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.
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.
I take medication for that, as well as for high blood pressure. I lean on prayer for guidance, strength, and courage. Music, exercise, and writing serve as my entry points for continued healing.
This is a reality that I face and accept. I am okay. I am a proud father, a grateful husband, and a human being doing his best each day.
We have to normalize the conversation around mental health. It is not a stigma, and it should not be a secret.
Years ago, I listened to an interview where Dwayne Johnson openly shared his battle with depression. Bruce Springsteen, in his memoir Born to Run, wrote candidly about his own struggles. Both sought professional help. Both broke through the stereotype of invulnerability. And when I heard their stories, something deep within me stirred. It was a reminder that I was not alone.
It takes courage to be that open. Johnson and Springsteen are seen as strong, larger than life figures. Leaders, creators, and entertainers who have given millions joy. And yet, they are human. Their willingness to be vulnerable gave me the courage to carry my own weight and step forward in hope.
I want to be clear. I am not an expert on mental health. I can only share the truth I know and the experiences I have lived. What I do know is what it feels like to be alone in the struggle, to wonder if anyone else understands, and to silently hope for connection. I write this with my arm extended, reaching toward you, to say that you do not have to endure this alone.
The myth of leadership tells us to wear capes, to never stumble, to prove our strength through invulnerability. Social media only amplifies this illusion. But the truth is simpler and more profound. We are human. And being human means there are seasons when the darkness feels too heavy to carry on our own.
Viktor Frankl once wrote, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” That quote has carried me in the hardest moments. It reminds me that even in the weight of depression, there is always a small step forward, always a chance to choose connection, always a chance to choose hope.
Depression is real. But so is support. So is the slow, steady step toward light when we reach out, seek help, and allow others to walk beside us.
This summer, on a turbulent flight, I sat next to a man in the grip of a panic attack. I recognized the signs instantly because I have been there. I leaned in and gently reminded him of strategies I knew he likely carried with him. He looked at me in surprise and whispered, “You know about the strategies, too?” I nodded. “Yes. You are going to be okay.” In that moment, both of us were reminded of a powerful truth. We are not alone when we reach out.
I am learning peace. I still face setbacks, but I continue to carry forward with my faith, the love of my wife and our daughters, the guidance of my therapist, and the support of my family along with a few trusted friends who check in on me. Each moment, however small, is a victory. Each step into the light is a lesson in resilience. And each time I share my story, I am reminded that others are waiting for the validation that they, too, are not alone.
Maya Angelou said it beautifully: “We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated.” Her words remind me that setbacks are part of the journey, but they do not define us. They are reminders to rise, to endure, to keep moving toward the light.
So, if you are silently struggling, know this: I see you. You are loved. You are valued. You belong.
As my father taught me to hold my head high, you are encouraged to do the same. If you do not feel compelled, then you are welcome to lean on me and we can walk forward together.
As I write, Beethoven’s 7th Symphony plays in the background. He composed it even as he faced the devastating reality of losing his hearing. He leaned into his craft and created something timeless. That reminder gives me courage: even in the face of struggle, we can pivot into something beautiful.
Let us do that together. Let us lean on one another. Let us check in with each other. Let us create, compose, and carry forward.
“The waiting is the hardest part.”-Tom Petty (1981)
As I continue my sojourn in Maine, I gaze upon the lake on another cool summer morning. A warm cup of coffee is my company along with the occasional sparkles smiling at me on the water and a lone loon swimming alongside this morning reverie in the distance.
There’s a certain kind of silence that settles in when your waiting. It’s not always peaceful. It’s filled with hope, doubt, questions, and whispers of “what if.” That’s where I have been reflecting upon lately. There is an art to waiting that leaders must take hold of and learn to appreciate. Many look to us as a lamppost on a dark, foggy night. It is important that we make that the light we carry within, our leadership core, is intact, balanced, and focused.
The Struggle of Waiting
It is important to acknowledge the truth. Waiting is frustrating. It is excruciating into its life span and sometimes I allow negative moments to roam rent free in my head. I try to cope with waiting by cueing up familiar songs to carry me through the anxiety of waiting: “The Waiting” by Tom Petty, “Tired of Waiting for You” by The Kinks, or “I Am Waiting” by The Rolling Stones (a great deep cut by them from my favorite album of theirs, “Aftermath.”) Speaking of the Stones, I even imagine myself in their classic “Waiting on a Friend” video hanging out on the stoop with Mick Jagger looking for Keith Richards. Yet, the bottom line remains for me that waiting is just plain hard.
As leaders, we are wired to take action, make moves, plan next steps. We calculate, strategize, and analyze. There is urgency in the air that needs our focus and we called to act. The clock is ticking, people need decisions, and our vision and mission to serve our school community must be maintain momentum.
Sometimes the most important growth most important growth happens when nothing appears to be happening. For leaders, waiting can feel like failure. It can compel us to embrace the abysmal and tune into second-guesses and should haves. But in this stillness, I’m learning that not moving doesn’t mean not growing.
Waiting is an opportunity.
A Leadership Riff in the Shadows: George’s Quiet Resilience
George Harrison waited. He always did. Whether it was waiting for his guitar solo cue during the early days of The Beatles or waiting for spiritual enlightenment during his pursuit of Transcendental Meditation, George simply waited. He endured a long journey to have his voice and songs recognized within The Beatles. He waited in the shadow of the successful and thriving shadow of the Lennon-McCartney songwriting partnership for years. He watched song after song of his get passed over. But instead of giving up and surrendering to doubt, he kept writing. Occasionally, a song would be accepted and many of his songs in The Beatles still resonate today like “Something,” “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” and “Here Comes The Sun.”
When the time finally came, George Harrison released the epic-three album, “All Things Must Pass.” This was an album of such depth, resonance, and majesty that it proved to the waiting wasn’t a waste; rather, it was a gathering. That gathering included an all-star line up musicians ranging from former bandmate, Ringo Starr, to Eric Clapton, Klaus Voorman, and all members of Badfinger. Phil Spector co-produced and served the album up with the Wall of Sound. It was filled with songs that The Beatles had rejected and hits that still spin today like “My Sweet Lord” and “What Is Life.”
George Harrison proved that waiting does not have to yield in an abrupt ending. Waiting can compel something beautiful to happen.
Leadership Wait Time
Waiting is a leadership discipline. It can take years to cultivate and nuance for one’s own leadership practice. Waiting teaches us patience, humility, faith, and emotional agility. In the classroom, teachers use “wait time” as a move to create space for students to pause, think, and reflect. It is an intentional pause that is meant to create belonging for students who may feel bashful at responding or to set the stage for a teachable moment to resonate within the classroom.
Leaders have wait time, too. The waiting room is where character gets built. It’s where we learn to lead without control, to listen instead of speak, to reflect instead of react.
As leaders, we have to cultivate space for waiting to ignite reflection. We have to give permission for ourselves to roam into that space to discover new things within ourselves and the people we serve.
This is not always easy and it can be ponderous. I reflect upon the moments of when I am challenged to wait as a leader and as an individual. Within the frustration of the moments of endless waiting, I have sometimes missed those opportunities for reflection and positivity. It’s easy to default to damning doubts and shifting the blame to some universe conspiring against me. Waiting does not have to be negative. We have to shift the paradigm on waiting to something akin to opportunity.
Brene Brown expressed this best for leaders, “Patience is not about waiting. It’s about how we behave while we’re waiting.” This is where we must be very cognizant of how we respond and move during our leadership wait time. We model the expectations and set the tone in our moves. Many look us to be that solid beacon of calm during any level of wait time and it’s important that we lead with grace, poise, and purpose during a leadership wait time.
Waiting can be a pressure cooker for leaders, but it’s important to maintain our core during those ponderous wait times.
There may have been pressure to fill a vacancy quickly whether it was for a teacher, assistant principal, or support staff member. But instead of rushing, you held out for the right fit. You waited, trusted your instincts, and stayed aligned with your school’s mission and values. And when that person arrived, it was clear they were the one. They didn’t just fill a role; they elevated the culture, built trust, and made a lasting impact on students and staff.
That moment, that hire validated the wait. The right choice often takes time.
A Quiet Riff to Carry Forward
Waiting is not weakness. It’s part of the journey. The silence we endure on a decision to be made or an action to occur is not empty. The silence may be an opportunity for you to compose a new song you don’t yet hear. I think of a time during my first principalship when our school was waiting for the outcome of our magnet grant application. The waiting was far-reaching and I remember checking my inbox every day several minutes at a time. This lasted for months and it was not pleasant. The waiting period did bring the faculty closer together as we shared this collective anticipation.
Looking back, it was the waiting that not only bonded us but it helped us persevere when we found out that we didn’t get the grant. The community that was forged during this period lead our school to being the first in the district to successfully implement a non-funded magnet. We had a positive impact on kids and achievement due to the community that was forged during the waiting game.
The truth is, we don’t always get to fast-forward through uncertainty. But we do get to keep showing up with grace, grit, and belief. You can use waiting as an opportunity to model resilience, reflection, and connection with others. And that’s the kind of leadership I want to grow in, one quiet step at a time.
Three Action Steps to Make Waiting More Meaningful for Your Leadership
1. Seek Out Thought Partners
Waiting doesn’t have to be lonely. Use the pause to deepen your leadership bench. Reach out to a mentor, a colleague, or someone who inspires you. Take a spin within your Professional Learning Network (PLN) to seek those people out who can inspire and support you. Share your thoughts and listen to theirs. Thought partnership sharpens perspective, calms uncertainty, and reminds you that you’re not navigating the unknown alone. Collaboration during the waiting season often leads to renewed clarity and creative momentum.
2. Study Leadership Riffs from History
Waiting has shaped some of the most significant leaders and movements in history. Lincoln waited through agonizing losses before the tide turned. Mandela waited in a prison cell for 27 years before transforming a nation. Singer-songwriter Carole King waited years to emerge as a solo artist and record her multi-platinum selling masterpiece, Tapestry. Even The Beatles waited through setbacks and missteps before crafting Sgt. Pepper. Explore these stories not just for inspiration, but as evidence that purpose-driven delay can lead to extraordinary outcomes.
3. Use the Quiet to Bring Your People Closer
While the external outcome is pending, focus inward. Use this time to connect more deeply with your team. Hold space for listening. Celebrate small wins. Reaffirm your shared mission. Leadership isn’t just about making decisions, it’s about fostering belonging. Waiting offers a powerful window to strengthen community, build trust, and ensure your team feels seen and valued.
Leadership Liner Notes: Sean Gaillard 