This is my 200th blog post.

That number feels both impossible and deeply humbling.

As I write these words after several weeks of traveling from Charlotte to Maine, then to Orlando, and finally to Chicago, I cannot help but wonder what the person who wrote Blog Post Number One would think of the person writing Blog Post Number Two Hundred.

I imagine he would be surprised that the blog is still here.

He would marvel at watching three little girls grow into remarkable young women. He would be grateful for the unwavering love of an incredible wife who has stood beside him through seasons of joy, uncertainty, challenge, and hope. He would probably smile knowing that so much of life unfolded differently than he expected.

If I could sit across the table from that younger version of myself, I would not spend much time talking about titles, resumés, or accomplishments. I would encourage him to breathe more deeply, pray more often, trust his faith, and care for his nervous system as faithfully as he cares for everyone else. I would remind him that family always comes before work and that meaningful relationships will outlast recognition every single time.

Most of all, I would tell him to become more human-centered.

Two hundred blog posts later, I am still learning what that means.

My recent travels became an unexpected classroom.

Before heading to Orlando for the ISTE+ASCD Conference, Deb and I spent several peaceful days with family in Maine. Every morning, I found myself sitting quietly beside the lake, watching sunlight shimmer across the water. After a year filled with transition, those moments of stillness restored something within me. The lake reminded me that clarity often arrives when we finally become quiet enough to receive it.

Orlando continued the lesson.

One afternoon, I wandered into Park Ave CDs, a record store I had wanted to visit after doing some pre-trip research. A listening party for Madonna’s upcoming album filled the store with music, laughter, conversation, and people from every walk of life. I spent hours browsing records, discovering books, talking with strangers, and simply enjoying being present.

Before leaving, I thanked one of the employees for creating such a welcoming place.

The response has stayed with me ever since.

“We work to make this a safe space for everyone. We want everyone to belong.”

That simple sentence became one of the defining leadership lessons of my trip.

As the conference unfolded, I realized the moments that stayed with me had very little to do with keynote stages or crowded expo halls. They happened around dinner tables, over cups of coffee, during hallway conversations, and in those unplanned moments that never appear on a conference schedule.

One evening, I shared dinner with Matt Miller and Eric Nelson. Our conversation drifted toward teachers, leadership, AI, and one simple question that refuses to leave me: “How do we help teachers love teaching again?”

That conversation had very little to do with technology. It had everything to do with people.

Another morning, I shared coffee with Mandy Froehlich and Todd Whitaker. We laughed. We told stories. We talked about life more than the conference itself. Sometimes the best professional learning happens when nobody is trying to be professional.

I found myself reflecting in a crowded hallway with Chaunté Garrett and Craig Aarons-Martin about belonging in spaces like ISTE+ASCD. Conferences can be energizing, but they can also leave people wondering where they fit. Our conversation reminded me that belonging does not happen automatically. It happens because someone chooses to create space for another person.

During my virtual presentation on leadership in the age of AI, I found myself struggling with technology and timing. Right in the middle of it, Tamara Letter offered words of encouragement in the chat. It was a small gesture that made a tremendous difference. One voice reminding another person, “I’m with you,” can change everything.

Before my in-person presentation on #InstantPD, Natasha Nurse, Erik Francis, and Lindsey Cannon each offered encouragement in their own way. They reminded me that leadership is often quiet. Sometimes leadership is simply helping another person believe in themselves before they step into the room.

When it came time to facilitate my #InstantPD session, I found myself walking around the room before we even began. I wanted to greet people personally, thank them for coming, and learn their names. I cared less about how many people attended than I did about the people who had chosen to be there. Every educator deserved to know they mattered.

One of the greatest gifts of the conference came during an impromptu conversation with Angela Maiers. Sitting across from someone whose life’s work has centered on mattering felt less like meeting a renowned educator and more like sitting with someone who has spent years exploring many of the same questions that continue to shape my own journey. Our conversation reminded me that human centered leadership is not another initiative. It is a way of seeing people.

I experienced that same lesson while interviewing Jessica Garner. Somewhere along the way, our interview quietly transformed into a conversation. We explored artificial intelligence, differentiation, and learning, but what I remember most is the humanity that emerged when two people became curious together.

On the final day of the conference, I was wandering around looking for a place to rest. I ran into Greg Bagby and Cindy Gaston. After the warm words and welcoming, I asked what was on their respective turntables. That conversation became a communal sharing of music where we grooved, hummed, smiled, and connected to the beats being shared.

A few days later, Deb, my brother, my sister-in-law, and I visited the newly-opened Obama Presidential Center in Chicago.

Throughout the experience, one word kept appearing.

We.

It quietly echoed throughout the exhibits and invited every visitor to think beyond themselves. The recurring invitation to “Bring Change Home” reminded me that meaningful change begins in our families, our schools, our neighborhoods, and our communities. Lasting change has never belonged to one person. It grows wherever people choose to listen, encourage, and build something together.

As I reflected on Maine, Orlando, and Chicago, I realized they had all been teaching me the same lesson.

The lake.

The record store.

The dinner conversations.

The coffee.

The hallway encounters.

The encouraging text.

The shared laughter.

The presentation.

The interview.

The museum.

None of those moments were really about places.

They were about people.

After thousands of miles, countless conversations, and two hundred blog posts, I keep returning to the same simple truth:

People want to matter. People want to belong.

Connection is how we remind one another that we matter. Belonging is what makes us stay.

As I reflect on these travels and experiences, I remain grateful for YOU. Thanks for being sharing common ground with me and being such an essential part of the human journey.