplined weekly blogger, and the author of the inspiring book The Leader Inside. She is also someone who writes from lived experience, not from a pedestal. Her posts are never about performance. They are about presence.
Her blog consistently shows up with clarity and heart. When her writing lands in my inbox, I know I will be enriched, inspired, and motivated. Lauren has a way of making her words resonate so deeply that you want to do better and be better.
In People Come First, she reflects on a poignant exchange with another human being. The moment is simple on the surface, yet profound in its implications. The post does not rush toward resolution. It does not offer a checklist or a framework. It invites the reader to slow down and sit with what it truly means to show up for someone else.
That restraint is precisely what makes it powerful.
Here’s the Core of What It Shows
At its heart, this post is about listening. Not listening as a leadership move or a strategic tool, but listening as an act of humanity.
As I continue to delve deeper into human-centered leadership, Lauren’s words echoed something I have been reflecting on myself. Sincere and deep listening is not an accessory to leadership. It is an entry point.
To listen well is to communicate worth. To listen deeply is to make space. To listen without fixing is to honor someone’s story.
Lauren reminds us that people do not need us to be impressive. They need us to be present.
What This Stirred in Me
Reading this post led me to reflect on how often leadership culture rewards speed over stillness. We are praised for having answers, for moving quickly, and for resolving things efficiently.
The leaders who have shaped me most were the ones who slowed the moment down. They listened without interruption. They stayed curious. They did not rush me toward clarity before I was ready. Lauren is one of those leaders for me and so many others.
Lauren’s post reinforced a truth I am still learning. Human centered leadership begins long before we speak. It begins in how we listen.
A Thought Partnership That Matters
Lauren is also my most frequent guest on my podcast, Leadership Liner Notes, and the unofficial executive producer of the show. Our conversations consistently ground me and stretch my thinking.
One of our most recent episodes was a co-hosted conversation celebrating and amplifying the work of Elizabeth Dampf, author of Am I Cut Out for This?. The episode explored self doubt, courage, and staying rooted in purpose.
This “Inc. Magazine” piece goes beyond business strategy and gets at something deeper: the human need for connection. The idea of the third place reminds us that people are not looking for more transactions. They are looking for places and cultures where they feel seen, welcomed, and able to belong.
That idea matters far beyond coffee shops. I do appreciate the intentionality Starbucks is doing to create a meaningful and human-centered experience for their customers.
Here’s the Core of What It Shows
When organizations intentionally design spaces that invite people to slow down, connect, and stay awhile, trust and loyalty follow. The article reinforces that strong leadership is not about efficiency alone. It is about creating environments where relationships can take root and people feel grounded.
That is the heart of human centered leadership.
Why This Connects to My Work
This concept echoes the work I collaborated on with Dr. Andrea Trudeau during our ISTE+ASCD Webinar Series and poster session at the ISTE+ASCD Conference in San Antonio. It also aligns closely with the conversations Dr. Sonia Matthew and I are exploring in an upcoming podcast series focused on human centered leadership.
Whether in schools, organizations, or communities, leaders shape the culture by shaping the spaces people experience every day.
Bottom Line
Leadership is not just what we measure or manage. It is what we build for people to gather, connect, and belong. This article is a timely reminder that presence still matters and so does place.
I just read this great leadership article in Inc. Magazine. I’m really impressed because it looks at leadership in ways that feel fresh. These perspectives are relevant outside of the typical education leadership lens.
As someone who is an unabashed geek and reader, I am committed as a leader to enlarging my learning. I want to use this blog platform to share my learning. It will also hold me accountable to consistent growth as a leader. You are invited to join on this journey with me. I hope you’ll get a lot out of it, too: 👉 https://bit.ly/3L05k7h
Why it’s worth your time:
The piece highlights that the best leaders don’t just manage. They behave differently. Their actions build trust, enhance performance, and create real connections with their teams. These aren’t complicated tricks or buzzwords they’re simple behaviors that most leaders actually skip.
Here’s the core of what it shows:
• Great leaders model servant leadership. They put people first focus on clarity and support and prioritize team success over ego. • These actions build trust and performance not just productivity. • The article comes from Marcel Schwantes a seasoned leadership coach and Inc. contributing editor so the ideas are practical and grounded in real world experience.
I always appreciate the learning from Inc. Magazine especially when it intersects with leadership in ways that resonate outside traditional education circles.
I keep returning to the same conviction lately. Leadership is not supposed to cost us our humanity.
That belief feels more urgent now than ever. Human centered leadership is not a slogan or a presentation slide. It is a way of being that honors dignity, presence, and care. It resists the temptation to reduce people to metrics, optics, or short term performance. It recognizes the unseen weight others carry and chooses compassion anyway.
This season has tested me in ways I did not anticipate. The pressure to produce test scores has felt relentless and narrow. Health scares forced me to stop and confront my own limits without avoidance. Failure has spoken loudly at times and left me questioning my impact and my place. There were moments when leadership felt less like calling and more like endurance.
Over time, I have begun to see that failure does not always signal an ending. Sometimes it offers an invitation.
Stepping away from a role I once loved because my health required it was hard. That decision still aches occasionally, but I know that I am a better person for my family. At the same time, it created space for a new beginning. I could not see it at first. It has helped me realize I was not a failure in that gig. I was holding on too tightly to the demands of the gig that I could not see straight. I experienced another new beginning. I reached out to start a book study in my current gig. Unfortunately, no one joined. That disappointment lingered, yet the act of reaching out still mattered. My account on X was hacked and ultimately deactivated. What initially felt like loss became an unexpected redirection toward platforms where connection feels more personal and more grounded.
This season reminds me often of Paul McCartney in the immediate aftermath of The Beatles’ breakup.
McCartney did not emerge from that moment with certainty or acclaim. His first solo album, “McCartney,” was raw, homemade, and introspective. Critics dismissed it as unfinished and small. What they missed was the deeper truth. McCartney was not chasing relevance. He was healing. He was rebuilding quietly. He was making music not for applause, but for survival and clarity.
That period was not a collapse. It was a recalibration.
That analogy resonates deeply with me right now. I am not trying to recreate a past version of myself or chase a louder stage. I am learning how to rebuild in a way that is sustainable, honest, and aligned with who I am becoming. The work has become quieter, but it has also become truer.
That sense of recalibration followed me recently while watching “CBS Sunday Morning.” A segment on an upcoming book by Dr. Ezekiel Emanuel titled Eat More Ice Cream stayed with me, particularly his advice for 2026. He spoke about the importance of developing social relationships for well being and longevity. That message landed deeply. I know I need to invest more intentionally in connection. I know there may be times when invitations do not come. That possibility still stings. The commitment to reaching out remains because isolation is not sustainable for any of us. I didn’t get any takers on that book study I mentioned. But I did take a giant step to reach out to others, and that is o.k.
Leadership can be lonely. I want to name that for anyone who feels unseen or alienated right now. I have been there. I still visit that place at times. Reaching out can feel vulnerable and risky, yet it remains essential. No one should feel invisible while carrying responsibility for others.
I was reminded again of what human centered leadership looks like through my three adult daughters. Watching them lead with empathy, courage, and quiet awareness in different capacities affirmed this kind of leadership. It shows what leadership looks like when it is lived rather than announced. That moment grounded me. It also reinforced my belief that the future deserves better models than the ones we often elevate today.
There is still an ache present in my life on occasion. Gratitude and struggle exist side by side. I remain deeply thankful for the steady support of my wife and for the ongoing work of therapy. Healing continues to teach me patience, humility, and honesty. Leadership demands the same posture.
Frank Sinatra’s “Cycles” has been playing often in my space lately. The message of that particular song feels fitting. Life moves in seasons. Endings and beginnings overlap more than we like to admit. Growth rarely arrives without discomfort. As leaders, it is important for us to strive for that constant path towards growth.
As I continue writing my upcoming second book, Leadership Riffs, clarity keeps emerging as wrestle with the ideas shared here. This work is not about spotlighting me. It is about amplifying others. I want my platforms to honor educators and leaders who show up quietly, consistently, and with courage. I want to praise those doing the real work of human-centered leadership. I also want to gently drown out the noise of performative leadership. This noise is loud, fleeting, and hollow.
There is no One Word guiding me this year. There is no formal New Year’s Resolution.
There is simply a commitment.
A commitment to purpose. A commitment to humanity. A commitment to reaching out even when the response is uncertain. A commitment to acknowledging and celebrating those who lead with sincerity, care, and belonging.
That is where I am right now. Still spinning. Still rebuilding. Still choosing what matters.
The other day, I had the privilege of speaking with a former superintendent from the early days of my principalship in Winston-Salem. It was one of those conversations that stays with you long after it ends. I felt deeply grateful for her wisdom, for the lessons she shared years ago, and for the way she continues to lead with humility and care.
At one point, our conversation turned to belonging. We did not speak of it as a buzzword or a program. We spoke of it as a fundamental human need in schools and in leadership. That moment mattered. It affirmed something that has been awakening in me over the past year and a half, a journey that began after my heart episode and has been deepened through therapy, reflection, and honest reckoning with myself. That conversation did not begin this journey, but it reignited it. It reminded me that leadership, at its best, is rooted in humanity.
That conversation also made something painfully clear.
The leadership we are currently celebrating in too many spaces is missing the mark.
Many systems have become overly reliant on noise, metrics, programs, and performance. Visibility is often mistaken for value. Activity is often mistaken for impact. Standing on tables, creating a staged video, or chasing what is trending is frequently confused with leadership. In the process, we are losing sight of what actually sustains schools and the people inside them.
A line from Dr. Donya Ball has been echoing in my mind ever since that conversation: “One of the biggest leadership turn offs is the leader who chases public recognition instead of private excellence.”
That distinction matters now more than ever.
Private excellence is where real leadership lives. It lives in quiet conversations. It lives in trust built over time. It lives in making people feel seen, heard, and valued when no one is watching. That is where belonging is cultivated, not performed. I am grateful for the inspiring words and thought partnership of Dr. Donya Ball. She is definitely a worthwhile addition to any Professional Learning Network.
Greater care is also required in choosing the voices we amplify. Many voices offer quick solutions and so-called fixes to deeply complex problems of practice. Some of those voices have not been in a classroom or schoolhouse doing the work in years. Others sell packaged answers designed more for self promotion than service. Discernment matters, because what we consume shapes what we believe leadership is supposed to look like.
There are sincere voices doing this work with integrity. These are leaders who stay close to schools, who listen more than they sell, and who center belonging over branding. That sincerity feels harder to find than it once was, which makes intentional discernment even more important.
The voices worth seeking are those that foster belonging, courage, and empowerment. They honor the complexity of schools. They understand that innovation does not come in a package and that transformation cannot be rushed.
This moment calls for a return to something more human. It calls for leadership that is analog in spirit and rooted in connection rather than consumption.
I often think about The Beatles performing Hey Judeon the David Frost Show in 1968. As the song reached its closing chorus, the band invited a diverse group of audience members to gather around them. Everyone sang together. There was no hierarchy in that moment and no spotlight chasing. There was shared humanity in action. Everyone had a place in the song.
That image offers a powerful metaphor for the leadership we need now.
Belonging is not an accessory to leadership. Belonging is the entry point. It is the foundation that allows people to take risks, grow, and contribute their gifts. My father used to say, “Everybody starts, everybody plays.” That belief has never felt more urgent.
Schools are facing real challenges. Budgets are shrinking. Demands are increasing. Pipelines into teaching and leadership are fragile. Burnout is widespread and cannot be resolved through another initiative or an unfunded mandate. This is not the moment to double down on outdated leadership playbooks.
There is still reason for hope. Educators continue to make a profound difference in the lives of others. This moment invites leaders to pause and reflect. It encourages them to reimagine how school communities are served in ways that are sustainable, affirming, and deeply human. We need to change the conversation on what it means to lead in schools. We must invite everyone to the table for this much-needed crucial conversation.
A few places offer meaningful starting points:
-Leaders can create intentional space for reflection in daily practice. They should treat it as a priority rather than an add on. -Leaders can commit to real conversations that center around listening and learning. -Leaders can commit to building belonging first, knowing everything else grows from that foundation.
School leadership is overdue for a renaissance. That renaissance must be rooted in presence, humility, and courage. When leaders dare to lead from the heart and make belonging the work, leadership can once again be reclaimed as a human act rather than a spectacle.
Author’s Note
This piece was written as an invitation rather than an indictment. It reflects a personal and professional awakening shaped by lived experience, reflection, and honest conversations about what leadership demands in this moment. The hope is that it encourages thoughtful pause, renewed discernment, and a recommitment to leadership grounded in humanity.
I recently read an article in Inc. that stopped me in my tracks. It argued that curiosity, not coding, is the most essential trait leaders will need for the future of work. That idea resonated deeply because it echoes what many of us in education feel but often struggle to defend. Human centeredness matters. Curiosity matters. Schools often over rely on test scores. They depend too much on canned surveys and unfunded mandates. As a result, we miss the very conditions that allow real learning to take root.
Curiosity is not an add on. Curiosity is not a kit. Curiosity is not a scripted program rolled out with fidelity checklists. Curiosity is a mindset embedded in culture. It shapes how people ask questions, how they listen, and how they engage with uncertainty. When curiosity is confined to a STEM lab or a special event, the message becomes clear. Wonder is optional. Compliance is the goal.
That is not the world our students are walking into now.
A culture of curiosity cannot exist without belonging. Students do not take intellectual risks in spaces where they do not feel seen, valued, and safe. Teachers do not model curiosity in environments where trust is fragile. Leaders cannot inspire curiosity without the conviction that belonging matters first.
Belonging is the catalyst.
When students feel they belong, they ask better questions. When teachers feel they belong, they experiment. When leaders build belonging intentionally, curiosity follows naturally. Culture is not built through slogans on the wall. Culture is built through interactions, shared experiences, and the daily signals that tell people they matter.
This belief was reinforced for me at the ISTE+ASCD Conference in San Antonio this past summer. One of the keynotes was delivered by Scott Shigeoka, author of Seek: How Curiosity Can Transform Your Life and Change the World. His message was powerful and deeply affirming. He shared research that shows deep curiosity strengthens relationships, expands empathy, and fuels innovation. Curiosity, he reminded us, is an invitation. An invitation to seek. An invitation to share what we are learning. An invitation to be open to one another.
That keynote moved me so much that I left the session and immediately bought his book for myself and for a friend. It raised questions that continue to linger. What if we inspired curiosity without inhibition? What if we were curious about each other’s gifts? What if curiosity became a shared practice rather than a private trait?
These ideas are not theoretical for me.
Years ago, when I served as principal of a STEAM Magnet Middle School, we intentionally stepped outside the schoolhouse to experience innovation in action. We formed a community partnership with the Innovation Quarter in Winston Salem, a living ecosystem of research, entrepreneurship, and collaboration. The most important decision was sending teachers first.
Teachers visited the space. Teachers listened to innovators describe their work. Teachers asked questions about how ideas move from concept to impact. No binders were handed out. No scripts were followed. Conversations emerged organically. Beliefs began to shift. Instruction changed because mindsets changed.
This work is possible in any schoolhouse.
Here are practical first steps leaders can take to build a culture of curiosity grounded in belonging.
Start with a PLC on Curiosity Begin by naming curiosity as a shared value. Use a PLC to explore what curiosity looks like in classrooms, adult learning, and leadership practice. Invite teachers to reflect on when they feel most curious and when students seem most engaged. Anchor the conversation in real experiences rather than initiatives. Curiosity grows when people feel heard.
Lead With Questions Model curiosity as a leader. Replace quick answers with thoughtful questions during meetings, walkthroughs, and coaching conversations. Ask students what they are wondering. Ask teachers what they are noticing. Ask teams what might happen if they tried something new. Questions communicate trust and signal that thinking matters.
Build Authentic Problem Based Experiences Design learning experiences connected to real problems students care about. Invite students to tackle challenges in their school or community. Allow them to research, collaborate, and present solutions. Authentic problems invite ownership and deepen belonging because students see their voices matter.
Schedule Time for Curiosity Schools protect time for silent reading because literacy matters. Curiosity deserves the same respect. Build dedicated time into the master schedule for inquiry, exploration, and passion projects. This time might look like Genius Hour, inquiry labs, or interdisciplinary exploration blocks. Time signals value.
Partner With Innovative Organizations Seek partnerships with businesses or organizations where innovation is embedded in the culture. Invite professionals to share how curiosity drives their work. Organize site visits for staff. Allow students to see curiosity modeled beyond the classroom walls. Exposure expands possibility.
I am over test scores and canned surveys being the primary guides for the work that needs to be done in service of students. Data has a place, but humanity must lead. Human centered schools create the conditions for belonging. Belonging ignites curiosity. Curiosity fuels learning that lasts.
If schools are to prepare students for an unknown future, leaders must have the courage to protect curiosity and the conviction to build belonging. This work is bold. This work is attainable. This work is necessary.
Curiosity is not a distraction from achievement. Curiosity is the pathway.
As the year winds down, our inboxes begin to tell a familiar story.
Year-end notices arrive in waves. Deadlines stack up. Checklists multiply. There is an understandable push toward closure, accountability, and tying up loose ends. Much of it is necessary. Much of it is also draining, especially in a profession where the emotional labor rarely slows down.
Then, there is Spotify Wrapped.
Every year, I look forward to it in a way that surprises me. Wrapped does not ask me to prove anything. It does not measure me against anyone else. Instead, it reflects back what I returned to over time. It names patterns. It celebrates consistency. It turns data into story.
No surprise that The Beatles were once again at the top of my list. It also did not surprise me to see that I landed in the top point five percent of listeners globally. That statistic is fun, but what matters more is what sits beneath it. These are the songs I go back to when I need grounding. The music that meets me where I am and helps me remember who I am.
That contrast stayed with me.
Wrapped invites reflection. School systems often rush toward evaluation. Both look back, but they do so with very different intentions.
The Leadership Reset That Sparked the Idea
This idea began to take shape during a Leadership Reset I have been practicing and sharing with others. You can see an earlier blog post on The Leadership Reset here. It is intentionally simple and designed to fit into real days, not ideal ones. It does not need special materials or extended time. Just a few minutes of presence.
The 3 Minute Leadership Reset
Step 1. Take a Breath for 30 seconds Close your eyes if you can. Inhale slowly and say to yourself, I am still here. Exhale and say, I am enough. Repeat this three times. Let your shoulders drop and your breathing slow. This is the act of reclaiming your space in the moment.
Step 2. Anchor in Gratitude for 1 minute Ask yourself quietly: What one small moment today reminded me I am alive? What one connection, a smile, a song, a student, gave me a spark? What one thing am I proud of, even if no one noticed it? Write it down or say it aloud. These moments are leadership echoes that ripple outward even when they feel small.
Step 3. Affirm and Reframe for 1 minute Say these words out loud, slowly and intentionally: I am not invisible. I am building something that lasts beyond applause. My work is meaningful, even when it is quiet. The music I make through service, kindness, and creativity still plays, whether or not the crowd is listening. Let these words settle. This is the act of tuning yourself back to the right frequency.
Step 4. Reconnect for 30 seconds Before moving on with your day, take one small action to reconnect: Send a brief message to a friend or colleague. Offer a kind word to a student or staff member. Play a song that brings you joy. These micro moments rebuild our leadership core from the inside out.
As I reached this final step, I pressed play on “Now and Then” by The Beatles. It was my number one song again for the second year in a row on my Spotify Wrapped List.
There was something deeply fitting about that moment.
The song carries themes of time, memory, and continuity. It reminds us that voices can still be heard long after the room grows quiet. That truth feels especially relevant in schools, where so much meaningful work happens without applause or recognition.
Leadership is not always loud. Teaching is not always visible. Learning does not always announce itself on a dashboard.
But the work still plays.
What If Schools Had a Wrapped Moment?
Spotify Wrapped works because it tells a story of return. It shows us what we came back to again and again when no one was watching. It honors presence over perfection and patterns over isolated moments. It gives language to what sustained us.
What if we borrowed that spirit in our classrooms and schoolhouses?
Not as another initiative. Not as something to hand in or score. Not as a tool for comparison.
But as an invitation.
A moment to pause. A chance to reflect on the year through a human lens. A way to help students, teachers, and leaders feel seen in a season that often feels rushed.
Your Year Wrapped
A Reflection Template for Classrooms, Teams, and School Communities
This reflection can be used in many ways. It serves as a journaling activity. It can spark a classroom conversation. It can act as a PLC opener. It can also be a quiet end-of-year pause during a staff meeting. There are no right answers and no expectations for sharing. The goal is reflection, not performance.
Most Revisited Moment What moment from this year did you find yourself returning to in your thoughts or conversations? What made it stay with you?
Most Meaningful Connection Who made this year better simply by being part of it? This could be a student, a colleague, a mentor, or someone outside of school who helped you keep perspective.
The Song That Carried You What song, quote, book, prayer, or moment gave you comfort? What gave you energy when you needed it most? Why did it matter?
A Quiet Win What is something you are proud of that did not receive recognition or attention? What does that say about the kind of work you value?
Your Growth Genre In what ways did you grow this year, even if it felt uncomfortable, unfinished, or messy? What did you learn about yourself?
Your Comeback Track On hard days, what helped you reset and keep going? What practices, people, or routines supported you?
Your Hope for What Comes Next What do you want to carry forward into the next season with intention and care?
This kind of reflection helps us name what often goes unnoticed. It gives dignity to effort, presence, and perseverance.
Why This Matters
In education, we spend a lot of time focusing on gaps and goals. We analyze what is missing, what needs to improve, and what did not move fast enough. That work has its place, but it cannot be the only story we tell.
Reflection like this builds belonging. It helps people feel valued for who they are, not just what they produce. It reminds students that their experiences matter. It helps teachers reconnect with purpose. It allows leaders to remember why they chose this work in the first place.
Most importantly, it creates space for humanity in systems that often move too quickly to notice it.
Press Play Before the Year Ends
Before we close the year with another notice or checklist, perhaps we take an intentional pause.
We take a breath. We reflect on what carried us. We press play on what still brings us joy and meaning.
The music we make through service, kindness, and creativity still plays whether or not the crowd is listening. That work echoes in ways we may never fully see.
And sometimes, that is exactly enough.
If you try a Year Wrapped reflection in your classroom or school, I would love to hear how it goes. Please feel free to leave a comment here or tag me on social media. This work is better when we share the music that keeps us grounded and moving ahead.
I remember being one of the last kids picked for kickball. Standing there in the dust with my hands in my pockets, waiting for someone to call my name. Everyone else seemed to belong somewhere. Everyone else seemed to have a team. That feeling has followed me into adulthood more times than I care to admit.
It rises up again whenever I put something out into the world and the room stays quiet. Every blog post. Every episode. Every reflection. Each one is a small act of courage. Each one is a piece of my soul placed gently on the table. Yet the silence that follows can hit with the same sting I felt on that kickball field.
There are days when it feels like no one wants me in their band. No replies. No call backs. No echoes of connection. I have chosen two of the loneliest gigs in the world. Leadership asks you to walk into the unknown even when no one notices. Writing asks you to offer your heart with no promise that anyone will take it. There is no applause built into any of this. There is no guarantee that your work will lead to opportunity.
So I have to keep the faith that there are quiet listeners out there. I have to trust that someone is reading or watching or absorbing even if I never hear the echo. I have to accept that my work may never be seen by the people I wish would see it. I have to keep creating anyway because that is the only way I can stay true to myself.
When doubt begins to weigh me down, I think of George Harrison. In the latter days of The Beatles, he felt like an outsider in his own band. His songs were often pushed aside. Yet he kept writing. He kept believing in his sound. Even in those difficult seasons, he delivered “Something” and “Here Comes The Sun.” Those songs became the heart of what many considered to be their greatest album, “Abbey Road.”
Then came the moment when his backlog of unheard songs found their place. “All Things Must Pass “emerged as a three album masterpiece by George Harrison. A triumph born from years of quiet rejection. A reminder that some brilliance finds its home only after the world grows ready for it. That album just celebrated its fifty fifth anniversary. It is a cherished album for me. It reminds me that the work we create in the shadows can one day light the way for someone else.
Maybe the same can be true for me. I have been part of good bands in my life. Maybe one more band is still out there. Until then, I will keep the faith even when the room feels quiet. I will write anyway. I will lead anyway. I will create anyway.
Because someone somewhere may need the sound I am trying to make. Even if I never hear the echo, the act of making it still matters.
Leadership Liner Notes: Sean Gaillard 