Belonging

The Power of Belonging and Curiosity in Schools

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Inspired by “Why Curiosity Not Coding Is the Top Trait CEOs Need for the Future of Work”
https://www.inc.com/joe-galvin/why-curiosity-not-coding-is-the-top-trait-ceos-need-for-the-future-of-work/91278344

I recently read an article in Inc. that stopped me in my tracks. It argued that curiosity, not coding, is the most essential trait leaders will need for the future of work. That idea resonated deeply because it echoes what many of us in education feel but often struggle to defend. Human centeredness matters. Curiosity matters. Schools often over rely on test scores. They depend too much on canned surveys and unfunded mandates. As a result, we miss the very conditions that allow real learning to take root.

Curiosity is not an add on. Curiosity is not a kit. Curiosity is not a scripted program rolled out with fidelity checklists. Curiosity is a mindset embedded in culture. It shapes how people ask questions, how they listen, and how they engage with uncertainty. When curiosity is confined to a STEM lab or a special event, the message becomes clear. Wonder is optional. Compliance is the goal.

That is not the world our students are walking into now.

A culture of curiosity cannot exist without belonging. Students do not take intellectual risks in spaces where they do not feel seen, valued, and safe. Teachers do not model curiosity in environments where trust is fragile. Leaders cannot inspire curiosity without the conviction that belonging matters first.

Belonging is the catalyst.

When students feel they belong, they ask better questions. When teachers feel they belong, they experiment. When leaders build belonging intentionally, curiosity follows naturally. Culture is not built through slogans on the wall. Culture is built through interactions, shared experiences, and the daily signals that tell people they matter.

This belief was reinforced for me at the ISTE+ASCD Conference in San Antonio this past summer. One of the keynotes was delivered by Scott Shigeoka, author of Seek: How Curiosity Can Transform Your Life and Change the World. His message was powerful and deeply affirming. He shared research that shows deep curiosity strengthens relationships, expands empathy, and fuels innovation. Curiosity, he reminded us, is an invitation. An invitation to seek. An invitation to share what we are learning. An invitation to be open to one another.

That keynote moved me so much that I left the session and immediately bought his book for myself and for a friend. It raised questions that continue to linger. What if we inspired curiosity without inhibition? What if we were curious about each other’s gifts? What if curiosity became a shared practice rather than a private trait?

These ideas are not theoretical for me.

Years ago, when I served as principal of a STEAM Magnet Middle School, we intentionally stepped outside the schoolhouse to experience innovation in action. We formed a community partnership with the Innovation Quarter in Winston Salem, a living ecosystem of research, entrepreneurship, and collaboration. The most important decision was sending teachers first.

Teachers visited the space. Teachers listened to innovators describe their work. Teachers asked questions about how ideas move from concept to impact. No binders were handed out. No scripts were followed. Conversations emerged organically. Beliefs began to shift. Instruction changed because mindsets changed.

This work is possible in any schoolhouse.

Here are practical first steps leaders can take to build a culture of curiosity grounded in belonging.

Start with a PLC on Curiosity
Begin by naming curiosity as a shared value. Use a PLC to explore what curiosity looks like in classrooms, adult learning, and leadership practice. Invite teachers to reflect on when they feel most curious and when students seem most engaged. Anchor the conversation in real experiences rather than initiatives. Curiosity grows when people feel heard.

Lead With Questions
Model curiosity as a leader. Replace quick answers with thoughtful questions during meetings, walkthroughs, and coaching conversations. Ask students what they are wondering. Ask teachers what they are noticing. Ask teams what might happen if they tried something new. Questions communicate trust and signal that thinking matters.

Build Authentic Problem Based Experiences
Design learning experiences connected to real problems students care about. Invite students to tackle challenges in their school or community. Allow them to research, collaborate, and present solutions. Authentic problems invite ownership and deepen belonging because students see their voices matter.

Schedule Time for Curiosity
Schools protect time for silent reading because literacy matters. Curiosity deserves the same respect. Build dedicated time into the master schedule for inquiry, exploration, and passion projects. This time might look like Genius Hour, inquiry labs, or interdisciplinary exploration blocks. Time signals value.

Partner With Innovative Organizations
Seek partnerships with businesses or organizations where innovation is embedded in the culture. Invite professionals to share how curiosity drives their work. Organize site visits for staff. Allow students to see curiosity modeled beyond the classroom walls. Exposure expands possibility.

I am over test scores and canned surveys being the primary guides for the work that needs to be done in service of students. Data has a place, but humanity must lead. Human centered schools create the conditions for belonging. Belonging ignites curiosity. Curiosity fuels learning that lasts.

If schools are to prepare students for an unknown future, leaders must have the courage to protect curiosity and the conviction to build belonging. This work is bold. This work is attainable. This work is necessary.

Curiosity is not a distraction from achievement. Curiosity is the pathway.

That is the work worth doing.

Keeping the Faith When the Room Feels Quiet

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I remember being one of the last kids picked for kickball. Standing there in the dust with my hands in my pockets, waiting for someone to call my name. Everyone else seemed to belong somewhere. Everyone else seemed to have a team. That feeling has followed me into adulthood more times than I care to admit.

It rises up again whenever I put something out into the world and the room stays quiet. Every blog post. Every episode. Every reflection. Each one is a small act of courage. Each one is a piece of my soul placed gently on the table. Yet the silence that follows can hit with the same sting I felt on that kickball field.

There are days when it feels like no one wants me in their band. No replies. No call backs. No echoes of connection. I have chosen two of the loneliest gigs in the world. Leadership asks you to walk into the unknown even when no one notices. Writing asks you to offer your heart with no promise that anyone will take it. There is no applause built into any of this. There is no guarantee that your work will lead to opportunity.

So I have to keep the faith that there are quiet listeners out there. I have to trust that someone is reading or watching or absorbing even if I never hear the echo. I have to accept that my work may never be seen by the people I wish would see it. I have to keep creating anyway because that is the only way I can stay true to myself.

When doubt begins to weigh me down, I think of George Harrison. In the latter days of The Beatles, he felt like an outsider in his own band. His songs were often pushed aside. Yet he kept writing. He kept believing in his sound. Even in those difficult seasons, he delivered “Something” and “Here Comes The Sun.” Those songs became the heart of what many considered to be their greatest album, “Abbey Road.”

Then came the moment when his backlog of unheard songs found their place. “All Things Must Pass “emerged as a three album masterpiece by George Harrison. A triumph born from years of quiet rejection. A reminder that some brilliance finds its home only after the world grows ready for it. That album just celebrated its fifty fifth anniversary. It is a cherished album for me. It reminds me that the work we create in the shadows can one day light the way for someone else.

Maybe the same can be true for me. I have been part of good bands in my life. Maybe one more band is still out there. Until then, I will keep the faith even when the room feels quiet. I will write anyway. I will lead anyway. I will create anyway.

Because someone somewhere may need the sound I am trying to make. Even if I never hear the echo, the act of making it still matters.

Playing My Sound: A Way Back to Human Centeredness

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A reflection on writing, creating, and staying true to the sound inside

Today is Giving Tuesday. Traditionally, it is a day to support a charity or cause with a monetary donation. This year I want to give something different. I want to give something from the heart. I want to give the gift of reflection through this post. I struggle through my own valleys. I have moments of alienation. Yet, I still want to reach out and give to you on this Giving Tuesday.

In my last blog post titled, “A Call for Human Centeredness,” I shared a wish to reclaim what matters most. We live in a world that moves too quickly and fractures too easily. In this season dominated by artificial intelligence and constant digital noise, it feels more urgent than ever to slow down. This is the time to take moments for what we truly need. Take a walk, listen to music, and connect with others in real and meaningful ways.

Leadership is a profession lived shoulder to shoulder with people, yet it can be profoundly lonely. I have carried that loneliness for many years. When you have to deliver difficult truths, the isolation can be heavy. It is also relentless when you guide crucial conversations and shoulder responsibility for others. I know the emotional toll it can take. I understand the strain that loneliness can place on mental health. It is a quiet weight that can follow you home at the end of the day.

I wave a cautionary flag in this moment. I wave a cautionary flag against replacing deep human connection with chatbots or digital interactions that try to mimic intimacy. I wave a cautionary flag against the social and political fractures that have hardened us toward one another. I wave a cautionary flag against the myth that we are too busy to connect. Human centeredness often becomes the last item on the list when it should be the first.

As I wrote earlier in the last blog post, people matter most. Moments matter most. Belonging matters most.

Technology is not the enemy. I am grateful for the early days of Twitter. It opened doors that helped me publish my first book. It allowed me to speak at conferences and form friendships that continue to sustain me. Yet somewhere along the way, the human center has been overshadowed. To reclaim it, we have to build spaces that nourish our souls rather than simply fill our schedules.

For me, writing is that space. Creating this blog and working on my next book are my ways of building time for reflection and clarity. This is where I feel the freedom to dream. It allows me to express what matters. It is also my way to connect with you. If you are reading this and feel lonely, discouraged, or fatigued, I hope these words remind you of something important. You are not alone.

Every leader needs a trapdoor that allows the soul to breathe. Recently, I opened one by starting a TikTok account and creating a small series called Vinyl Riffs. The premise is simple. I talk about records I love and celebrate the joy of music. It lets me feel like a late night radio host spinning albums for anyone who needs a song. I do not know if the videos make sense. I do not expect to go viral. However, every time I create one, I feel my joy return. I feel myself reconnect with my passions, dreams, and ideas. I feel true to who I am.

By writing and creating, I am staying anchored to my purpose. I am staying faithful to the sound inside me. If I keep playing my sound, then maybe it will resonate with someone who needs it. Maybe there is a band out there that needs me and I need them. Maybe my sound will help someone find their own.

We all need something that restores us. Something that reminds us that we are human beings and not human doings. Something that lets our souls breathe.

So on this Giving Tuesday, here is my gift. An invitation.

Find the thing that fills you up and make space for it.
Write. Sing. Paint. Walk. Play. Listen. Build. Dream.
And most importantly, connect.

Because when we create, we reconnect with ourselves.
And when we reconnect with ourselves, we create space to connect with others.
This is the heart of human centeredness.
This is the gift worth giving.

To borrow wisdom from The Beatles, words that have guided me through so many seasons:

“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
-Lennon and McCartney

May we continue to make love visible through connection, creativity, and courage. If you need a bandmate on that journey, I am here.

A Call for Human-Centeredness

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During this week of Thanksgiving, I am reflecting actively on the things I am grateful for this year. I am zoning in on those people who have filled my bucket with inspiration in meaningful ways. The last two years have been filled with intentional paths. I am intentionally focusing on inspiration for my self care. This approach benefits my well being. My PLN has been an oasis for inspiration and connection and belonging. I have been fortunate to develop authentic friendships beyond hashtags and GIFs with a select few.

There are two individuals who I want to honor in this space. I have been blessed with their friendship. Both have been mentioned here before and both have been guests on my podcast. This time, I want to share how both serve as beacons for human centeredness.

Meghan Lawson and Maria Galanis are humble voices in my PLN. They create space for belonging in the way they craft their content. Meghan writes a weekly blog that stirs the soul. Her Instagram is a pocket of joy. She shares inspiring words and pictures of her cats. She also shares the delight of friendships and learning communities. Maria posts beautiful reminders about cherishing family. She shares her love of Coldplay. She also celebrates those magical moments when she finds images of hearts in the wild.

Most importantly, both remind us what it means to be human centered. Their content is never about promoting themselves. They uplift our humanity in the joy they capture and share. Maria literally shares the images of hearts she discovers in her travels. Meghan shares the joy she feels when she amplifies the voices of others.

Human centeredness is not a buzz word. It is a mindset that our world needs more than ever. Especially in education. Too often we are buried in acronyms and staged icebreakers and meetings and data points. Human centeredness is the pause we take. It allows us to connect with others through a kind word. We also ask an authentic question and call out the good in the moment. We do not do it enough in our profession in my opinion. Human centeredness is the spark that ignites belonging. We sustain it when we lean into each other and take the time to help one another along the way.

The other day before Thanksgiving Break, I was passing out Little Debbie snack cakes. It was not a stunt for social media. It was an entry point to connect with the people I serve. I wanted to express gratitude. I wanted to listen and share a moment of joy face to face. I wanted to stand together as humans and bandmates.

This is the path I want to walk with intention. I want to offer a pathway for others to embrace human centeredness. I want to express gratitude for Meghan and Maria. They inspire me to live with greater presence and heart. I am grateful for our friendship.

Here is the simple truth that rises in my heart. People matter most. Moments matter most. Belonging matters most.

May we listen more than we speak. May we see one another fully and without agenda. May we choose connection over convenience. May we choose love over hurry. May we lift each other through small gestures that echo far beyond the moment.

When we lead from a place of human centeredness, we create rooms where others feel seen and valued. People feel safe to become who they are meant to be. We create communities where joy grows. We create teams that play like bands in perfect rhythm.

That is the work that lasts. That is the work that changes schools and lives.

Here is my invitation. Let us keep our hearts open. Let us reach across the divide with generosity and presence. Let us build something beautiful through the way we treat each other.

Human centeredness is not a strategy. It is a way of being.

And everything starts there.

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.

The Seat Saver: A Leadership Reflection on Belonging

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In the swirl of learning and connection at the ISTE Live and ASCD Annual Conference, a friend’s kind act of saving a seat became something greater. It was a quiet reminder that leadership is not found in titles or stages, but in creating space where others feel they belong.

The other day, I was reminiscing about my experience this past summer at the ISTELive and ASCD Annual Conference in San Antonio. I had traveled there for two special reasons: co-presenting with my friend and thought partner, Dr. Andrea Trudeau, on Principal and School Librarian Collaboration, and being honored as one of the recipients of the ISTE + ASCD 20 to Watch recognition.

This conference was meaningful on many levels. With ISTE and ASCD coming together for the first time, it felt like the formation of a supergroup similar to The Traveling Wilburys of education. The learning sessions, the keynotes, and the energy of being surrounded by thousands of passionate educators were inspiring. Still, I arrived feeling a bit like a solo act.

Even though I was meeting up with friends from my Professional Learning Network (PLN), I could not help but feel that familiar pang of introverted hesitation. Traveling alone sometimes brings that quiet ache of wondering, Will I find my place here?

A Seat Saved

Then came a simple yet powerful act of kindness.

On the first day, my friend Meghan Lawson reached out and invited me to sit with her group. Meghan was a seat saver in every sense of the phrase. She sent messages throughout the conference:

“We have a seat for you.”
“We are over here. Come join us.”

When I arrived, there she was with a smile and a wave, making sure there was space for me. She introduced me to her colleagues as if I had always been part of their circle. In those moments, I did not feel like an outsider anymore.

That act of saving a seat, so small on the surface, became a profound gesture of belonging. It was not just about a physical chair in a crowded session room. It was about creating space for someone else to feel seen, valued, and connected.

A Third Place in Action

This sense of belonging reminded me of an article by Superintendent Teresa Hill in the September 2025 issue of Educational Leadership titled “Help Students Find Their Third Place.” She builds on sociologist Ray Oldenburg’s concept of the third place, a setting beyond home (the first place) and work or school (the second place), where people gather, connect, and belong.

Hill’s words resonated deeply because, as leaders, we need to cultivate third places not just for students but for the adults we serve. Our schools, offices, and even conferences can become those spaces of belonging when we intentionally carve out room for others emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

That is exactly what Meghan did for me. Her saved seat was a third place. It represented welcome, community, and care. Andrea Trudeau did the same by inviting me to join sessions, co-presenting with encouragement and joy, and extending genuine friendship.

Even our friend Danny Steele showed up at our poster session just to support us. He did not need to be there, but he was, a quiet reminder that belonging is built one intentional gesture at a time.

Creating Space for Others

Something as simple as saving a seat carries great power. As leaders, we are often the ones carrying the weight of decisions, expectations, and responsibilities. It can be easy to isolate, even unintentionally. But we are called to do the opposite.

We are called to be seat savers, those who create and hold space for others to belong, contribute, and thrive.

Belonging is not a slogan or a tagline in a memo. It is the living, breathing act of inclusion. It is checking in with intentionality on another human. It is inviting others into a shared space of belonging. It is sharing what we have learned. It is offering encouragement without condition.

That is what Meghan and Andrea modeled in San Antonio. They made belonging an action, not an idea.

Paying It Forward

Before the conference ended, Meghan and I reached out to our friend Lauren Kaufman, who was not in attendance. We missed our friend. We looped her into our group chat and shared the sessions that had inspired us. In a way, we were saving her a seat, too, a digital one in our learning community.

I carried that spirit home. I wanted to continue saving seats for others through my social media posts, sharing reflections and takeaways from the conference. Those posts were not just updates. They were invitations, small ways of saying, Come sit with us.

The Leadership Invitation

I am grateful for friends like Meghan, Andrea, and Danny who made space for me in San Antonio. Their kindness reminded me that belonging begins with awareness and intention.

As leaders, we can all be seat savers. We can all be the ones who make sure everyone has a place in the band.

Because when we save a seat, we do not just fill space.
We create community.
We create belonging.
We create harmony.

Polishing Forks, Painting Ladders: Why Little Moments of Respect Matter

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A Collaborative Blog Post by Meghan Lawson & Sean Gaillard

Sean:

This post is a follow-up to our recent collaboration on Season 4 of The Bear. Meghan Lawson and I had such a great time thought-partnering and exploring leadership through the lens of this compelling show that we knew we had to keep the conversation going. When a story grabs your heart and your mind in equal measure, you follow it. For us, The Bear does just that.

We both love this show. We find ourselves returning to its characters, their struggles, their growth, and the environments they navigate because there are so many leadership lessons embedded in their journeys. These are not neat, polished takeaways. These are messy, raw, and very real moments that mirror the work we do in schools and systems every day.

One of the most moving scenes from Season Two is found in Episode Seven, “Forks.” It’s a moment where Richie, played with heart and grit by recent Emmy nominee Ebon Moss-Bachrach, has just completed a transformative stage at a fine dining restaurant. He wanders into the kitchen, reflecting, observing, absorbing. There, he finds Chef Terry, portrayed with quiet power by Olivia Colman, delicately peeling mushrooms.

They exchange a short but unforgettable conversation.

Richie asks, “Why do you do this?”
Terry replies, “Respect.”

That single word hangs in the air—soft yet commanding. It lands like a truth bomb.

Richie follows up, “Time well spent. That’s what it’s all about?”
Terry responds, “Yeah, I think so.”

As she steps away, she shares a simple, affirming note: Carmy, Richie’s current boss, told her that Richie was good with people.

That moment is not loud. It is not filled with urgency or ego. It is filled with presence, affirmation, and intentionality. Those are the moments worth striving for as a leader.

I love those quiet moments when I’m walking the hallways and visiting classrooms in the school I serve. These are the quiet moments that reflect the glow of a child who feels that sense of belonging. It is the knowing glance from a teacher when I see them in action with a teachable moment. Those are the moments which sustain and carry me on the days when I may be bereft of energy or I have forgotten my leadership purpose.

You go in quest of those moments that echo your purpose as a leader and resonate in impact that ignites the good for others. That makes the whole gig worthwhile.

Over the years, school leadership has sometimes been mistaken for performance art—standing on tables, performing viral-worthy stunts, orchestrating social media optics. While there’s a place for fun, it should never be contrived. Leadership is not about applause. It’s about authenticity.

The “Forks” episode plays like a compelling work of art. It simmers and marinates with beautifully-wrought simplicity. And in that quiet simplicity, we’re reminded: respect isn’t loud. It’s intentional.

And there it is—one leadership lesson.

Meghan:

Sean has so beautifully captured this story, and I’m so glad he mentions it because it is indeed one of my favorite moments from the show.

My husband works in college basketball, and a while back, I wrote a blog post titled, Painting Ladders. It was about how I learned from him that every little detail matters, and none of us are above contributing to those little details.

There was a season when his team won their conference. We all know the tradition: players climb the ladder to cut down the net. That moment is symbolic, beautiful, and hard-earned.

But before the moment, there was the ladder.

The team’s ladder was yellow—not one of the school’s colors. My husband didn’t complain or delegate. He went out, bought navy paint, and stayed up until midnight painting it. No announcement. No credit. He just did it.

Because it mattered. Because of respect.

I try to carry that lesson with me into schools. No job is below me. No detail is too small. It’s about honoring the work and the people who do it. It’s about the culture we’re building—one choice at a time.

“Every second counts” is a phrase repeated throughout The Bear. It’s even emblazoned on the kitchen wall. But this scene reminds us: it doesn’t mean hustle until you break. It means something deeper. Every second is an opportunity to honor your work, your people, and the space you share.

Leadership isn’t just pushing for results. It’s about presence. Listening. Quietly showing someone they matter.

Terry is peeling mushrooms. Richie is paying attention. A few words are exchanged. A leader is affirmed. A purpose is clarified.

That is leadership.

I believe these kinds of moments shape culture. Hallway conversations. Check-ins after a tough day. The unseen prep done with care. The fork that gets polished when no one is watching.

I remember when I first became a building principal. I had dreams of grand gestures for staff, but I was serving over 700 students PK–5 with no assistant principal or counselor. The grand ideas gave way to meaningful ones: showing up in classrooms, learning kids’ names (first, last, and middle), greeting students at the door, cleaning fingernails, brushing hair, riding the bus.

That’s where the culture was built.

There are no small moments in a school.

So, here’s to peeling mushrooms. Here’s to painting ladders. Here’s to time well spent, quiet presence, and respect that shows up without a microphone.

Every second really does count.

Let’s keep leading like it matters. Because it does.

Four Actionable Leadership Moves:

  1. Lead with Presence, Not Performance
    Show up consistently, not for the spotlight, but for the people. Leadership is built in everyday interactions, not staged moments.
  2. Honor the Small Details
    From a clean classroom to a student’s confidence boost, the smallest touches reflect the greatest respect. Don’t underestimate their impact.
  3. Practice Intentional Affirmation
    Just like Terry affirmed Richie, leaders should look for genuine moments to recognize others. Quiet encouragement often speaks the loudest.
  4. Be Willing to Paint the Ladder
    Do the behind-the-scenes work. Fix the overlooked things. Whether anyone notices or not, that’s how you show respect for the team and the mission.

Let’s keep polishing forks and painting ladders. Leadership lives in the quiet corners.

Six Lessons for Leaders from “The Bear”

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A collaborative reflection by Meghan Lawson & Sean Gaillard on leadership, belonging, and bright spots inspired by Season 4 of The Bear

Special Note: Big thanks to my good friend, Meghan Lawson, for collaboration and thought partnership on this joint blog post! Meghan is a dream to collaborate with and I am honored that we joined writing forces on this shared piece. Thank you, Chef!

Lessons from Season 4 of The Bear

So, if you haven’t watched, SPOILER ALERT.

I told my good friend, Sean Gaillard, this week that his friendship not only makes me a better leader, it helps me to listen more deeply and appreciate more fully. This includes music which won’t surprise those of you who know Sean. Over the past couple of years, Sean and I have bonded over our love of the show, The Bear, a show filled with beautiful messy people who  love imperfectly but love deeply. We cannot help but see many connections to education and hope you enjoy our six lessons from season 4 below.

Meghan 1: Less is More

Prior to this season, Carmy wanted to put out a new menu every day. He claimed to have many reasons for this. Fresh ingredients, novelty, the possibility of a Michilin star, but this proved to be both taxing on his team and expensive and unsustainable long-term. If The Bear wanted to stay in business, they would have to simplify. They would have to do less well. So, they started to minimize ingredients, focused on making simplified but exquisite meals consistently, and they worked to optimize the customer experience. As a result, things start to turn around for their restaurant.

I couldn’t help but see the inevitable parallel between this restaurant story and our work in schools. Too often, well-intentioned educational leaders learn of the latest and greatest in education and push those initiatives out to the staff in the hopes that this will be the year that they reach their school goals and see swift improvements in their data. We all know how the story ends. Some teachers burnout and others become disengaged figuring that “this too shall pass” so why bother with some of these “flavor of the month” strategies.

There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. When I need reminding of this, life humbles me with little missteps. I’ve put too much salt on my food to the point it’s become inedible. I’ve used too much blush or too much hair product and spent the day looking like a Broadway stage wannabe. And I’ve tried to do too much at one time with my team and had it backfire. So, I’m not writing this as some leadership expert. I’m writing this as someone who seems to learn lessons over and over again and only one way: the hard way. 

We’ve been working on growing the capacity of our building leadership teams in my school district. I presented a plan for the work to principals for feedback in the spring. Then, when the hustle of the school year subsided, and we shifted gears to summer planning and learning, after digging into some learning together, it was clear. Parts of my plan were too much, and we needed to pivot. So, we did. 

And this is why you need to listen to and trust your team.

Meghan 2: You Need a Team More than You Think

I read something powerful. I believe I found it in The Culture Code by Daniel Coyle. Essentially, in a study of teams, the team of high achievers who didn’t work closely together did not perform as well as the average performers on a high-functioning team. In The Bear, members of the team fully embrace their special role on the team. Ebraheim focuses on The Beef sandwich shop where it all started for this family owned restaurant. Turns out, this simple sandwich window is single-handedly keeping The Bear afloat. Syd focuses on her scallops. Tina (man, I just love her) focuses on making her pasta dish in under 3 minutes. Marcus focuses on being the best pastry chef he can be and even earns recognition in Food & Wine magazine. Richie, perhaps my favorite character, focuses on service. Nat on finances. They all do their part and do it well, and when another person is in some kind of trouble, they offer to help. They are in constant communication throughout the night. They have to be. They have to know when someone is walking behind them or when someone has a hot plate in their hands and or how much time remains before service. As they say, “Every Second Counts.” For the most part, they all have enough basic knowledge required to execute on various basic functions of the restaurants as needed. But they don’t have to do it all. 

And yet, here we are. Often expecting ourselves to be the master of all things in our classrooms and schools. We want to be able to do it all and do it all at a high level. But what if we shifted our energy to identify how to leverage the strengths of our team? It’s not that we aren’t going to meet and won’t be collaborating. The Bear has a team meeting every day as do most restaurants. Some even break bread together before they begin service. But are we being strategic about the way we utilize the gifts of our teammates in a way that is equitable and advances our mission? I’m not a whiz at spreadsheets, but I know how to facilitate a meeting that moves us from point A to point B and ensures equity of voice. Can I learn how to be better at spreadsheet work? Sure, I can. We are all learners. Learning is our business. Is becoming a spreadsheet master, something I hate by the way, the best use of my time and energy when I have teammates who thrive in spreadsheets? Probably not. Planning an impactful meeting, using those sheets, gives me energy and is also needed. 

Meghan  3: You Are Not Your Job

Throughout this season of The Bear, it’s clear that Carmy is having an existential crisis. He’s spent his adult life hyper-focused on his work. So much so, that this work became all he knew of the world and himself. For those of us, myself included, with childhood and adult trauma, this is a coping mechanism that I know all too well. It’s easier to compartmentalize the hard stuff and throw ourselves fully into our work than it is to confront painful realities. Natalie forces Carmy to hold her baby for a moment. He’s meeting her baby for the first time, and you can tell he is uncomfortable holding the baby at first but with time, he eases into it and himself in the moment with her. There’s a split second where Richie catches a glimpse of them, uncle and niece together, and smiles to himself realizing how special this moment truly is for Carmy. Carmy has countless moments of awakening outside of the kitchen this season and explains in the final season that he doesn’t know who he is outside of the kitchen. 

I love our profession. I believe deeply in the work we do. And I worry about us. For too many of us, myself included, we’ve centered our lives and identities on success in education. I worry about this so much that I wrote about it in Legacy of Learning, “You are giving others the strength to move forward, the strength to believe in themselves, the strength to try to make this world a better place. Knowing this makes being an educator so meaningful. But we don’t have to suffer while we make this kind of impact. In fact, the more we can live well and be well, the more our impact will grow.”

If our well-being and self-esteem is solely predicated on how well we are believe we are performing in our work, that is a very fragile ecosystem. We don’t have to earn love or earn self-worth. We already have it. Everything we have is everything we need. So, let’s start paying attention to how we talk to ourselves. Let’s talk to ourselves like we talk to people we love. The most important work is the work we do on ourselves. Everything else is secondary. 

Sean: Collaborating with Meghan Lawson is always a bright spot. Her lens on leadership sharpens mine. What’s even better is that her friendship always makes be better. Her reflections on The Bear Season 4 kick open the door for all of us to pause, reflect, and notice the extraordinary in the everyday. I’m grateful to add to this conversation not just as a fan of the show, but as a school leader who believes deeply in the power of culture, connection, and care just as Meghan exemplifies.

This summer, Meghan and I had the chance to hear Dan Heath speak live at the ISTE + ASCD Annual Conference in San Antonio. His keynote, inspired by his book Reset: How To Change What’s Not Working, challenged us to “study the bright spots.” His words weren’t just memorable; they were actionable. That idea has stayed with me, echoing in my heart and practice.

Bright spots can be found in great TV, too. And The Bear is brimming with them—tiny, powerful moments that show what leadership, belonging, and humanity look like under pressure. Here are a few that have stuck with me and how they’ve nudged me to lead better:

Sean: 1. The Art of Delight

In one of the standout scenes, Richie makes sure a guest gets an authentic Chicago Beef sandwich. That alone would’ve been enough. But then? The restaurant team makes it snow. A surprise. A moment of joy. An act of intentional delight.

Great leaders do the same. They listen for delight opportunities. They tune into what others need even if they don’t say it out loud. Delight isn’t about flashy gestures; it’s about showing people they matter.

For me, this takes the form of Positive Principal Phone Calls Home. I call families not because something went wrong—but because something went right. A student showed kindness. A kid made growth. A teacher created magic. It’s the equivalent of snow falling indoors. And it always lands.

Sean: 2. You Are Never Alone

Carmy, fractured and guarded, prepares lunch for his estranged mother. Syd chooses to show up for Richie even though the wedding they’re attending is for his ex-wife. These moments speak volumes. In the kitchen or in the chaos, someone chooses to be there.

Leadership, at its best, is presence. Not performance.

On a recent flight home, I noticed a fellow passenger battling flight anxiety. No fanfare. Just a quiet offer to talk, sit, and be. We shared the journey—sky and fear alike. That moment reminded me of school. We often say the principal’s office can be a lonely place. But it doesn’t have to be. Leaders must extend that reminder: you are not alone to students, staff, and families. And sometimes, to ourselves.

Sean: 3. Belonging Matters

There’s a powerful scene where Richie’s daughter is too afraid to dance at a wedding. What do the adults do? They crawl under the table and share their own fears. It’s tender, honest, and unforgettable.

Leadership is often loud. But sometimes, it’s quiet courage: the willingness to go under the table with someone else’s fear and stay there with them until they’re ready to rise.

This summer, I wrote handwritten letters to my staff. Simple notes of gratitude and anticipation. No big speech. Just connection. It’s how belonging begins by saying: I see you. I’m glad you’re here. I can’t wait for what’s ahead.

The Bear isn’t just entertainment. It’s a mirror. A reminder. A bright spot. And as we get ready for a new school year, there’s no better time to slow down, reflect, and carry these lessons into our leadership.

-Here’s to delight.
-Here’s to presence.
– Here’s to belonging.
– Here’s to the bright spots.

The Applause We Don’t Hear

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The Applause We Don’t Hear

#PrincipalLinerNotes

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.

The Ripple Effect of Belonging

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The other day, I found myself in pre-production mode for an ASCD Expert Webinar I’m co-facilitating with Dr. Andrea Trudeau. We were just moments away from going live—an exciting milestone in our partnership with ISTE-ASCD to explore the power of principal-librarian collaboration.

Despite having delivered keynotes, facilitated countless meetings, and never being one to run out of words, I felt a twinge of nervous energy. Andrea and I had carefully planned this series, designed to help principals and librarians cultivate belonging through meaningful partnerships. Still, the unknown had me teetering on the edge of speechlessness.

Then, as our “executive producer,” ISTE-ASCD Senior Manager for Community Engagement Margaret McGuinness, prepared to hit the button to go live, I centered myself in a simple truth and voiced the following: If we connect just one principal with one librarian, we’ve done our job. Andrea and Margaret nodded in agreement, and together, we stepped into uncharted territory. The webinar was a success and I believe both Andrea and I were able to help others build some bridges that day.

That’s the thing about belonging—it starts with a single step. A single connection. A single moment of shared purpose.

The Power of a Ripple

It’s easy to hesitate when stepping into something new. But what if The Beatles had given up when they played to an audience of just 18 people early in their career? Instead of letting the small crowd deter them, they leaned into the moment. They played their hearts out, laughed at the absurdity, and kept going. That spirit of persistence and joy shaped their journey—and, in turn, has inspired mine.

The same principle applies to leadership. Impact isn’t measured in likes, viral moments, or fleeting trends. It’s about connection. It’s about the quiet, intentional moves that build belonging—moves that ripple outward in ways we may never fully see.

I think of my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. McMonagle, who saw something in me before I saw it in myself. With a single conversation, she opened my world to literature, art, critical thinking—and yes, The Beatles. That moment still echoes in my leadership today.

Tuning into Belonging

As school leaders, our role isn’t to chase the spotlight. It’s to cultivate an environment where every student, every teacher, and every staff member feels seen, heard, and valued. That kind of belonging isn’t built in grand gestures but in the everyday moments:

🎸 A handwritten note on a teacher’s desk reminding them that their work matters.
🎸 A lunchtime conversation with a student that shows them they belong.
🎸 A simple high-five in the hallway that lets someone know they are valued.
🎸 An intentional partnership that strengthens the fabric of a school community.

These small moves create big ripples.

Join the Conversation

That’s exactly what Andrea and I are exploring in our ongoing webinar series, The Power of Partnership: Enhancing School Success Through Principal and Librarian Collaboration. Through these 30-minute sessions, we’re diving into practical ways to align goals, foster communication, and leverage library resources to support student success. This journey will culminate at ISTELive 25 and ASCD Annual Conference 25 in San Antonio where we will present our work.

Let’s keep the conversation going. Join us, engage in the dialogue, and lean into the work that truly lasts.