love

Finding My Sound Amidst the Silence and the Noise

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We all want to be a part of something that is meaningful and that gives a sense of belonging. That truth has never felt more real to me than it does right now. It is not just a passing thought. It is something I carry with me in the quiet moments and in the spaces where I am trying to make sense of where I am and where I am going.

Sometimes the hardest truth to carry is that your own backyard may not hear your song the way it was meant to be heard. For me, that is not just a metaphor. I can point to moments that still sit with me. I remember sharing the idea for #CelebrateMonday in a meeting and being laughed at. That idea later grew beyond those walls as schools across the country and beyond began using it to build culture and recognize the good in their communities. I have shared #InstantPD, presented on it, and believed in its potential to create quick, meaningful learning for teachers, yet it never fully took root in the schools and district where I served. I have stood as a finalist for North Carolina Principal of the Year and still felt like I was on the outside of that circle, never quite included in the way I had hoped. I think about principal meetings where I would sit alone, not quite feeling like I fit in, with no one saving me a seat. I think about presenting at local and state conferences and seeing small turnouts for sessions I poured myself into. I think about traveling to state and national conferences on my own without a team beside me, navigating those spaces as an individual rather than as part of a group. These are not grievances. These are truths. They have shaped how I understand what it means to feel like an outsider in my own professional community.

That realization has forced me to look inward in ways that are both honest and uncomfortable. I have had to sit with the reality that the spaces I thought would affirm me have often been quiet. That silence can feel heavy. It can make you question your voice and your place.

I have felt adrift in that silence.

At the same time, I know that this season has been both joyful and agonizing. There have been moments of clarity where I feel aligned with the work I am doing. There have also been moments where I question everything and wonder if any of it is landing with anyone beyond me. That tension is real. It is part of what it means to be human in this work.

What I am learning is that peace cannot be dependent on whether others hear the music.

It has to come from within.

I have to be willing to be transparent with myself. I have to face the truths of my past, the realities of my present, and the uncertainty of my future without turning away. That kind of honesty is not easy. It requires me to separate the events of failure from my identity. It requires me to acknowledge the hurt without allowing it to define me. It requires me to keep going even when the path forward is not clear.

The absence of recognition does not mean the music is wrong.

It means I am still in the process of finding my people.

There are people out there who will recognize this sound. They will lean in. They will connect with what I am creating in a way that feels real and mutual. They will not just hear the dream. They will help me play it louder. That belief matters, even on the days when it feels fragile.

At the same time, I am coming to terms with another truth.

No band is going to come calling for me.

That realization is not defeat. It is clarity.

It is my cue to build something of my own.

Instead of waiting to be called in or tapped on the shoulder, I am choosing to create my own spaces and invite others in. I am doing that through the work I am building with my podcast projects and through the Disruption Table webinar, where leaders from different spaces can come together in honest conversation. I am doing that in collaboration with Dr. Donya Ball as we create a space for “Real Riffs,” a podcast that is grounded in truth, reflection, and the voices of those who want to be part of something real. That work is coming to life in April, and it represents more than a project. It represents a shift in how I see my role in this work.

If I want a space where belonging is real, where voices are valued, and where the work carries meaning, then I have to create it. I have to be willing to take the same risks I have been waiting for others to take with me. I have to trust that what I am building has value, even before anyone else affirms it.

This is what leading while human looks like for me right now.

It is holding joy and struggle in the same space.

It is continuing to create even when the response is quiet.

It is choosing peace within myself while still seeking connection with others.

It is believing that there is a place for this work and being willing to build that place if it does not yet exist.

I am still learning.

I am still searching.

I am still here.

There is a sound within me that is not finished.

I am going to keep playing until it finds its way.

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.

Between What Was and What Is Next

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This is a reflection for anyone who has ever stood in the in-between. The space where purpose meets uncertainty and the next chapter feels just out of reach. These are the moments that call for a leadership reset to pause, reflect, and begin again with renewed intention.

There is a strange stillness in the in-between. It is that quiet moment when one chapter fades but the next has not yet begun.

It is not regret. It is ache. The kind that comes from knowing you are at a crossroads. I have danced with failures and missed opportunities. I have wrestled with the silence that follows when you put your heart into something and it goes unseen. That silence has been my teacher.

I think often of those moments in music when an artist stood in their own in-between. When Miles Davis created Kind of Blue, he was leaving behind the familiar and stepping into something uncharted. He entered what is often called a liminal space, a threshold between what was and what could be. It was risky. It was uncertain. Yet from that space of transition came a timeless masterpiece that changed everything.

Or consider The Beatles during the Let It Be sessions. The band was fractured and weary. Yet in that fragile in-between space they still created moments of truth and beauty. They found the courage to keep recording even when it felt like the music had lost its way. Somehow, that honesty became the song that still echoes across time.

Liminal spaces are where the soul rewrites its melody. They are uncomfortable, but they are also sacred. They strip away titles, roles, and routines until only what is real remains.

What is real right now is that I still care. I still believe in people. I still believe in creativity, connection, and service. I still believe that words matter, even if no one reads them.

This is where the Leadership Reset comes alive. It is something I created and shared in a recent blog post. I was honored to share on a recent episode of the “Teachers on Fire Podcast” with Tim Cavey. It is a simple practice that can help any leader find rhythm again when the noise gets too loud or the silence feels too heavy.

Listen to the full conversation here: Take the 3 Minute Leadership Reset with Sean Gaillard

The 3 Minute Leadership Reset

1. Take a Breath (30 seconds)
Close your eyes.
Inhale slowly and say to yourself:

“I am still here.”

Exhale and say:

“I am enough.”

Do this three times. Feel your shoulders drop. Feel your pulse slow. You have just reclaimed your space in the moment.

2. Anchor in Gratitude (1 minute)
Ask yourself quietly:

What one small moment today reminded me I am alive?
What one connection, a smile, a song, a student, gave me a spark?
What one thing am I proud of, even if no one noticed it?

Write it down in a notebook or say it aloud. That is your leadership echo, a reminder that small actions still ripple outward.

3. Affirm and Reframe (1 minute)
Say these words out loud, slowly and intentionally:

“I am not invisible. I am building something that lasts beyond applause.”
“My work is meaningful, even when it is quiet.”
“The music I make through service, kindness, and creativity still plays, whether or not the crowd is listening.”

Let those words live in your breath. You have just tuned your soul back to the right frequency.

4. Reconnect (30 seconds)
Before moving on with your day, take one small action to reconnect:

Send a short message to a friend or colleague.
Share a kind word with a student or staff member.
Play a song that brings you joy.

These micro moments rebuild our leadership core from the inside out.

Maybe leadership is not about applause or spotlight moments. Maybe it is about keeping the song going when you cannot tell if anyone is listening.

So I will stay here for a while, between what was and what is next, trusting that this ache is not the end of the song but the bridge that leads to the next verse.

We are all in-between something. We are all tuning, listening, resetting. Wherever you are in your journey, may you find time to breathe, to notice, and to let your next melody emerge.

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.

A Lesson from My Dad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you, Dad.

Why The World Is Brighter Because of My Daughters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank God for Sean.”

“Thank God for my Mom.”

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

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

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

Hold On to Your People: A Note for School Leaders (and Myself)

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They don’t tell you in principal school just how lonely this gig can be.

Sure, there’s training on instructional leadership, school law, strategic planning, and evaluation protocols. All important stuff. But no one pulls you aside and says, Hey, just so you know, this work will sometimes feel like you’re on an island. Even when you’re surrounded by people, it may feel like no one sees the real you.

This is something I’ve carried with me in all my years as a principal.

Maybe it’s the pace. Maybe it’s the weight of making sure every child is seen, every adult is supported, and every decision aligns with the mission. Or maybe it’s just that in the whirlwind of trying to show up for everyone else, I started to drift from those who know me best.

I’ve lost friends. Not from fights. Not from falling outs. Just from the slow fade that happens when the job becomes the only song you play. And I’m learning through therapy, reflection, and some long walks with myself that it doesn’t have to be that way.

This summer reminded me.

At the ISTE-ASCD Conference in San Antonio, I was surrounded by kindred spirits. Educators, innovators, and thought partners I’ve known for years through screens and conversations. We laughed. We shared. We learned together. But most importantly, I wasn’t “Principal Gaillard.” I was just Sean. The same Sean who loves vinyl records and The Beatles. The same Sean who shows up with a notepad full of scribbles and a heart full of ideas. That feeling of being seen and embraced without the title attached nourished something in me.

That same feeling showed up again in a different space at my cousin’s wedding in Michigan. No one was asking for school updates or strategic plans. I was simply a cousin. A brother. A nephew. A dad. A husband. I was known not because of what I do, but because of who I am. Nothing will beat the joyful moment of hitting the dance floor at the wedding repection with my wife and daughters.

Those moments sustained me. And they reminded me that who I am matters just as much as what I do. Maybe more.

So this post isn’t just a message for my fellow school leaders as we enter another school year. It’s a note to myself.

Don’t lose your people.

The ones who love you for your corny jokes. The ones who know your favorite song. The ones who don’t care about your school data but care deeply about your heart.

Leadership doesn’t have to be lonely. But we have to choose connection on purpose. That’s the work I’m trying to do. And if it helps, here are four small, doable moves I’m committing to this year. Maybe they’ll work for you too.

4 Moves to Stay Connected (That Even a Busy School Leader Can Do):

1. Send one text a week to a friend.
Not a long update. Just a quick check-in. Thinking of you. Hope you’re good. It takes less than a minute but can mean everything.

2. Put a standing “non-school” date on your calendar.
Maybe it’s coffee with a college friend once a month. Maybe it’s a walk with your partner every Thursday evening. Block the time like it’s a meeting. Because it is a meeting with the best parts of yourself.

3. Say “yes” to one invite.
Even when you’re tired. Even when the to-do list is yelling. If a friend invites you to dinner, a concert, a call—say yes. One yes can reconnect you to who you are outside of the principal’s office.

4. Name your people.
Make a list of 3 to 5 folks who know you beyond the job. Tape it to your desk. These are your people. When the days get heavy, look at those names. Then call one. Or just remember their laughter. That’s your reset button.

As this new school year begins, don’t forget the people who walk with you outside of the school walls. They’re the ones who keep your heart steady. They’re the ones who remind you that being just you is more than enough.

I’m holding onto my people this year.

Hold onto yours.

The In-Between Moments: Finding the Groove of Connection at ISTE + ASCD

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I’m dancing.

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:

MoveWhat to TryWhy It Matters
1. Share One TrackDon’t overwhelm: just share one idea or resource with your team.Simple focus leads to deeper conversation.
2. Ask Better QuestionsReplace “How was your day?” with “Tell me something good.”Invites joy, not just information.
3. Cue the TurntableAsk someone what’s on their playlist, book stack, or lesson plan.Sparks connection beyond the surface.
4. Micro-PD MomentsHost a 15-minute “conference spark” PD during planning or lunch.Small doses of big ideas go a long way.
5. Partner Up with PurposeTry a principal-librarian collaboration or cross-role project.Creativity thrives in unlikely pairings.
6. Keep the Groove GoingSchedule 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. .

Learn More About ISTE + ASCD here:

–https://www.ascd.org/

–https://iste.org/

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

smgaillard Education, john-lennon, Leadership, Parenting , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.