I’m excited to share that Principal Liner Notes now has a new home on the web: 🎶 seangaillard.com 🎶
This new site is where you can find all of my blog posts, reflections, podcast updates, and more. You’ll also be the first to hear a big announcement (or two) coming soon—things I’m really excited about and can’t wait to share.
To those who have followed, subscribed, shared, or just quietly read along—thank you. Your support fuels the creative spark and reminds me that this journey matters.
Please take a moment to subscribe at seangaillard.com and share it with a friend or fellow educator. I hope it continues to be a place of inspiration, connection, and purpose.
Today also marks the anniversary of an album that changed the world—Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. That album didn’t just change music, it changed my life. It lit the fire that led to my first book, The Pepper Effect, a celebration of belief, collaboration, and educational leadership.
There are moments in leadership—more than we care to admit—when it feels like leadership isn’t there for you.
You stand in a room and no one greets you. No one looks up. No one notices.
You offer ideas, vision, care—and it’s met with silence, or worse, indifference.
You give your best self and sometimes receive no acknowledgment in return.
The gig is tough. The gig is lonely. The gig will ask you to keep showing up, especially when the room grows quiet. And sometimes, it stays quiet.
And yet—we still walk in.
Why?
Because we’re human.
Because we crave meaning.
Because we want to belong just like anyone else.
I carry what my father taught me in these moments: Hold your head high. Even when no one seems to see you. Especially then.
And so, I look for the small things.
The fleeting glances. The quiet nods. The invisible applause.
Those moments when you know—deep in your gut—that you’re still in the groove.
I remember those moments when I played in bands. We’d be deep into a tune, and someone across the band space would catch my eye and offer a knowing smile. Just a look. A small moment that said, We’ve got this.
There’s a video I love of the Dave Brubeck Quartet performing Take Five. During Joe Morello’s legendary drum solo, Brubeck stops playing. He turns from the piano—not to take center stage, but to watch. To admire. To honor. No words. Just presence.
The Beatles did it, too. During that final rooftop concert, even amid the tension, they stole glances. Smiles. They saw each other. And they saw Billy Preston, too—playing keys right alongside them, lifting the sound, lifting the moment.
Even as the world watched from the streets below, the real audience wasn’t the crowd down there—it was amidst the band.
That’s what keeps me going in leadership—the small, true things.
A student’s unexpected smile.
A teacher’s thank-you whispered in the hallway.
A quiet moment where someone sees you—and maybe, just maybe, you see them too.
We may not always receive the applause. But we can give it.
We can be the nod.
We can be the smile.
We can be the Dave Brubeck who turns his head in full admiration.
We can be the Beatle who shares a grin in the middle of the chaos.
Those small moves? They matter.
They are leadership.
And when the room is quiet—lead anyway.
You never know who might be listening for your cue.
In an old comic book from my childhood, there’s a powerful image that has always stayed with me. It was an issue of Detective Comics that told the origin story of Batman. A young Bruce Wayne walks into Wayne Manor, ready to begin his hero’s journey. As he enters, his shadow stretches behind him—not as a boy, but as the full-formed silhouette of Batman. It was a simple panel, but it carried a profound truth: even in our earliest steps, the shadows of our future potential are already taking shape.
This image made me think about our calling as educators. Every day, we walk alongside students and teachers who are living their own origin stories. Some are just starting out, unsure of who they are or where they belong. Yet within them, we can glimpse the shadows of what they may become—leaders, artists, scientists, changemakers, or quiet heroes who make the world better in unseen ways.
This week is Teacher Appreciation Week, a moment to celebrate the educators who see those shadows before anyone else does. Teachers have a remarkable gift—a kind of superpower. They tune into the potential of their students and help them believe in it, even when the students can’t yet see it for themselves. Our teachers transform the impossible into the possible. They are not just instructors; they are cultivators of hope.
As school leaders, we are called to be architects of that hope. Our job is to build cultures where teachers are empowered to do their best work—where they can create the conditions for students to discover who they are meant to be.
I’ll never forget my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. McMonagle. I was a new student, the only Black child in the class, adjusting to a new school in a new state. I felt lost—alienated, unsure, and afraid. But Mrs. McMonagle saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. She created a space where I felt seen and welcomed. She introduced me to the joy of writing, literature, and even encouraged my growing love for The Beatles. She pushed me, challenged me, and inspired me. I am forever grateful for the way she believed in me and gave me a sense of belonging.
Everyone carries the shadow of future potential. Teachers have a special sense for detecting those shadows and helping students realize the greatness within them. This week, and every week, let’s honor and celebrate that gift.
Here’s to the ones who chose to build trajectories of hope in our classrooms. Here’s to the ones who see the future before it arrives.
As I write this, I’m sitting with the weight of another school year nearing its close—reflective, grateful, and searching for meaning in the midst of it all.
I’ve been a principal for 16 years. I’ve poured myself into school after school, often the ones that needed the most care. I’ve stood on stages, been a finalist for NC Principal of the Year, written a book from my heart, and still—there are moments, like now, when I wonder if it’s all making a difference.
Maybe you’ve felt that too.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about The Beatles. Specifically, August 29, 1966—their last public concert at Candlestick Park in San Francisco. They had reached a breaking point. They felt like they weren’t playing well. Between public backlash over John Lennon’s remarks about The Beatles being more popular Jesus Christ and diplomatic fallout in the Philippines from unintentionally snubbing the President and First Lady there, the pressures became too much. So they did something radical—they stepped back. No farewell tour. No grand finale. Just a quiet pause.
Each band member took time to rediscover who they were beyond the noise. John went to Spain to film How I Won the War. Paul collaborated with George Martin on a film score. George immersed himself in sitar studies with Ravi Shankar in India. Ringo stayed home to be with his family.
Then, something beautiful happened.
They returned—not to the stage, but to the studio. And from that retreat came a wave of brilliance: Strawberry Fields Forever, Penny Lane, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
All of it began with a pause. A reset. A reclaiming of identity. A spark of innovation that changed the face of Music.
As leaders, we may not have world tours or screaming fans, but we do know what it feels like to carry the weight of expectations and the constant drumbeat of demands. In that rhythm, we can forget to care for ourselves in the same way we care for others.
We all crave connection. We all crave belonging. And while we work so hard to create that for our teams, our students, and our communities—we must also remember to create it for ourselves.
Take the walk. Play the record. Write what’s on your heart. Give yourself the same grace you offer to everyone else.
It’s easy to fall into the comparison trap—scrolling through highlight reels, seeing the accolades, the applause, the polished smiles. I’ve been there too. But the truth is, none of that defines your worth or your purpose.
Your worth is in the quiet moment with a student who needed someone to believe in them. It’s in the coaching conversation that sparked a teacher’s growth. It’s in the way you show up—consistently, compassionately, courageously.
You may not always see the impact. But it’s there.
If you’re at a crossroads, unsure of what’s next, or simply longing to feel grounded again, let this be your reminder:
Somewhere in the universe, someone believes in you completely.
Not for your title. Not for your credentials. But for who you are. For how you lead with heart. For how you care, even when it’s hard.
You matter.
Your leadership matters.
Your impact matters, and it will continue to do so in ways seen and unseen.
A reflection inspired by John Bonham, legacy, and the rhythm of leadership #PrincipalLinerNotes
Special Thanks to Jimmy Casas and Lainie Rowell for their respective missions inspiring my gig! I am grateful that our PLN connections have evolved into sincere, lifelong friendships.
A very special thanks to my amazing wife, Deb, for being that constant source of love, inspiration, and strength every day! Thanks for inspiring Impact Visits!
A Soundcheck at Knebworth
It was just a soundcheck. August 1979. Knebworth. A wide open field waiting to be filled with music. Led Zeppelin was preparing for a monumental return to the British stage. But as the band warmed up, it wasn’t John Bonham—the thunderous backbone of the band—behind the drum kit. It was his 13-year-old son, Jason.
In a rare and touching moment, Bonham stepped away from the drums and wandered into the field. He didn’t just want to hear the band; he wanted to listen from a distance. He stood alone, away from the stage, and let the sound wash over him. The rhythm of his legacy. His son’s rhythm.
There were no headlines. No fanfare. But there was something sacred in that quiet act: a father making space for the next generation, a rock legend becoming an audience member. Trust. Love. Legacy. It was all there in that field of amplifiers and dreams.
As a teenager, I remember reading about that moment in one of the many music biographies I devoured. It stuck with me. Especially knowing that John Bonham would pass away just over a year later. His son, Jason, would grow up to carry the torch—eventually joining surviving members of Led Zeppelin for reunion shows, most notably in the legendary 2007 performance captured on Celebration Day.
That soundcheck was more than rehearsal. It was legacy in action. It was impact. It was a leader stepping back—so something deeper could move forward.
Stepping Back for Impact
The response to my recent blog post, The Loneliness of Leadership, has been both humbling and healing. I wrote it to name and navigate the isolation I’ve felt in leadership—and to extend a hand to others who may be feeling the same. The heartfelt messages and outreach reminded me that we’re not as alone as we think. There is resonance when we share our truth.
This morning, I had the sincere honor of being a guest on Jimmy Casas’ podcast, The Interview Chair. You can listen to that episode soon, but here’s what struck me during our conversation: Jimmy asked how I maintain mental health in leadership—especially after sharing my heart episode experience from last year. My answer came quickly: Impact Visits.
What Are Impact Visits?
Impact Visits are intentional moments carved out of the chaos. They’re brief detours in your day where you go and witness your leadership in motion—where the fingerprints of your work are making a difference.
Over the years of my principalship, my wife Deb would often tell me, especially on the hard days, “Go visit a classroom where you know it’s working.” She’d say it gently but with urgency—usually on the days when I was feeling discouraged, disconnected, or alienated. I didn’t always listen. I’d get swept up in the whirlwind of tasks and to-dos. But since my heart episode and my renewed focus on mental health, I’ve made it a point to follow her advice.
So, thank you, Deb. I know to listen to you now.
These are not evaluative visits. They’re not walk-throughs with clipboards and checklists. They’re personal moments—to be reminded, to be renewed. A time to refuel your spirit and reconnect to why you said yes to this work in the first place.
If you can, use these visits as a chance to connect. To offer a word of thanks. A fist bump. A simple “You’re doing great.” As my friend Lainie Rowell reminds us in her #EvolvingWithGratitude mission—gratitude is a powerful act of leadership. A little goes a long way.
Four Ways to Make Impact Visits Happen
Schedule Intentionally Block time on your calendar each week. Just 10–15 minutes to step into a classroom, a hallway, or the front line of your impact.
Make It Routine Ritual turns into rhythm. If you make Impact Visits a part of your leadership practice, they’ll become the pause that powers your next move.
Share the Visit Reflect on your visits with a thought partner or friend. If you don’t have someone, you’re welcome to reach out to me. I’d be honored to be that listening ear: sgaillard84@gmail.com
Encourage Others Inspire your team, your assistant principals, or even colleagues in your PLN to create their own version of Impact Visits. Help build a culture of reflection and renewal.
Your Beat Still Matters
Leadership is not a sprint of perfection. It’s a series of riffs—some raw, some refined. We owe it to ourselves and those we serve to keep our rhythm aligned with our core values.
So, take that walk. Stand in that hallway. Listen to the beat that’s still echoing from something you once helped shape.
Because even in the quiet moments—maybe especially in the quiet moments—we find proof that we’re still making a difference.
Typically, I don’t write blog posts back-to-back. I’ve kept to a steady rhythm of weekly writing since my heart episode last year. That ritual has become part of my healing—recommended by my therapist, yes, but also something I’ve come to cherish. Writing has broken through the fog of writer’s block that followed the release of The Pepper Effect. Through journaling and reflection, I’ve found my way back to words and meaning. I am even working on finishing up a proposal for a new book.
But this piece couldn’t wait.
I’ve been sitting with a question no one prepared me for in “Principal School”: Why does leadership have to feel so lonely?
It’s a question that’s erupted into big feelings—enough to make me pause on other writing projects and sit with this one instead.
There’s a scene in Peter Jackson’s Get Back documentary that lingers with me. George has left the band. A meeting doesn’t go well. Paul and Ringo return to the studio, uncertain of what’s next. John is nowhere to be found. Paul, visibly shaken, says quietly, “And then there were two.” He stares off into the distance. His eyes well with tears. His voice trembles. You can feel the grief. The possibility that something beautiful and world-changing might be coming to an end.
Watching that moment recently, I didn’t just see it through the eyes of a Beatles fan—I saw it through the lens of a leader holding onto connection, trying not to lose grip.
I’ve been a principal for almost sixteen years. I’ve served in multiple schools, answered the call for turnaround, and poured myself into the gig. I’m grateful for a beautiful family—my wife and three amazing daughters. Their love is a constant light. And I do have a handful of trusted friends, most not nearby. But I’ve felt friendship fade over the years—some lost to distance, some to time, some to disillusionment.
This is the part they don’t tell you about leadership. That people may see your title before they see you. That the weight of tough decisions can sometimes isolate you. That you’ll have days where it feels like everyone is counting on you—and no one is standing with you.
I once thought the PLN (Professional Learning Network) would solve this. Twitter, Voxer groups, hashtags that I created like #CelebrateMonday and #TrendThePositive—those were my entry points to community. And for a while, they worked. I met incredible educators, interviewed inspirational guests for the Principal Liner Notes podcast, and even achieved my dream of becoming a published author.
But not all connections held. Some collaborations quietly ended. Some people I looked up to didn’t turn out to be who I thought they were. And yes, I’ve even had a book idea stolen.
Still, I’m thankful for the moments of light in those spaces—moments when a shoutout brightened someone’s Monday or a podcast guest became a kindred spirit. Yet, after the episode ended or the tweet was sent, the silence would sometimes creep in.
Loneliness doesn’t negate purpose. It doesn’t mean the work isn’t good. But it does mean we need to be mindful of our well-being and human need for belonging.
Recently, I’ve had the privilege of co-facilitating the ISTE-ASCD webinar series with Andrea Trudeau. We’ve explored what it means to create spaces of connection and belonging—especially for those in unique roles like principals and school librarians. These conversations have reminded me that belonging doesn’t just happen. It’s a practice. A choice. A rhythm to keep playing, even when the band seems scattered.
In her book The Let Them Theory, Mel Robbins has a powerful chapter on the quiet heartbreak of adult friendships. She describes how friendships shift from group experiences to individual efforts—and how easy it is to look around one day and realize your circle has vanished. Her advice? Reach out first. Be kind without expectation. Smile. Be curious. Give it time.
It’s advice I’ve tried to follow, even when it’s hard. Even when it’s lonely.
So what do we do with this?
We remember that our core matters. Our heart matters. And so does connection.
Here are a few ways I’m working to move through leadership loneliness—and maybe they’ll help you, too:
Savor family and those who know you beyond your title. The gig will wait—those moments with loved ones won’t. I am grateful daily for my wife and our daughters and my family.
Reach out. A coffee, a text, a hallway chat. Don’t wait for someone else to go first.
Find “only ones” like you. Look for the school librarian, the instructional coach, the counselor—others who might be the only one in their role. Forge that bond.
Be vulnerable. Share your story. Someone else might need to hear it. I have been writing deeply about the experiences surrounding my heart episode. I am grateful that others have found it helpful for their journey.
Build something outside the gig. A book club. A podcast. A project that brings joy without the pressure.
You are not alone—even when it feels that way. Someone out there gets it. Someone is looking for connection, too.
Keep showing up. Keep being kind. Keep playing your part in this great, imperfect, meaningful symphony of leadership.
Postscript: During those Get Back sessions, Paul’s loneliness was palpable. But the story didn’t end there. The band found their way back. The Beatles regrouped. And they gave us the Rooftop Concert—a final live performance filled with joy, grit, and unity.
It was their last time playing live together. And it was iconic.
A reminder that even in moments of disconnection, something timeless can still emerge.
The other day, I was meeting someone for the first time, and—no surprise—The Beatles came up in conversation. I found myself doing what I often do: searching for shared connection, for kindred sparks, for the chords that bring people together.
As I sipped from my well-worn Let It Be coffee mug, I found myself reflecting—not just on my love for the band, but on why I love them so deeply. My thoughts landed in the final scene of The Beatles Anthology documentary, where each Beatle offers a summation of the band’s journey. Paul McCartney’s words have always stuck with me:
“I’m really glad that most of our songs were about love, peace, and understanding.”
That’s the legacy of The Beatles. A body of work grounded in themes that transcend time and trend. Love. Peace. Understanding. Their music is an echo that still resonates across generations, creating belonging, joy, and reflection in all who listen.
That’s the power of legacy.
As I wrap up my 33rd year in education, I find myself tuning in to that word—legacy—and asking what it means in the context of a school year. I think of my good friend, Meghan Lawson, and her powerful book, Legacy of Learning. She writes:
“What you do in your classroom and school matters. In a big way. We are always making an impact on students and colleagues, whether good or bad.”
Legacy is not about ego, applause, or glory. It’s not about showmanship or staged stunts dressed up as leadership. Legacy is about the quiet echoes we leave behind in the lives we’ve touched—the ones who are better because we showed up and stayed the course.
In my office hangs a photo of Walt Disney standing in the middle of a swamp in central Florida, surrounded by blueprints for what would one day become Walt Disney World. He never lived to see it finished. But his vision endured, carried forward by a team who believed in the mission.
I often show that photo to my leadership teams—not because I want us to build castles, but because I want us to believe in what’s possible. It’s a reminder that legacy is built not in isolation, but in collaboration. It takes vision, belief, and a team that leans into each other’s strengths.
This year, I invited our Instructional Leadership Team and School Improvement Team to create an Accomplishment Inventory—a running list of all we had done that positively impacted students. It was a celebration of small wins and shared progress. It was a testament to the legacy we’re building together, moment by moment, step by step.
As this school year nears its close, I offer these reflections and action steps for you to consider:
🎧 Reflect with Intention Take 10 minutes. Journal. Ask yourself: What is the legacy I’ve left this year? Where did I show up? Who did I lift?
📷 Find Your “Swamp” Photo Print or display a photo that symbolizes your long-term vision—the unfinished dream. Revisit it when you need clarity or courage.
📋 Create Your Accomplishment Inventory Alone or with your team, write out the moments that made a difference. Celebrate them. Share them. Build on them.
Legacy isn’t what we say about ourselves. It’s what others say when we’re not in the room. It’s the tone we set, the hope we pass on, the lives we quietly change.
So tune in. Reflect. And keep building. Your echo matters.
In music, a riff is a heartfelt, memorable melody—like the opening chords Keith Richards plays on The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” But riffs aren’t limited to music alone; they’re found in those spontaneous, soulful exchanges we have as leaders after faculty meetings, in hallway conversations, or during inspiring conferences.
At the recent North Carolina Association for Middle Level Education (NCMLE) conference in Charlotte, NC, I experienced some deeply moving “Leadership Riffs.” Visionary leaders like Dr. Darrin Peppard opened my mind to fresh possibilities about cultivating vibrant leadership teams. Dr. Marie Moreno shared her heartfelt passion for an upcoming book, igniting an inspired dialogue that still resonates. These beautiful exchanges reminded me that leadership, like music, thrives on improvisation, authenticity, and the power of human connection.
Leadership Riffs aren’t about playing the same old notes—they’re about courageously pushing boundaries, creating harmonies, and passionately innovating together.
Here are a few heartfelt “Leadership Riffs” that underscore why our impact truly matters:
1. “A Throwaway Line in a Beatles Epic”
Paul McCartney nearly tossed out the lyric, “The movement you need is on your shoulder,” from the timeless Beatles’ classic “Hey Jude.” He saw it merely as a temporary placeholder, lacking clarity. But when John Lennon passionately insisted the line remain, Paul recognized something deeper—a powerful moment of trust and affirmation between friends. Now, every time Paul sings that lyric, he holds tightly to the memory of John’s insight, a bond made even more poignant by John’s absence. Lesson: The seemingly small details, moments, and gestures in our leadership carry profound significance and lasting impact.
2. “A Word of Thanks”
After a challenging and exhausting day filled with meetings, decisions, and the weight of responsibility, a teacher quietly appeared at my office door. Bracing myself for another issue to solve, I was instead met with a gentle smile and sincere words: “I just wanted to say thank you. You probably don’t hear it enough.” Her unexpected gratitude moved me deeply, serving as a gentle, transformative reminder of how kindness and acknowledgment can lift our spirits and renew our sense of purpose. Lesson: Every word of appreciation we speak has the potential to uplift and sustain those around us.
3. “The Words of a Child”
During a parent conference discussing support strategies, their first-grade child quietly explored the books on my office shelf, eventually selecting Green Eggs and Ham. As he confidently read aloud, his enthusiasm and ability amazed me. Inspired by his joy, I offered him a book from my collection, and with a smile, he whispered, “You’re my hero.” In truth, his words profoundly touched my heart and reminded me of the true heroes in our schools—our students, whose growth and potential inspire us daily. Lesson: Every interaction with a child echoes profoundly, reminding us why our roles in education matter.
4. “A Heart in the Wild”
My dear friend, Maria Galanis, recently shared a poignant image on X—a heart carefully crafted from seashells by an unknown stranger on a serene beach. Maria’s simple act of sharing this discovery instantly sparked joy and reflection in those who saw it. This beautiful moment powerfully illustrates how our intentional actions, even small gestures left anonymously, leave trails of positivity, hope, and inspiration that uplift others far beyond our immediate circle. Lesson: As leaders, we are called to intentionally leave pieces of our hearts behind, illuminating paths of connection and possibility.
How to Host Your Own Leadership Riffs Jam Session
Looking to cultivate deeper connections, creativity, and heartfelt impact in your school community? Consider hosting a “Leadership Riffs Jam Session”:
Create a Welcoming Space: Offer an inviting, relaxed, 15-minute gathering after school—no pressure, just meaningful conversations.
Invite Everyone to the Table: Emphasize inclusivity, encouraging participation from every role and level.
Lead with Openness: Share your own authentic stories or pose a meaningful question to inspire genuine dialogue.
Encourage Improvisation: Let ideas flow freely, embracing spontaneity to spark innovative and meaningful exchanges.
Reflect and Empower: Conclude with clear insights and actionable steps, empowering everyone to bring their inspired “riffs” to life.
Heartfelt gratitude to Darrin Peppard, Marie Moreno, and Maria Galanis for their invaluable friendship, inspiration, and thought partnership.
Let’s keep riffing from the heart—because the songs we create together truly matter.
That question was a daily gift during my final year of teaching at Bedford High School. It came from my colleague and kindred spirit, Barry Low, our brilliant music teacher. Barry had a way of showing up with his warmth, wisdom, and that irresistible curiosity for all things music.
Back then, it was 2003. I had a small boombox perched in the corner of my English classroom. CDs were still king, and there was always one queued up and ready to play—usually something from The Beatles, Sinatra, or a little Bossa Nova to soundtrack the morning.
Barry would pop in between classes and ask that now-legendary question: “So, what’s on your turntable?”
Those moments felt like sacred mini-sessions—a spontaneous graduate seminar in music. We riffed on everything from Sergio Mendes to Frank Sinatra to Brazilian jazz. Barry always had a new artist to share, a bootleg CD to lend, or a story that made both of us laugh. My students waiting for class would often catch a glimpse of our camaraderie, and they were drawn in by his wit and warmth.
What Barry didn’t know at the time was how much I needed those check-ins. I was carrying some heavy emotional weight. I’d taken an ethical stand in my department and found myself increasingly isolated. There were days when the silence from others felt deafening. But Barry’s daily drop-ins cut through that fog. His kindness, his curiosity, his way of being present—it all reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
And isn’t that the thing? We never really know what someone is carrying when they walk through the doors of the schoolhouse. But one simple check-in can shift everything.
That’s the lesson Barry gave me—and it’s a lesson that’s stayed with me for over 20 years.
In my last blog post, I shared about being rushed to the hospital after a heart episode that occurred at school. I believe now more than ever in the power of a check-in. A few friends reached out after that moment. Their words, texts, phone calls, and prayers helped guide me back to healing. That experience reminded me again that compassion is not complicated. We just need to ask, “How are you really doing?” And mean it.
We live in an era where emojis and likes are often mistaken for connection. But real connection—life-giving connection—happens when we extend our arm, when we lean in, when we show up. As my good friend Max Pizarro says, “Arm extended.” That phrase carries a quiet power. It’s a posture of empathy. A stance of solidarity. An invitation to belong.
Lauren Kaufman recently wrote, “You don’t have to carry it all alone.” That line struck a deep chord. It reminded me of the invisible loads we all carry and the ways we can lighten each other’s burdens just by being present.
Belonging isn’t just a buzzword—it’s essential. Dr. Susie Wise puts it best in her book Design for Belonging: “Being accepted and invited to participate; being a part of something and having the opportunity to show up as yourself.”
That’s the heart of it. Create spaces where others can show up as themselves. Be the colleague who tunes into others. Be the leader who notices. Be the friend who checks in. Because that’s the gig—that’s the leadership jam that transforms classrooms, staff rooms, and lives.
We are the entry points for belonging. Let’s carry that with purpose and with rhythm.
So, what’s on your turntable today? Maybe it’s kindness. Maybe it’s courage. Maybe it’s simply showing up for someone. Whatever it is, press play and let it echo.
📝 Lauren Kaufman’s blog post, “Shine A Light, Share A Load” — Read it here
A Special Note of Gratitude on My Last Blog Post:
A special thanks to for the overwhelming response for my last blog post, “A Principal’s Rebirth: Finding Life, Love, & Leadership Again.” That post came from a deep place in my heart and I am humbled by the outreach many of you shared. I want my words to help others and this post serves a salve for others who are struggling. Please feel free to share that post linked HERE. Mental Health is so important and my hope is that this blog is a support for all who need it. I am here for you and I am glad that the world has you in it.
These were the last words I heard from our SRO before everything went dark and I fell to the ground.
This was not just a sudden medical emergency—it was the culmination of years spent silently carrying anxiety, stress, and deepening depression. It was the moment my body forced me onto a new path, the first steps toward rebirth.
Last year, I experienced a traumatic health crisis, what doctors described as a cardiac episode triggered by years of relentless anxiety, chronic chest pains, and suffocating Imposter Syndrome. It happened at school, amid the daily chaos and pressures we face as leaders. My body simply gave out.
When I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by paramedics and the incredible members of my office staff, working rapidly to keep me alive. Tears filled my eyes as fear overtook me—I genuinely believed I might never see my wife and our three beautiful daughters again. Breathing was impossible, and the chest pains intensified.
As they rolled me into the ambulance, a flood of thoughts rushed in. I saw my family—moments missed, memories sacrificed. My heart ached thinking of the countless times I’d prioritized my work over my loved ones, placing duty to my school ahead of duty to my family and, ultimately, myself. I called out to God, and then darkness returned.
When I awoke in the hospital, tethered to various medical devices, my heart eased the moment I met my wife’s calming eyes. My oldest daughter was already there, confidently navigating conversations with doctors, demonstrating remarkable strength and poise. Pride overwhelmed me—but so did shame. As her father, I should have been protecting her, not the other way around.
It’s been a full year since that fateful day—a journey of healing, renewal, and rediscovery. My physical health and blood pressure are now managed carefully. Regular therapy sessions every other week have transformed my outlook, grounded in the love and unwavering support of my family and a few deeply cherished friends who check in weekly. Every day, I practice intentional self-care, finally understanding that my identity as a principal should never overshadow my humanity.
As the creator of #CelebrateMonday, I recognize now that I wasn’t celebrating myself. I leaned too heavily on fleeting PLN connections, seeking external validation while overlooking the unconditional, immediate love from my family. While my PLN gifted me a handful of true friendships, I realize my greatest strength comes from being fully present with those who truly cherish me. In pursuit of acceptance, I had unknowingly compromised my core values as a leader.
This past year has gifted me profound clarity and growth. I’ve learned to distinguish between genuine leadership and the seductive illusion often sold through polished selfies, viral gimmicks, and ego-driven platforms. I now seek authenticity, humility, and depth, distancing myself from empty slogans and superficial validations. I am grateful being at a new assignment returning to a school district I truly love and feel sincere support, empowerment, and belonging.
This month marks a year since my rebirth—a new birthday I honor with deep gratitude. My perspective is forever changed. I embrace each moment ahead with my family and true friends, choosing authenticity over illusion, presence over performance, and self-care over self-neglect.
Here’s to life renewed, leadership redefined, and love fully embraced.
Leadership Liner Notes: Sean Gaillard 