Leadership Riffs

Noticing Is A Leadership Practice

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I have been thinking a great deal about noticing lately.

My current morning reading is The Power of Mattering by Zach Mercurio, and one chapter in particular has stayed with me. The chapter explores noticing as the first step toward helping people feel they matter. That idea has lingered with me long after I closed the book.

Two recent experiences reinforced that lesson. Both of them occurred in close proximity to each other and I believe the timing of the impact is of significance. Recently, I have been recalibrating my approach and taking proactive steps to reach out to others. I have been in the occasional doldrums of wondering why the phone wasn’t ringing for me or why my shoulder wasn’t being tapped for invitations. I decided to just simply outreach and share.

In each instance, I reached out to someone. In each instance, my outreach was met with silence. Neither situation was catastrophic. Neither involved ill intent, at least as far as I know. Both, however, reminded me of something deeply human. We notice when we are not noticed. It can sting and it does leave a mark.

That realization could have easily led me toward disappointment or resentment. Instead, it led me toward reflection. I decided to flip my own paradigm of giving into the weight of those doldrums. I stepped back and took a pause to reflect.

As I looked inward, I reflected on the times that I may have missed noticing someone else. I thought about the times that I failed to really see someone. How often have I unintentionally done the same thing to someone else?

Leadership has taught me many lessons over the years, but this one reaches beyond leadership. Every one of us wants to know that our presence matters. Every one of us wants to know that someone saw us, heard us, and cared enough to respond. We crave to be valued and validated. Those connections sustain and inspire. We feel connection and belonging with others. Human connection is universal and is an essential component for our well-being.

Noticing is never just about acknowledgement. It is about communicating, “I see you. You matter.”

The opposite carries weight as well. Silence often says more than we intend.

My recent experiences became unexpected gifts. They reminded me to respond. They reminded me to follow up. They reminded me that connection rarely happens by accident. It happens because someone makes the intentional choice to notice another person.

The more I read Mercurio’s work, the more I believe that noticing is not simply a leadership competency. It is a human practice. Leaders certainly need it, but so do neighbors, friends, colleagues, spouses, teachers, and strangers.

Recently, I have also been immersed in the music of the Bill Evans Trio. Listening closely to those recordings reveals something remarkable. Three musicians are not simply playing at the same time. They are listening to one another. Every phrase is met with another phrase. Every musical idea is acknowledged, expanded, or gently redirected. Space is given. Responses matter. The music exists because each musician notices the others.

Leadership works much the same way.

Organizations become healthier when people feel noticed. Relationships deepen when people feel heard. Cultures of mattering begin with small moments of intentional attention.

Noticing is the first note.

Connection is the melody.

Mattering is what people remember long after the conversation ends.

Here’s to continuing the conversation.

Want to Continue the Conversation?

I am available to serve as a thought partner, speaker, and leadership coach for individuals, teams, and organizations seeking to build more human centered cultures. My work focuses on helping leaders create spaces where people feel seen, valued, supported, and empowered to succeed.

I would be honored to connect, listen, and explore how we might work together. Please feel free to drop me a line at sgaillard84@gmail.com and check out the links below here:

Sean Gaillard
Founder & CEO | The Gaillard Group
Author • Speaker • Leadership Coach

Helping People and Organizations Succeed

🎙 Resources, Podcasts & Blog: https://linktr.ee/smgaillard

 Speaking, Coaching & Workshops: https://bit.ly/4vhd8T7

Sometimes Healing Looks Like a Bicycle Ride

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Two years ago, I probably would have said no. I would have found an excuse. I would have allowed fear, discomfort, or uncertainty to talk me out of the moment. My eyes would have remained fixed on an email, a text, or a document. I would have been determined to beat the clock or conquer another deadline.

This time, I said yes.

My daughter Rachel suggested that we ride bikes together at Sunset Beach. She had mentioned the idea to my wife, Deb, before, but I had been noncommittal. I had not ridden a bike in years, and Rachel gently reminded me of something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Dad, we’ve never ridden bikes together.”

She was right. We borrowed a few bikes stored at the house we were renting, and I wondered whether I would remember how to ride. I did.

Before long, I was smiling, laughing, and waving to people as we passed them. I wished strangers a good morning. I rode between Deb and Rachel, overwhelmed by the beauty and simplicity of the moment.

I could hear Mike Nesmith’s “Rio” playing in my mind. A lyric from the song found its way to my lips, and I softly sang, “I feel such a sense of well being. The problems have come to be solved.”

No, the problems had not disappeared. The professional disappointments were still there. The questions about purpose, belonging, and what comes next had not suddenly been answered. The pangs of imposter syndrome and professional loneliness still gnawed at me. For that moment, though, none of them controlled me. All I cared about was mattering to my wife and daughter and helping them feel that they mattered to me.

Deb, riding behind me, softly said, “This wouldn’t have happened two years ago.”

She was right. Two years ago, I would have found a way out of the ride. I would have stayed behind, protected by what felt familiar and safe. This time, I got on the bike.

As I rode through the streets of Sunset Beach, tears rolled down my face and a smile formed. For that moment, I was free.

At the end of our ride, I hugged Rachel. I felt proud of the strong woman she has become. I also felt proud that I had stepped outside my comfort zone and modeled something important for her.

We are never too old to try again. We are never too far gone to rediscover joy. We are never too broken to experience a moment of healing.

People want to matter. People want to belong. Sometimes the most meaningful way we communicate that is not through a speech, a program, or a grand gesture. Sometimes we simply say yes. I said yes to someone I love.

Healing does not always announce itself with fireworks, applause, professional recognition, or social media likes. Sometimes it arrives on an old bicycle, riding between the people you love, with the sun on your face and a song playing quietly in your soul. Sometimes healing looks like a bicycle ride.

That ride reminded me to remain close to my core. Our core is made up of the people, values, and moments that remind us who we are. We must stay close to the people who need our love, the people who remind us where we came from, and the people who knew us before the title, the position, or the accomplishments. We must stay close to the people who know our name and not merely our role.

For too many years, I made the mistake of prioritizing position over presence. It took two trips to the emergency room for me to begin understanding the cost of that choice. I learned it the hard way, and I would not wish that lesson on anyone.

We are called to be human centered in our work as leaders. Before we can do that authentically, we must be human centered at home. We must be intentionally present for the people who love us without a title, an agenda, or an expectation attached. They do not see us as a data point, and they do not need us to carry another deadline. They simply want us there. Rachel did not need me to solve a problem, answer an email, or accomplish something impressive. She wanted to ride bikes with her dad. This time, I said yes, and I am grateful I did.

Here’s to continuing the conversation.

Want to Continue the Conversation?

I am available to serve as a thought partner, speaker, and leadership coach for individuals, teams, and organizations seeking to build more human centered cultures. My work focuses on helping leaders create spaces where people feel seen, valued, supported, and empowered to succeed.

I would be honored to connect, listen, and explore how we might work together. Please feel free to drop me a line at sgaillard84@gmail.com and check out the links below here:

Sean Gaillard
Founder & CEO | The Gaillard Group
Author • Speaker • Leadership Coach

Helping People and Organizations Succeed

🎙 Resources, Podcasts & Blog: https://linktr.ee/smgaillard

🎤 Speaking, Coaching & Workshops: https://bit.ly/4vhd8T7

From the Blog Archives: A Dream with The Beatles

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Here’s an old post from the archive that I am re-blogging. In leadership, we often times downplay dreams. Sometimes dreams are viewed as impractical and wasteful when it comes to the daily grind. I still maintain a dream as an unabashed fan of The Beatles that Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr are going to visit my schoolhouse.

Now that may seem impossible and you may dismiss me as a pitiful dreamer. Why not? Why not have a dream? Why not share that dream with others? As leaders, we are called to be human-centered. Dreams are what make us human. We must support conditions where others feel safe to share their dreams as well.

Here’s my dream that I am re-sharing with you. I hope you enjoy it. I would love to hear your dreams, too. Please feel free to leave something in the comments or share this blog on your social media channels and tag me.

When Paul and Ringo Visit the Schoolhouse: Insert Dream Here

Connections Matter: Still Learning at the 200th Blog Post

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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.

Not Everyone Who Starts With You Finishes With You

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Some connections are for a season.
They help us grow, reflect, and find our footing.
Then, sometimes, the paths quietly diverge.

I am learning that clarity around values can be both grounding and lonely.
It does not mean anger.
It does not mean judgment.
It simply means paying attention to what no longer fits.

I am choosing to keep moving toward what aligns with who I am becoming. I am choosing alignment over approval. I am choosing peace over proximity.
With gratitude for what was.
With honesty about what is.

The Leadership I Lived and The Human-Centered Leadership I Choose Now

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There is a place I often call Principal School. It is the imaginary training ground where we believe all the lessons of leadership will be handed to us before we ever step into the role. Over time, I have learned that some of the most important lessons are never taught there at all. They are learned the hard way, often quietly, and sometimes at great cost.

One of the biggest myths perpetuated in school leadership is that there is a single way to lead well. I bought into that myth for far too long. I watched other principals on social media and began to believe that if my style did not look like theirs, then I must not be good enough. I measured myself against highlight reels instead of my own values. That comparison and pressure sent me to the emergency room twice. It took a toll on my body, my mind, and my spirit.

Another lesson they do not teach you in Principal School is that leadership can slowly pull you away from the very relationships that sustain you. I regret not investing the time I once did in friendships. I regret choosing email replies and late night work over phone calls and shared meals. I felt the weight of that loss deeply over the last few years when the invitations stopped coming. I am grateful for the meaningful friendships I still have, even though many of them live far away. Today, I cherish every text message, every phone call, and every Zoom conversation because I know how easily those connections can fade when duty becomes all consuming.

I also regret the moments I missed with my wife and daughters. There were times when I chose the principalship over being fully present with them. That truth is hard to name, but it matters. You blink, and your children are grown and moving out of the house. You do not get that time back. Now, I cherish my family even more, and I hold our time together with greater care and intention than ever before.

For my physical and mental health, I made the decision to step away from the principalship. I returned to my assistant principal roots and found something I had lost along the way. I found myself again. I am happier, healthier, and more grounded. I have grown in my therapy work and remain deeply committed to it. That commitment has helped me reconnect with my core, my purpose, and my humanity. The version of leadership I was living was not aligned with who I am or how I want to live. In trying to be everything for everyone at school, I lost sight of who I needed to be for myself and for the people who love me.

Recently, in a conversation with Dr. Andrea Trudeau, a phrase stayed with me. We need to rescript the narrative. Human Centered Leadership is not widely accepted in some spaces, and I am fully aware of that. Still, I am determined to disrupt the conversation in a good way. Leadership does not have to cost you your health. It does not have to require the sacrifice of your family or your friendships. Human Centered Leadership is not only about how you serve others. It is also about how you care for yourself and how you show up for those who cherish you as a spouse, a parent, and a friend.

I learned these lessons the hard way. I do not want others to have to do the same. My purpose now is simple and deeply personal. If these words help one leader put their phone down and spend time with their child, then I have done my job. If they help one leader step away from email long enough to call a friend, then I have done my job. If they help one person avoid being rushed to the hospital from the schoolhouse like I was, then I have done my job.

This post will not go viral. It will not collect metrics or applause. That is not the point. Leadership does not have to be lonely. Leadership does not have to break you. You can lead with love. You can protect your humanity. You can serve others well without losing yourself along the way.

This reflection is not the end of the conversation for me. It is the beginning of a deeper commitment to naming what matters and creating space for a more human way to lead. One of the ways I am continuing this work is through a new podcast series I am co- hosting with Dr. Sonia Matthew called Leading While Human.

Our first episode drops on February 1 and features a powerful conversation with Dr. Rachel Edoho-Eket. Throughout February, we will release a new episode every Sunday with guests including Lauren Kaufman, Dr. Donya Ball, and Principal Kafele. Each voice brings wisdom, honesty, and lived experience to the question of what it truly means to lead while human.

Leading While Human will be a quarterly podcast. Each series will feature four guests and four conversations designed to slow us down, ground us, and remind us that leadership does not have to cost us our health, our relationships, or our humanity.

I am grateful for the opportunity to learn alongside these voices and to invite others into this space. Stay tuned for what comes next as we continue to rescript the narrative on leadership together, one human centered conversation at a time.

Still Spinning Toward What Matters

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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.

Rediscovering the Heart of Leadership: A Call for a Human Centered Renaissance

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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 Jude on 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.

Finding My Band

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When I was a kid, I was often one of the last picked for kickball. I remember the sting of waiting. I stood in awkward anticipation. I hoped someone would invite me on the team. I did my best to keep my head held high like my father had taught me. I watched captains point to someone else and tried not to show my disappointment. I was that kid hoping to belong. Hoping to be seen. Hoping to be chosen.

I think I have spent most of my life chasing that feeling of belonging. Wanting to be part of something bigger than myself. Wanting to feel the spark when you look around and know you are with your people who see you. Wanting a band.

A band for me is not just the literal type where individuals play music together. I use the band as an analogy for collaboration, belonging, and sustaining a shared vision. As a school leader, I would perpetuate this concept by referring to colleagues as “bandmates.” I thought that this mindset would help the culture and enhance belonging for all in the schoolhouse.

Being in a band is wonderful. There is purpose and possibility in the sound you create together. I felt that sense of belonging as a guitarist in a few literal bands. There is nothing like locking into a groove. Seeing another musician look over with that nod says we are in the pocket. I felt that same belonging when I taught English at Governor’s School. I was surrounded by a team of educators who celebrated collaboration and creativity. I felt it a few times in school leadership within administrative teams that shared a vision and worked in harmony.

Spinning on my turntable as of late is “The Beatles Anthology Collection.” It is a treasure trove of alternate takes, live recordings, and demos. It also includes unreleased tracks and a trio of their reunion songs. I love hearing the band workshopping songs and encouraging each other through various mistakes and flubs in the studio. It serves as a reminder of what a band should do when they face an echo of a failure. They should handle the resonance of a mistake wisely and stick together. You play through it, learn from it, and keep the groove moving on. Listening to this beautiful audio package of The Beatles in this alternate trajectory is wonderful. It makes me miss the joy of being in a band. I miss being with people who understand my sound.

Lately, I have been drifting. Feeling like a castaway. Wandering around a crossroads. Watching from a distance as others find their bands. I see camaraderie and connection and I often feel sadness that I am not part of it. Recently, I saw a group of leaders celebrating together in a LinkedIn post and I felt left out. I felt that old kickball feeling. The one that sits heavy.

For a long time I thought that if I waited long enough a band would find me. That a group would invite me in. That someone would want my presence, ideas, and voice. I waited. I believed. I hoped.

And then it hit me. I was waiting for a band that was never coming.

I have also forced the idea of band on others over the years. I regret that. Not everyone is ready to be in a band. I never took the time to realize that I am the barrier to the band. And the harder truth to accept is that maybe nobody wants to be in a band with me. Maybe I am not meant to join someone else’s group. Maybe I am meant to build something from the ground up. I am learning to sit with that. I am learning to accept it with honesty.

So here is where I am now.

I am at peace with where I am now.

I am at peace with the people I get to meet and support daily.

In the meantime, I am forming my own band.

Not by asking others or convincing colleagues or trying to prove myself that a band is the way to go. Not by waiting for an invitation that will never arrive. I am just going to keep creating. Keep writing. Keep podcasting. Keep blogging. Keep finishing the second book. Keep playing my sound without apology.

If I stay true to that maybe the right bandmates will hear the music. Maybe the ones who resonate with authenticity will wander into the room. Maybe belonging is not something you wait for. Maybe belonging is something you build.

I believe in the band. I always have.

And the next track begins now.