Sometimes we have to sit with the hurt. We cannot rush the healing or pretend we are fine. We acknowledge the sting we feel. We name it. We breathe through it.
And then we carry on.
We move forward with peace in our hearts. We keep showing up with love and integrity. We hold onto the belief that our story is still unfolding in ways we cannot yet see.
We walk forward with quiet strength. We choose to rise. We choose to keep playing our song.
Peace is not the absence of pain. It is the courage to continue in spite of it.
There is a scene near the end of Mad Men that has been living in my mind lately. It appears in “The Milk and Honey Route,” the penultimate episode of the entire series. Don Draper is sitting alone on a simple wooden bench at a literal crossroads. His past is heavy. His sense of identity is shaken. Every illusion he has held onto is slipping away.
He is not in a boardroom. He is not commanding a room or crafting the perfect pitch. He is simply a human being at a crossroads waiting for a bus. Two roads stretch away from him. The world around him is still and quiet. Then Buddy Holly’s song, “Everyday,” begins to play. It is light and gentle almost innocent against the weight of everything happening in his life. Don does not say a word. He simply smiles. It is small and worn but it is real.
And in that moment the crossroads becomes something else entirely. It is not a sign of failure. It is a place of possibility. A reminder that endings are also invitations. A signal that a new chapter might be waiting just beyond the next turn. That scene has always stayed with me and it echoes especially whenever I reach crossroads. The crossroads can sometimes be a place where I feel like a castaway from my own story. It sometimes resonates as place where the past feels louder than the future.
But crossroads are also moments of choice. They remind us that the narrative is not over.
Leaders Are Human First
Leadership can trick us into believing that we need to be composed and clear at all times. But human centeredness asks us to stop pretending. It reminds us that we can feel discouraged. We can feel disconnected. We can feel unsure. We can feel deeply human.
We cannot foster belonging for others if we ignore our own longing. We cannot create connection for others if we are afraid to name the disconnection inside of us. We cannot invite others to honor their gifts if we forget the gifts we carry.
When we forget our humanity leadership becomes empty. When we honor our humanity belonging begins to grow.
Taking Back the Narrative
Lately, I have been wrestling with my narrative. The old version no longer fits yet the new one has not appeared in full shape. That in-between space can make even the strongest leader feel small. It can stir up doubt. It can amplify old wounds. It can convince us that we have failed.
But the narrative is not fixed. It is alive. It breathes. We have the ability to reclaim it. We have the ability to reinterpret the past. We have the ability to decide what comes with us into the next chapter.
Reclaiming a narrative does not require us to erase pain. It requires us to believe that we are still in the story.
How Might We Move Forward
I have been sitting with a set of big questions. Quiet questions. Honest questions that come from a place of wanting to understand what comes next.
How might we create belonging when we feel lost? How might we honor our gifts when doubt feels heavy? How might we acknowledge the seasons that humbled us? How might we carry on when the path does not reveal itself?
Maybe the answer is simpler than we think. We choose the next small step that moves us forward. Not the perfect step. Not the loudest or most impressive step. Just the one that points toward healing and growth and connection.
Forward is not about speed. Forward is about intention. There is always a way forward at a crossroads.
A New Narrative Begins With One Step
Crossroads do not require us to know the entire map. They only require us to breathe to rise and to choose. Leaders carry the responsibility of illuminating a future path for others. That same responsibility calls us to illuminate a future path inside ourselves.
We keep showing up. We keep tuning into the gifts that are still there. We keep noticing the gifts others bring. We keep giving ourselves permission to change. We keep claiming belonging even when we feel like castaways.
Most of all we keep writing the next sentence of our narrative with honest hope and steady courage trusting that more of the story is still waiting to be revealed.
Your Move at the Crossroads
If you find yourself at your own crossroads I hope you remember this. You are not alone. You have not failed. You have not reached the end. You are standing in a place where your narrative can open into something new and meaningful. A place where the horizon stretches in every direction. A place where you get to choose the next chapter.
There is a future waiting that you cannot yet see. But it will meet you as soon as you take the next step toward it.
There are seasons when the music fades and all that’s left is the echo. You find yourself standing in the hallway between what was and what’s next. The applause has stopped. The setlist is blank. It can feel lonely, alienating, and rough. Yet this space, the liminal, often carries the quiet rhythm of our becoming.
Every artist and every leader eventually enters this space. It’s not failure. It’s the necessary silence before the next riff.
The Sound of the In-Between
David Bowie once walked away from his own fame. After Ziggy Stardust, he felt trapped inside the glitter and noise. He moved to Berlin, stripped his sound to its essence, and created Low and “Heroes.” Those albums didn’t just reinvent his music; they reinvented him. Bowie found clarity in exile.
Bruce Springsteen did the same when he recorded Nebraska. Alone with a cassette recorder, he traded stadium lights for solitude. Those stark songs revealed a deeper truth: sometimes the loudest growth happens in quiet rooms.
Aretha Franklin’s Amazing Grace marked her own liminal awakening. She paused the pop spotlight to sing from her foundation. By returning to the gospel roots that first shaped her voice, she reminded the world and herself where her power began.
Johnny Cash, long written off by the industry as an oldies act, found redemption through American Recordings. One man, one guitar, one truth. The stripped-down sound of renewal.
Paul Simon, after heartbreak and creative uncertainty, traveled the world and discovered Graceland, an album that is proof that curiosity and collaboration can pull us from the shadows into new light.
Each of them faced an in-between. Each emerged with something truer, deeper, and more human.
The Leadership Riff
Leadership has its own liminal moments. The band breaks up. The stage lights dim. We’re left wondering if what we created mattered at all. It’s tempting to see these stretches as endings, but they are often tuning sessions. These are times to recalibrate, rediscover, and ready ourselves for the next song.
These moments test us. They strip away the applause and ask, Who are you when no one’s listening? They demand honesty and patience. They can feel endless. Yet this is where the next riff takes shape.
A leadership riff is born in those quiet intervals when we listen more closely to the rhythm beneath the noise. It’s the small act of courage to keep playing, even when the room is empty.
The Stage Beyond the Silence
Growth is rarely glamorous. It’s often silent, slow, and unseen. But it’s in those moments when we are not center stage that our next chapter quietly tunes itself.
Like Bowie, we learn reinvention. Like Springsteen, we rediscover simplicity. Like Aretha, we return to our roots. Like Cash, we reclaim authenticity. Like Simon, we find new rhythms in unexpected places.
The liminal isn’t the end of the concert. It’s the soundcheck for the encore.
So if you’re in that hallway right now feeling unsure, unseen, and waiting for direction trust that the next song is coming. This is the space where your voice deepens, your purpose sharpens, and your leadership takes on a new sound.
Keep playing. The world will hear you in time.
Author’s Note
This reflection is part of the evolving ideas that will shape my next book, Leadership Riffs: Harmonizing Inspiration, Innovation, and Impact. It’s about the music that plays in the background of leadership: the improvisation, the courage, and the faith to keep going when the crowd goes quiet.
This morning, I started my day with a cup of black coffee and a vinyl spin. I always appreciate the reflective warmth of time alone with coffee and the crackle of the needle on an album. I decided to start the day with Nick Drake’s “Five Leaves Left.” His 1968 debut is going through a renaissance of source with a recently released multi-disc archival reissue. “The Making of ‘Five Leaves Left'” was recently nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Historical Album.” “Five Leaves Left” is timeless and intimate with the delicate stylings of Nick Drake’s voice and solid layers of his acoustic guitar fingerpicking. Some of the tracks resonate with the lush sensitivity of orchestral accompaniment. Unfortunately, the quiet beauty of this music was largely unheard in Nick Drake’s lifetime. The album did not chart in the artist’s United Kingdom homeland or the United States. It is estimated that “Five Leaves Left” my have sold 5,000 copies initially. A few UK critics admired the album and praised its songwriting, but Nick Drake’s debut did not serve as the basis for any triumphant herald.
There is something sacred about starting the day with Nick Drake on vinyl. The gentle crackle of the needle gives way to his quiet voice, fragile yet eternal. In his lifetime, few listened. His albums never charted. His songs drifted into silence before they could find an audience. Yet decades later, his music has become a timeless canon that reaches hearts he never lived to know. I think about that often as a leader. We may never fully know the reach of our work or the appreciation we long to feel. We hear the critiques, the surveys, the noise of what is wrong. But somewhere, in the midst of that silence, our sound still carries. It reaches someone. It matters.
The Unheard Artist
Nick Drake’s musical career continued on that same trajectory as his debut. He released two more albums in his lifetime. None of them charted and received little radio airplay. Nick Drake also struggled with promoting his work due to his lack of confidence with live performance. The record company believed in his artistry but struggled with how to market and promote him. Nick Drake also struggled with depression. Tragically, Nick Drake died at 26 unaware of how profoundly his music would resonate decades later.
There’s something in the story of Nick Drake that mirrors leadership. The work we do as leaders is sometimes unseen, unacknowledged, and often uncelebrated.
The Leader’s Quiet Stage
As a school leader over the years, I have had my share of complaints, negative survey outcomes, and feedback that can sting. It’s easy to for others to fixate on what’s wrong or missing from your leadership. In those moments, it can alienating like no one can hear the song you are trying to play. Even though these moments are fleeting, sometimes they can fester. I can definitely acknowledge the emotional cost that those moments can ignite spaces of self doubt, loneliness, and Imposter Syndrome. We have to tune into the belief that leadership, like art, is an act of faith that the sound will reach someone even if you never know it.
A Therapeutic Takeaway for Reflection
In a recent conversation with my therapist, he encouraged me to sit still and reflect upon the impact that I had made over the years as a school leader. It was a timely reminder that I took to heart as we bemoaning the negative moments and allowing them permission to define my core and impact as a leader. Sometimes, it’s not loud applause but quiet ripples that matter the most. Those quiet ripples like a teacher’s growth, a student’s success or a colleague’s encouragement that resonate in ways that we never know. We just have to know that when we lean into the gifts of others that we are making an impact. We have to believe in ourselves even on the days when we think no one believes in us.
An Unlikely Impact in a Volkswagen Commercial
Nick Drake’s songs eventually reached millions nearly 25 years after his untimely death. The resonance of his beautifully wrought music from his small corpus of three albums took time, but it happened. In 1999, a commerical promoting the Volkswagen Cabrio used the title track from Nick Drake’s final album, “Pink Moon.” A massive revival of Nick Drake followed and the small cult following that had kindled the flames of Nick Drake’s work felt validated by this movement. I remember seeing said commerical and almost falling off my couch. I had lovingly kept, “Way to Blue,” a compact disc complilation of Nick Drake’s music as one of my most cherished albums. I was in a small club of devoted followers who were drawn to the ache of Drake’s music-the bittersweet, poetic lyrics, the complex guitar tunings, and the moving production. Now, Nick Drake was catapaulted into legendary musical infinity. His voice now timeless and boundless for future generations to discover and cherish.
In leadership, sometmes our influence often plays out long after the moment. The sound of encouragement, belief, and kindness endures even if we never hear it echoed back. When we do hear that echo land back to us, it is important that we treasure that moment and know that our presence mattered to someone else. We should take stock of that moment of impact on someone else and be grateful that our presence mattered to someone else and proved to be a salve for that person.
I think of the leaders and teachers who saw something in me that I did not see in myself and I am grateful. As best as I can, I try to let that past leaders and teachers that their seemingly small act of seeing me and believing in my worth changed my world. Even though Nick Drake passed away when I was a mere child of four years and an ocean away, his music made my days less lonely when I was questioning my own journey. Now, I unabashedly give thanks for the music and legacy of Nick Drake.
Keep Playing
Even when appreciation feels absent, keep playing your song. Leadership is not a performance for applause or validation. Sometimes, it’s a quiet composition for connection. The work we do may not always be noticed, but it still matters. Somewhere, in a classroom, a meeting, or a passing moment, a note of what you’ve created is resonating. The sound may be soft, but it carries. Keep playing, even when the room feels silent. Trust that your melody will reach someone who needs it, even if you never hear the echo. The sound prevails.
Here’s the famous 1999 Volkswagen commercial featuring Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon.”
Failure hurts. There’s no sugar-coating that simple truth. When the Beatles were turned down by Decca Records, it could have been the end of their story. But it wasn’t. They found another path and changed the world. As I wrote in The Pepper Effect, that “no” was just the prelude to a bigger “yes.”
And they’re in good company. Walt Disney was once fired for “lacking imagination,” and Oprah Winfrey was told she was “unfit for television” before becoming a media icon. Each of them had moments that could have ended their journeys, but instead, they used those setbacks to fuel their next success.
In leadership, we all have those moments. And I’ll say personally, I’ve had my own failures. Sometimes the things I write or the ideas I share don’t resonate the way I hope. Sometimes a well-intentioned plan becomes a flop and I fall on the sword of doubt. Each of those moments is a chance to keep creating, keep pushing, and keep striving. It’s a reminder that our perseverance can inspire others to do the same.
In leadership, we face our own versions of these stories. Sometimes failure lands on our shoulders alone, and it feels isolating. The secret I have learned over the years is that failure is less sharp when you’re in a band, when you have those who know you and stand by you. It’s easier to turn a setback into a new song when you’re not playing solo. That’s why it is essential to surround yourself with those who support and empower you. That’s why it is essential to stay connected with those who knew you and stood by before you got the leadership gig, corner office, or prestigious title.
When failure comes, and it will, remember that you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Take a breath, lean on your bandmates, and see failure as the beginning of a new opportunity. Failure is the spark for something greater. I know that failure can hurt and force you to stand still in the marrow of your doubts. Someone needs your spark and there is a band relies upon your sound. One day, your failure story will be the inspiration for someone else and may even be that spark that sets the world as a better place for others.
When failure comes, let it be your cue, not your curtain call. Let it remind you that you’re not alone, that your story isn’t over, and that the band is still playing. Every “no” carries the seed of a future “yes.” Every closed door echoes with the sound of what’s next. Lean into your vision, surround yourself with those who believe in your song, and keep showing up with your whole heart. Because someone out there needs the music only you can make.
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.
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.
Every leader faces doubt. Every visionary faces resistance. This reflection is about how we can rise above the noise, stay true to our purpose, and keep creating even when others question our path.
There will always be naysayers.
There will always be you, the one who dares to believe, to dream, and to create.
There will always be naysayers who question your heart, doubt your intentions, and smile to your face while tearing you down in private. There will always be your resilience, your steady conviction, and your choice to rise above the noise.
There will always be naysayers who talk about you. There will be you talking about solutions.
That contrast defines courageous leadership. The world has its critics. You have your calling.
The Constant and the Choice
Naysayers are not going anywhere. They are constant. In that regard, our values, beliefs, and dreams must remain constant, too.
Every leader faces the weight of skepticism and the sting of doubt. Even though naysayers can disturb our peace and invade our thoughts, they also present an opportunity for us to show courage and grit.
Rocky Balboa once said, “It ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.”
Naysayers are not obstacles. They are resistance training. Each criticism, whisper, or eye roll becomes a repetition in the workout of our resolve.
Lessons from The Beatles
In my book The Pepper Effect, one of the four leadership riffs inspired by Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is Ignore the Naysayers.
The other three riffs are Believe in Your Vision, Believe in Your Masterpiece, and Believe in Your Collaborators. Each one reminds us that masterpieces are born from vision, teamwork, and purpose.
When The Beatles were creating the Sgt. Pepper album, they were told they were finished and that their best work was behind them. They tuned out the static and created an album that forever changed music.
Sometimes, we can even invite the naysayers to the table. They rarely show up. They are often too busy critiquing from the sidelines while we are in the studio doing the work.
Holding On to Worth
We must believe in our worth and know that our impact matters.
It is time to stop allowing naysayers to live rent free in our minds. It is time to stop subscribing to their questioning of our value.
Naysayers will follow us with jibes, insults, and ridicule, but they will never step into the arena with us. They will never feel the rush of creation, the joy of risk, or the satisfaction of impact.
A Personal Note
I have been plagued by naysayers, too. Their words once haunted me. They disrupted my focus and dulled my joy. I regret giving them permission to occupy my thoughts and lower my head.
That regret became a teacher. It reminded me to stand taller, to protect my energy, and to refocus on what truly matters: purpose, integrity, and love for the work.
The Encore
There will always be naysayers. There will always be you.
You are leading with heart. You are believing when others doubt. You are building while others tear down. You are staying in the arena while others remain in the cheap seats.
Keep leading. Keep creating. Keep believing.
The noise fades. The work remains. The song goes on.
How do you stay grounded when naysayers appear in your path? Share your reflection or story in the comments. Together, we can create a chorus of encouragement that reminds us to keep the music of leadership alive.
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 friendLauren 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.
Every great song needs a pause between the notes. The same is true for leadership. Take a moment, breathe, and tune your heart back to harmony.
As leaders, we have our days. I am talking about the days where we feel our humanity and gaze at our limits. Sometimes that limit gazing leads to doubt. We doubt our purpose. We question our impact. We embrace our blunders and define them as reasons why we don’t matter.
There are times when self doubt takes the stage. We begin to question our purpose. We wonder if we make a difference. We replay our mistakes and convince ourselves they define us.
Leadership can be lonely. I can certainly attest to that after almost twenty years in school administration. It is a loneliness that gnaws at you, the kind that can box you into becoming a castaway who is adrift, rudderless, isolated.
That is the irony of leadership. We are surrounded by people every day, students, teachers, families, and community members, yet the weight of decisions, the scrutiny, and the responsibility can still leave us feeling alone. There are joyful days, of course, but there are also those days when you must make the hard call, stand by your principles even when they are unpopular, and face the quiet stares that question your choices.
Those are theAm I Cut Out for This?days, echoing the title of my good friend Elizabeth Dampf’s recently published, powerful book.
When Doubt Knocks
Every leader faces those moments that stir imposter syndrome, stress, or even depression. It is easy to forget that leadership, as meaningful as it can be, does not define who we are.
Yes, the work might be a calling or vocation, but at its core, it is still a job. What truly defines us is the why behind what we do, our passions, dreams, and values that form the center of who we are.
The work can also be beautiful, impactful, and world changing.
Just the other day, I sat in a parent teacher conference with a parent I had once served years ago at another school. She smiled through tears as she said she was grateful her child was in a place where I could help. That simple moment reminded me that the echoes of our leadership often reach further than we realize. Those moments when we feel seen, valued, and appreciated are the quiet affirmations that we have helped others feel the same.
The Power of the Pause
We are human. We will doubt. We will stumble. But we must also give ourselves permission to pause.
We must be intentional about being present, especially with the people who loved us before we ever had a leadership title. Sometimes, the most courageous move we can make is to take a moment to reset.
Last year, I came across an insightful book, The Reset Mindset by Penny Zenker. It is filled with practical, grounded steps for slowing down, refocusing, and rediscovering purpose. The concept of “reset” has stuck with me ever since, not just as a leadership practice but as a way of living.
Here is my own adaptation, a simple reflection I call The 3 Minute Leadership Reset.
🎧 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.
One More Thing
Remember this truth: Your presence matters. There are people, family, friends, and colleagues, who love you simply for who you are. You are never truly alone.
There will be days when the gig feels heavy, isolating, and uncertain. But even in those moments, you have got this. And I believe in you.
As I often say on my podcast:
“Do not forget to share your dreams with the world. The world needs them, and you help make it a better place.”
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.
Leadership Liner Notes: Sean Gaillard 