Parenting

Pivoting Toward Presence: A Reflection on Love, Leadership, and Lennon

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Today marks what would have been John Lennon’s 85th birthday. Had he not been so cruelly taken from the world, I imagine him surrounded by love, his wife, his sons, and perhaps a few close friends gathered around a cake. I can almost see John smiling, glasses glinting in the candlelight, grateful for another revolution around the sun. Grateful simply to be a husband and father.

Of course, this is a dream, a what if forever suspended in time. John Lennon is not with us. Yet every time we hear Imagine, or spin a Beatles record that once lifted the world, his spirit continues to sing. His ideas, his courage, and his music are eternal.

As I think about John’s life today, I am reminded of the profound pivot he made in his final years, a pivot that leaders, including myself, can learn from. After a painful separation from Yoko Ono, John chose to retreat from the spotlight. He became a stay at home father. He walked away from fame, record contracts, and the demands of celebrity life to raise his young son, Sean. He called this period his “househusband years.” Five years of seclusion. Five years of being present.

In that quiet season, John found peace. He cooked, baked bread, and rediscovered the small joys of daily life. He walked through Central Park and strolled with Yoko and Sean, savoring the moments that so many of us rush past. He wrote songs again, not for charts or critics, but from the heart. When he finally returned to the studio in 1980, he released Double Fantasy, a musical conversation between himself and Yoko celebrating love, family, and renewal. The album earned a Grammy for Album of the Year, a posthumous echo of his artistry at its most honest.

One song from that record, Beautiful Boy, contains a line that has haunted and guided me for years:
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

That lyric hits harder as I get older. I have lived its truth. As a husband, father, and leader, I have had moments when my presence was only partial, physically there but mentally buried in a phone, a to do list, or the next big initiative. When I faced my first serious health setback a year and a half ago, lying in a hospital room with machines beeping around me, I thought of all the moments I had missed. I remember wondering: Would I get to tell my children I loved them again? Would I see my wife’s beautiful smile? Would I have another chance to simply be, not as a principal, not as a leader, but as a husband, father, son, brother, and friend?

Thankfully, I was granted another chance. I am still learning and growing even as those health setbacks keep coming. That experience in the hospital room changed me. It reminded me that leadership is not just about impact, innovation, or outcomes. It is about love. It is about being present for the people who give your life meaning.

As leaders, we can lose ourselves in the rhythm of meetings, emails, and deadlines. The work matters, but so do the quiet moments that recharge our hearts. The people who know us beyond our title need us, not the version that is always on, but the one that listens, laughs, and lingers a little longer at the dinner table.

John Lennon’s decision to step away from the noise and focus on family was not an escape. It was an act of courage. It was his pivot into something beautiful.

So, what does that mean for us?

Leadership Action Steps: Simple Pivots into Something Beautiful

  1. Write for five minutes.
    End your day with a brief journal reflection, one sentence of gratitude or one small victory that made you smile.
  2. Call someone who matters.
    Reach out to a friend or loved one, not with an agenda, but simply to say, I’m thinking of you.
  3. Schedule sacred time.
    Block out 30 minutes this week for uninterrupted family time, a walk, or a shared meal. Treat it like your most important meeting and protect it.
  4. Be fully present.
    Put the phone away. Turn off notifications. Look into the eyes of the people you love and listen with your whole self.
  5. Revisit Your Pivot Song.
    Choose a song that helps you pause and reconnect with what truly matters. For me, it is Beautiful Boy by John Lennon, a reminder that love, presence, and purpose are the greatest compositions of all. John wrote that song for his youngest son and it serves as reminder that I must always pivot into fatherhood and being there for my three daughters.

John Lennon did not know that his five year retreat would be the last chapter of his life. Yet in those years, he created the most meaningful work of all: love, presence, and peace. His story challenges us to do the same. To pause. To connect. To pivot into something beautiful before life happens while we are busy making other plans.

A Lesson from My Dad

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Lately, if you have been following this blog, you might have noticed a thread weaving through my recent reflections, one centered on gratitude for those I love. A recent health setback prompted me to take a deeper inventory of what and who I am thankful for. That process led me home, in every sense of the word, back to my family, and especially to my father.

For leaders, it is essential to pause intentionally and take time for gratitude. That practice has been reinforced by my good friend, Lainie Rowell, author of Evolving with Gratitude. Her work reminds us that gratitude is not just an emotion but an action, one that ignites connection, strengthens relationships, and transforms the atmosphere of our lives. I was honored to contribute to her book and to witness how gratitude can change the temperature of a soul. It is the grounding rhythm beneath every meaningful leadership melody.

So today, I want to express my gratitude for my father, the best man I know, by sharing a few lessons he has taught me, lessons that have carried me through every stage of my life.

My father has been my teacher, mentor, protector, and moral compass. Through his words and example, he has taught me everything from the musical brilliance of Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On to the importance of a firm handshake and the art of being a gentleman. But the greatest lesson of all has been the power of unconditional love, a lesson deeply rooted in our shared faith.

For years, my father made countless sacrifices for our family. He did it with humility and grace, never once complaining, even in the face of racism or rejection. He stood firm in his devout faith and values, leading not with loud proclamations but with quiet strength. His faith-filled example spoke louder than any sermon ever could. Dad is also on call to say a prayer for you if you need it.

There is one phrase my father has said to me for as long as I can remember:
“Dare to be great.”

He said it to all four of his children. It was never about achievement or applause. It was about integrity, purpose, and belief in our God-given potential. Dad saw greatness in us long before we saw it in ourselves. It is his way to motivate and inspire. Most importantly, it is his way to show that he believes in you but that we also have to believe in ourselves.

I will never forget a small but powerful moment years ago. I had been invited to a local event where I introduced a special screening of Yellow Submarine. As the author of The Pepper Effect, I was thrilled to share my Beatles expertise before and after the film, but when the time came, only a few people showed up. My amazing wife, who has endured my lifelong fascination with The Beatles, was there by my side. And so was my father. He is not a Beatles fan, and that movie was probably far from his cup of tea, but he was there smiling, proud, and present. That is who he is. Showing up has always been my father’s love language.

My father is also the best leadership coach I know. His wisdom is wrapped in empathy and anchored in common sense. When I have faced discouragement, he has always been my one of my first calls. I remember one conversation in particular when I was sinking into self-doubt and negativity. Dad listened quietly, then in his calm and steady voice said,
“Hold your head high, son, like I taught you.”

Those words cut through everything. In an instant, the weight lifted. That is what Dad does. He restores balance, brings perspective, and reminds me of who I am. His optimism is not naïve. It is rooted in faith, experience, and courage.

There have been countless moments like that, moments where my father’s love, patience, and wisdom have guided me back to center. I am beyond blessed to be his son. I am grateful that my three daughters have grown up knowing him as “Papa,” the same man who has modeled grace, humility, and strength for generations.

The world is better, safer, and brighter because of my dad. His life is a testament to faith, love, and quiet greatness.

Dad has taught me to be a better husband, father, and teammate.

And as I reflect on all that he has taught me, I know that I still have much more to learn from him. I will never tire of those lessons.

His lessons continue to guide me, and his love will forever be the compass that leads my way.

Thank you, Dad.

Why The World Is Brighter Because of My Daughters

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This past week marked National Daughters Day. It is a day when parents everywhere pause to celebrate their daughters in big and small ways with pictures, posts, and memories shared. Because of some recent health setbacks, I did not post anything on that day. What I was able to do was send my three daughters a quick text letting them know that I love them. Still, I could not let the moment pass without honoring them in a way that feels most authentic to me. Writing about them is the best way I know how.

When I wrote my book, The Pepper Effect, I described it as a mash up love letter to The Beatles and to education. John, Paul, George, and Ringo will always hold a special place in my heart, but the book itself is dedicated to my real Fab Four, which is Deb and our daughters Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. Being with them is better than any Beatles reunion as I have often said.

Just last week, we celebrated my mother’s 80th birthday, and all three of our daughters came home to be with her. To have us all gathered around the table was a gift I will never forget. They are older now, living on their own, pursuing advanced degrees, and shaping their lives with purpose. As Deb and I sat at dinner, I found myself quietly watching them laugh and talk together. I did not want to interrupt the moment. I just wanted to sit in the presence of their joy. In that silence, I felt immense pride. I am grateful beyond measure for the miracles God entrusted to us in being their parents.

Their presence is electric, life giving, and affirming. In those quiet moments, I whispered a prayer of thanks for the privilege of being their dad.

Our house is quieter now. I miss the days of Beatles Rock Band tournaments, playing Pretty Pretty Princess, and endless games fueled by imagination. I miss sitting on the sidelines of soccer games and applauding at dance recitals. I miss those treasured moments of reading aloud together at night. Every time Deb and I get to be with them now, it feels like a blessing we hold onto tightly. I know the world needs their gifts, their voices, and their leadership. I know that I have to let them go as they walk into adulthood. Even as they share their light with others, I will always carry infinite love for them, with special space in my heart reserved for each one of them.

All three of my daughters have faced challenges that could have broken others. They have pushed through setbacks and disappointments with remarkable strength. They have endured misogyny and overcome it. They have experienced racism and ignorance, yet continue to stand tall as beautifully biracial women who embody resilience.

The greatest title I will ever hold is Dad. It is the most important name I have ever been called. Each of my daughters has shaped my heart and soul in ways words cannot fully capture. As I write this, tears are filling my eyes. I cry for how fast time has moved since they were born. I cry for the gratitude I have for the beautiful moments we have had together. I cry tears of pride and joy for the young women they are becoming. My tears are unapologetic as my infinite love is for my three beautiful daughters.

The world is a brighter, kinder, and better place because of Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. I love you all eternally. Proud Dad always.

For My Mom at 80: Infinite Gratitude for a Lifetime of Love and Faith

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This past week, my mother turned 80 years old. I cannot begin to measure the blessing that she is in my life. Every good thing I have is connected to her love, her sacrifices, and her unwavering devotion to our family. My mom has never sought the spotlight. She is a quiet, humble hero who has spent her life giving, nurturing, and guiding with grace.

When I was a little boy and refused to nap, my mom didn’t get frustrated. Instead, she created something special. She would read to me from Golden Books, Hardy Boys, and countless other stories. Those afternoons are stitched into my heart. My love of reading, my love of stories, and my passion for learning began with her voice.

I remember riding in our family station wagon during our years in Carson, California, with the AM radio as our constant companion. One day, Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut” came on. I laughed and proclaimed that the doctor’s cure was making him sick. My mom just smiled, a smile that told me she was delighted by my joy and imagination.

I remember the fall day she surprised me after kindergarten at Annalee Avenue School. We walked home together, crunching leaves on the sidewalk, each step a simple but unforgettable gift.

When nightmares came, she found a way to comfort me by putting on a Mister Rogers record at bedtime so his voice could soothe me to sleep.

We laughed together through episodes of “WKRP in Cincinnati,” “I Love Lucy,” and The Bob Newhart Show.” I remember her joy when she welcomed my wife into our family. I remember the look of bliss on her face as she held each of my daughters when they were newborns, her eyes shining with love for them before they even knew the world.

Mom makes the best macaroni and cheese on earth. There is no contest. She also gave me one of the greatest gifts of all: music. From Dave Brubeck and Mose Allison to Bobby Darin and Sergio Mendes, she opened my ears to beauty. As a kid, I used to resist her favorites: Barry Manilow, The Bee Gees, The Carpenters, Roberta Flack. Now, I embrace those artists, because when I hear their songs, I hear my mom.

More than anything, my mom gave us faith. She taught me the power of prayer, the strength of humility, and the courage to keep going. Even now, we share our prayer of thanks for each other that dates back to my childhood:

“Thank God for Sean.”

“Thank God for my Mom.”

There are so many things my mother has given me. There are so many that they are infinite and lasting. My gratitude for her is infinite and lasting, too.

My mother is a gift from God. Her kindness, love, and devotion have shaped not just my life, but the lives of everyone she touches from my father to my siblings. The world is better because she is here.

Happy 80th Birthday, Mom. I love you more than words can say. And as the years keep turning, like the grooves on a treasured record, may her song of love play on forever.

Twin Tassels, One Heart: A Reflection on Graduation and What Truly Matters

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This post is dedicated to my true Fab Four: Deb, Maddie, Emily, & Rachel.

This past weekend, our family was called to divide and conquer. A moment we had both dreamed of and quietly feared had finally arrived: our twin daughters were graduating from college—at two different universities, with ceremonies only an hour apart.

That scheduling twist, which had loomed as a distant possibility, finally became reality. But in true fashion, our daughters made the call for us. They knew the challenge of being in two places at once, and they handled it with grace, maturity, and love. One twin would be celebrated in Boone, the other in Charlotte. My wife, Deborah, attended Emily’s ceremony, while I went to Rachel’s.

It wasn’t easy. We wanted so badly to be in the same place, to celebrate both daughters together as a complete family. But our hearts remained united, even across the miles.

As I sat in the Convocation Center at Appalachian State University, surrounded by the joyful noise of other families, I found myself scanning the sea of black caps and gowns. I was determined to catch a glimpse of Rachel. Our oldest daughter, Maddie, who had just completed her second year of law school, finally spotted her and pointed excitedly.

And then—there she was.

Waving. Smiling. Radiant in her graduation regalia.

For a moment, time folded in on itself. Her wave transported me to another milestone—the day of Rachel’s First Communion. That same smile, that same sparkle in her eye. She had looked across the church, found me in the crowd, and sent me a quiet wave. I had waved back, with the same lump in my throat that returned to me all these years later.

But something else happened, too. In Rachel’s smile, I also saw Emily’s. Her twin’s light and laughter seemed to echo in that moment. It was as if both were standing there in front of me, even though Emily was an hour away in Charlotte. I felt a powerful closeness to both daughters, woven together in that one unforgettable glance.

That’s the thing about being a parent. These moments hit you like a thunderclap. They echo from the past and resonate into the future. And suddenly, you realize the most important title you’ll ever hold isn’t “Principal” or “Author” or anything in your email signature. It’s simply “Dad.”

I am so proud of all three of my daughters—Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. They are bright, strong, kind, and wise. They are charting their own paths as young adults, and watching them step into their lives fills me with awe. I’m even more grateful for my wife, Deborah, whose quiet strength and boundless love have held the center of our family together through every season of growth.

Now, with the nest officially empty, I find myself reflecting—not with sadness, but with gratitude. The house may be quieter, but my heart is louder than ever with pride and love.

What Matters Most

It’s easy to get lost in the deadlines, testing windows, evaluations, checklists, and calendar invites. But in the rush of it all, don’t lose sight of what matters most—your people. Your family. Your loved ones.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve put the job first far too many times. I’ve been the principal who stared at the calendar and missed moments that I can’t get back. And I’m still learning.

John Lennon said it best in “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy),” a song he wrote for his five-year-old son, Sean. It appears on Double Fantasy, the final album Lennon released in his lifetime, just weeks before he was so senselessly killed by gunfire at the age of 40.

In that song, Lennon offers this lyric that has never left me:

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

It’s more than a line—it’s a truth that rings louder the older we get, especially when the nest starts to empty and the calendar continues to fill.

So, as the year closes and you check off your last task, I offer a few humble reminders:

Action Steps for Leaders to Thrive in Life and Work

1. Calendar Your Family First
Put family time on the calendar with the same importance as meetings or walkthroughs. Block it out. Protect it.

2. Celebrate Milestones—Big and Small
A graduation, a recital, a family dinner. These are not interruptions. They are the point.

3. Let Your Team In
Model balance for your team. Share your family moments. Celebrate theirs. Normalize stepping away to be present.

4. Unplug With Purpose
Turn off the notifications. Leave the laptop in the bag. Watch the game, take the walk, enjoy the silence.

5. Reflect Often
Journal. Take a quiet moment in the car. Play a favorite song or album. Remind yourself why you do what you do—and for whom.

The nest may be empty, but the heart stays full. And at the end of the day, love is the legacy that lasts far beyond our leadership roles.

So here’s to what matters. Here’s to waving daughters, twin smiles, and a family that found a way to be in two places at once—with love as the through line.