What if we lived like the masterpiece was already within us?
Not something to chase. Not something to prove. But something to uncover: one brushstroke, one note, one word, one choice at a time.
Every student. Every educator. Every human.
Brushstrokes of Belief
I think about the times I’ve compromised this mindset. When I was told I dreamed too big. When I was advised to play it safe. I think of the moments when I silenced the masterpiece inside me and gave in to the ease of the status quo. I remember the opportunities I allowed to slip by: ideas that could’ve blossomed into impact because I chose comfort over courage.
As leaders, we must stay grounded in our core. We must also recognize and nurture the masterpiece within the people we serve. Every child, every teacher, every staff member-each one carries the potential for something extraordinary. And it’s our role to invite them into that mindset by stewarding a culture of trust and belonging.
The Invitational Question
As the school year begins, it’s easy to get swept up in to-do lists, calendars, classroom setups, and kickoff meetings. We aim for a smooth start. We hope for a clean slate and an open horizon.
But what if we paused and started the year with one powerful, invitational question?-
How might we co-create a masterpiece in our schoolhouse: one that uplifts our students and each other?
Let that question be your catalyst. Maybe it’s what your team needs to hear from you. Maybe it’s what you need to hear from yourself. Let it refuel your purpose. Let it restore your voice. Let it help you walk in your truth.
Rewriting the Lesson Plan Narrative
In The Pepper Effect, I write about believing in your school’s masterpiece. Just like The Beatles banded together to create Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, a masterpiece isn’t made in isolation—it’s built in collaboration and powered by belief.
At one school where I served as principal, we embraced this mindset in an unexpected place: lesson plans.
Too often, lesson plans become compliance checklists, stifling creativity and reducing the work of educators to mere documentation. Some principals use them as instruments of what Stephen M.R. Covey calls “Command and Control” leadership.
We flipped the script.
Instead of just turning in lesson plans, teachers would highlight a Masterpiece Moment: a singular experience they crafted with passion and intention. It might be a writing prompt, a science experiment, a read-aloud, or a student-led discussion. It didn’t have to be perfect: it had to be purposeful.
In faculty meetings, these moments were shared and celebrated. One teacher compared her lesson to Georgia O’Keeffe’s Sky Above Clouds. Another likened hers to a jazz solo-improvised yet deeply moving.
That small practice opened space for connection, creativity, and belonging. And it reminded us that teaching, like art, is about resonance not replication.
Beethoven’s Ninth and the Schoolhouse
When Beethoven composed his Ninth Symphony, he was completely deaf. Yet, out of silence, he created one of the most profound masterpieces in human history, a work that transcends time, language, and boundaries. The Ode to Joy finale still brings audiences to their feet in awe. It always brings me to tears.
What does that have to do with school leadership?
Everything.
Sometimes leadership feels like working through silence. This can occur when feedback is absent, progress feels slow, or inspiration wanes. And yet, like Beethoven, we still compose. We still create. We still believe. Because the masterpiece is not in the noise, it’s in the conviction, the resilience, and the courage to keep going.
Your school can be your Ode to Joy—crafted not out of perfection, but out of perseverance and purpose.
Four Moves to Practice Masterpiece Leadership All Year Long
1. Curate “Masterpiece Moments” Monthly Set aside 5 minutes during staff meetings to highlight one standout teaching moment from a colleague. Let them share what made it special. Invite joy, not judgment.
2. Embed the Question Into Coaching & Walkthroughs Use the question “What part of your instruction this week feels like a masterpiece?” as a reflection prompt in coaching conversations or feedback forms.
3. Display Masterpiece Boards In a shared space, physically or virtually, let staff (and students!) contribute their own “masterpiece” moments throughout the year. This builds a gallery of impact, belonging, and belief.
4. Model It as a Leader Share your own masterpiece moments as a principal—an email to families, a conversation with a student, a restored partnership. Let your staff see your brushstrokes, too.
The Masterpiece Within
A true masterpiece is timeless and universal. It’s not about accolades or applause; rather, it’s about meaning. It connects us to our humanity. It sparks new ideas. And in leadership, that’s our calling: to ignite that mindset in others.
Especially on the days filled with deadlines, meetings, emails, and decisions—remember:
You are the catalyst. You carry the brush, the baton, the pen.
We all carry a masterpiece within us. What if that belief became the prevailing mindset—in our schools, in our leadership, in our lives?
Let’s lead from that place. Let’s teach from that place. Let’s be that place.
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:
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.
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.
Practice Intentional Affirmation Just like Terry affirmed Richie, leaders should look for genuine moments to recognize others. Quiet encouragement often speaks the loudest.
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.
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 groove is on the move in San Antonio, and Marvin Gaye’s “Got To Give It Up” is pulling me into the aisle at the end of an unforgettable MainStage experience at the ISTE + ASCD Conference. DJ Catwalk is spinning the exit music. The room is clearing out after being inspired by the beautiful voices and stories of Sabba Quidwai, Scott Shigeoka, and Jason Reynolds. And there I am—dancing alone. No choreography. No cool moves. Just me, caught in the joy of the moment.
This was one of those in-between moments—the kind you don’t plan for but end up meaning the most. The kind that happens off-script, off-schedule, and sometimes even offbeat. It’s like a classroom teachable moment or when a band falls into an unexpected groove and something beautiful just… happens.
I hadn’t been to ISTE in six years. I had never been to an ASCD event. I have been a member of both organizations for years. But this first combined experience didn’t feel like two worlds crashing together—it felt like home. It reminded me of The Brady Bunch hitting its stride: unless you were paying attention to the lyrics or the first season, you forgot it was a blended family. It was seamless, like when the Brady kids became a singing group and belted out “It’s A Sunshine Day.”
There were many moments that filled my heart.
I was honored to be named an ISTE-ASCD 20 to Watch Award recipient. (Grateful for to meet Lauren Richardson!) It was humbling beyond words. I was also privileged to co-present with my friend and thought-partner, Dr. Andrea Trudeau, on the partnership between principals and librarians—a project that has grown from our year-long ISTE-ASCD Expert Webinar Series. That presentation was special, no doubt.
But the moments in between—those moments between sessions, in the aisles, on bookstore strolls, and even in hurried walks through the Expo Hall—are the ones that have stayed with me. Like meeting finally, Jacie Maslyk, an amazing author and expert on STEM and Literacy, was akin to meeting a member of The Beatles. Or even meeting Jen Rafferty, an inspiring voice and friend in my PLN, was so meaningful.
I had the joy of finally meeting my longtime friend and collaborator, Meghan Lawson, in person. Walking the bookstore with her, sharing sessions, and learning side-by-side filled my soul. We made sure to share learning and send love to our mutual friend Lauren Kaufman, whose presence was deeply missed. And it was incredible to reconnect with some of my North Carolina PLN band—Brian Whitson, Lindsey Sipe, and Ashley McBride. Seeing familiar faces from home made it all the more meaningful.
I’ll never forget the rush of moving through the Expo Hall with Andrea as we tried to find one of our longtime inspirations, Jennifer Gonzalez. We’ve admired her work through her Cult of Pedagogy podcast and blog for years. When we finally met, the moment turned into a conversation about music, vinyl, and what’s on our respective turntables. It felt like family.
I had the honor of seeing my mentor, Todd Whitaker, co-present with Steve Gruenert. They are the co-authors of School Culture Rewired, a book that sparked the beginning of #CelebrateMonday for me years ago. During their session, Todd spotted me from the audience and invited me to share a quick story from my seat. That was another in-between moment I won’t forget.
There were so many others. Seeing Danny Steele drop the mic in a session on instructional leadership. Sitting in awe during Suzanne Dailey’s powerful Turbo Talk on happiness. One line in particular stuck with me: “Instead of asking someone how their day was, ask them, ‘Tell me something good.’” That simple shift reframed how I want to connect with others—whether in the hallway, in PLCs, or with students at dismissal. Of course, the uplifting symphony of the words of Baruti Kafele during his session on his book, What Is My Value Instructionally to the Teachers I Supervise? resonated with me deeply.
And perhaps one of the most unexpected and humbling moments? During a roundtable discussion hosted by Educational Leadership magazine, someone referenced this very blog—Principal Liner Notes—as a resource. That meant more to me than I can express. It was one of those quiet nods that affirms you’re doing something that matters.
Bringing It Home: Six In-Between Moves for Meaningful Momentum
When a conference like this ends, it’s easy to slip into the post-event blues. But I choose to stay in the groove—to keep the connection and meaning alive in small but powerful ways. Here are six moves I’m bringing back to the schoolhouse:
Move
What to Try
Why It Matters
1. Share One Track
Don’t overwhelm: just share one idea or resource with your team.
Simple focus leads to deeper conversation.
2. Ask Better Questions
Replace “How was your day?” with “Tell me something good.”
Invites joy, not just information.
3. Cue the Turntable
Ask someone what’s on their playlist, book stack, or lesson plan.
Sparks connection beyond the surface.
4. Micro-PD Moments
Host a 15-minute “conference spark” PD during planning or lunch.
Small doses of big ideas go a long way.
5. Partner Up with Purpose
Try a principal-librarian collaboration or cross-role project.
Creativity thrives in unlikely pairings.
6. Keep the Groove Going
Schedule a reconnection call with someone you met at ISTE-ASCD.
Keeps momentum rolling beyond the swag bag.
Final Riff
This conference reminded me that the work we do is about people. It’s about presence. It’s about staying in rhythm with the learners, teachers, mentors, and friends who help us write our leadership song.
To everyone I met, hugged, high-fived, or learned with in San Antonio: thank you. You filled my heart. You reminded me of the beauty in the in-between.
So keep asking what’s on someone’s turntable. Keep dancing in the aisle. And most of all—keep leading without limits. .
Recently, I came across a clip on YouTube of the late Ray Manzarek of The Doors telling the origin story of their 1967 hit Light My Fire. It’s one of those creative origin stories that just sticks. Ray talked about how each band member added a unique musical flavor that transformed the song into something iconic.
Guitarist Robby Krieger brought his flamenco background and wrote the core of the tune. John Densmore layered in a Latin beat on drums. Jim Morrison added a poetic and haunting verse about a funeral pyre. Ray himself took a page from Bach to create that unforgettable keyboard intro. All these ingredients came together like a great jam session, different parts working in harmony to create something innovative, inspired, and bold.
The Doors didn’t play it safe. They took a leap. They trusted each other. And they built something greater than the sum of their parts. That story got me thinking about what it means to lead and solve problems in a school.
When it came time to revise our master schedule at the school I serve as principal, the challenge was real. We needed to maximize instructional time and expand opportunities for intervention. But we didn’t tackle it in isolation. We did it together.
Over two weeks, I brought the challenge to our Instructional Leadership Team, the School Improvement Team, and several staff and teacher partners. These weren’t just quick drop-ins or top-down mandates. These were real conversations, one-on-one meetings, small group huddles, and full team sessions. I started each one with a simple design thinking prompt: How Might We…?
I’ll never forget one particular session with the School Improvement Team. We were all gathered around the same table. Teachers led the discussion. We weighed pros and cons. Ideas flew. Everyone added a perspective, and each voice mattered. There was no single author of the final schedule. Just like The Doors building Light My Fire, each person added a line, a beat, a riff.
Once we landed on a draft, I shared we’d treat it as a trial run. That removed pressure and opened space for feedback. We gave it a shot, came back, reflected, and adjusted. And here’s the best part—it worked. Not because it was perfect, but because it was owned. Teachers had skin in the game. Everyone contributed. Everyone collaborated. Everyone made it better.
This process reminded me that these collaborative moments between teachers and school leaders must echo what we want our students to experience. According to the World Economic Forum, one of the top job skills for 2025 is complex problem solving. Our students won’t master that skill from worksheets alone. They’ll learn it because we model it. Because we live it. Because we solve problems together.
3 Action Steps To Take Build A Collaborative Problem Solving Culture
Leadership is about making space for others to create. It’s about asking How Might We instead of You Must. It’s about letting teachers jam. Here are three ways schools can start building that kind of collaborative problem-solving culture:
1. Create Solution Building Time Set aside time during the month for small, creative think tanks. Bring together teachers, staff, and leaders in a low-pressure space to brainstorm, ideate, and prototype solutions. Use design thinking prompts. Use sticky notes. Use music. Just make it fun and focused.
2. Launch #InstantPD Moments Give teachers the mic. Once a week, host a 15-minute pop-up PD session where a teacher shares a strategy that works. These micro-sessions build confidence, spread great practice, and create the conditions for more teacher-led innovation.
3. Use the Power of the Trial Run When testing something new, give permission to try without pressure. Frame it as a pilot. Invite feedback. Circle back. This builds trust and opens the door for authentic input that shapes real change.
Whether it’s jamming with colleagues on a new idea or leading a full schedule redesign, when we bring people together, we get better. We build trust. We spark creativity. We light fires.
Let’s keep jamming. Let’s keep solving. Let’s keep leading like it matters.
This is your latest #LeadershipRiffs moment from the desk of a school principal who still believes in the power of collaboration, creativity, and the beautiful noise we make when we lead together.
There are checklists to check off. Boxes to move. Emails to answer. Meetings to attend. Conversations to wrap. It can feel like you’re racing a clock with no hands—just noise, motion, and that persistent push toward “done.” As school leaders, we often wear this urgency like a badge of honor. But somewhere in the frenzy, we lose sight of something vital:
The pause.
The other day, our custodian was out, and I had to stay late to close the building. Alone. I walked the halls, locking doors and preparing to set the alarm. The building was still. No laughter echoing down the halls. No rush of students heading to the buses. Just me and the walls that had witnessed a school year’s worth of highs, lows, pivots, and quiet victories.
That simple rhythm—step, door, lock, breathe—became something sacred. I wasn’t just closing a building. I was closing a chapter. In that silence, the year spoke back to me. I remembered the breakthroughs. The bruises. The bounce-backs. The beauty of what we had built together.
And I realized something all over again: reflection is not a luxury. It’s a necessity.
Since my heart episode last year—a moment that forced me to recharge not just physically, but mentally and spiritually—I’ve come to believe even more deeply in the power of pause. I spent too many years avoiding it. Confusing the speed of leadership with the strength of leadership. I mistook checklists for vision. And it nearly broke me.
Innovation doesn’t come from being in constant motion. It comes from being still enough to listen to what the year has been teaching us all along.
So I offer this, not just as a fellow school leader, but as someone who had to learn the hard way: Make reflection part of your leadership practice. Not later. Now.
Here are three ways I’m leaning into reflection, even in the middle of the end-of-year mania:
🎧 1. Schedule 15 Minutes of Stillness
Block out 15 minutes this week—no email, no meetings, no phone. Find a quiet corner of your school. Sit. Breathe. Let the silence remind you of your why.
📝 2. Journal with Three Prompts
What am I most proud of this year? What did I learn from my staff? What will I do differently next year? Keep it short. Keep it honest. But write it down. Let your words catch up with your heart.
🚶♂️ 3. Take a Solo Walk Through the Building
No agenda. No checklist. Just walk. Let the sights, sounds, and stillness speak to you. Every poster, every student project, every empty seat is a story. These are the artifacts of your leadership.
If you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed or alone, know this: you’re not. I’m walking this with you. And if you need a thought partner or a word of encouragement, I’m here.
Leadership is lonely—but it doesn’t have to be isolating. Especially when we choose to pause, reflect, and lead with presence.
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.
This post is dedicated to my true Fab Four: Deb, Maddie, Emily, & Rachel.
This past weekend, our family was called to divide and conquer. A moment we had both dreamed of and quietly feared had finally arrived: our twin daughters were graduating from college—at two different universities, with ceremonies only an hour apart.
That scheduling twist, which had loomed as a distant possibility, finally became reality. But in true fashion, our daughters made the call for us. They knew the challenge of being in two places at once, and they handled it with grace, maturity, and love. One twin would be celebrated in Boone, the other in Charlotte. My wife, Deborah, attended Emily’s ceremony, while I went to Rachel’s.
It wasn’t easy. We wanted so badly to be in the same place, to celebrate both daughters together as a complete family. But our hearts remained united, even across the miles.
As I sat in the Convocation Center at Appalachian State University, surrounded by the joyful noise of other families, I found myself scanning the sea of black caps and gowns. I was determined to catch a glimpse of Rachel. Our oldest daughter, Maddie, who had just completed her second year of law school, finally spotted her and pointed excitedly.
And then—there she was.
Waving. Smiling. Radiant in her graduation regalia.
For a moment, time folded in on itself. Her wave transported me to another milestone—the day of Rachel’s First Communion. That same smile, that same sparkle in her eye. She had looked across the church, found me in the crowd, and sent me a quiet wave. I had waved back, with the same lump in my throat that returned to me all these years later.
But something else happened, too. In Rachel’s smile, I also saw Emily’s. Her twin’s light and laughter seemed to echo in that moment. It was as if both were standing there in front of me, even though Emily was an hour away in Charlotte. I felt a powerful closeness to both daughters, woven together in that one unforgettable glance.
That’s the thing about being a parent. These moments hit you like a thunderclap. They echo from the past and resonate into the future. And suddenly, you realize the most important title you’ll ever hold isn’t “Principal” or “Author” or anything in your email signature. It’s simply “Dad.”
I am so proud of all three of my daughters—Maddie, Emily, and Rachel. They are bright, strong, kind, and wise. They are charting their own paths as young adults, and watching them step into their lives fills me with awe. I’m even more grateful for my wife, Deborah, whose quiet strength and boundless love have held the center of our family together through every season of growth.
Now, with the nest officially empty, I find myself reflecting—not with sadness, but with gratitude. The house may be quieter, but my heart is louder than ever with pride and love.
What Matters Most
It’s easy to get lost in the deadlines, testing windows, evaluations, checklists, and calendar invites. But in the rush of it all, don’t lose sight of what matters most—your people. Your family. Your loved ones.
I’ve made mistakes. I’ve put the job first far too many times. I’ve been the principal who stared at the calendar and missed moments that I can’t get back. And I’m still learning.
John Lennon said it best in “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy),” a song he wrote for his five-year-old son, Sean. It appears on Double Fantasy, the final album Lennon released in his lifetime, just weeks before he was so senselessly killed by gunfire at the age of 40.
In that song, Lennon offers this lyric that has never left me:
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
It’s more than a line—it’s a truth that rings louder the older we get, especially when the nest starts to empty and the calendar continues to fill.
So, as the year closes and you check off your last task, I offer a few humble reminders:
Action Steps for Leaders to Thrive in Life and Work
1. Calendar Your Family First Put family time on the calendar with the same importance as meetings or walkthroughs. Block it out. Protect it.
2. Celebrate Milestones—Big and Small A graduation, a recital, a family dinner. These are not interruptions. They are the point.
3. Let Your Team In Model balance for your team. Share your family moments. Celebrate theirs. Normalize stepping away to be present.
4. Unplug With Purpose Turn off the notifications. Leave the laptop in the bag. Watch the game, take the walk, enjoy the silence.
5. Reflect Often Journal. Take a quiet moment in the car. Play a favorite song or album. Remind yourself why you do what you do—and for whom.
The nest may be empty, but the heart stays full. And at the end of the day, love is the legacy that lasts far beyond our leadership roles.
So here’s to what matters. Here’s to waving daughters, twin smiles, and a family that found a way to be in two places at once—with love as the through line.
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.
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.
Leadership Liner Notes: Sean Gaillard 