mental-health

Stillness Is the Song: Leadership Lessons from the Waiting

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“The waiting is the hardest part.”-Tom Petty (1981)

As I continue my sojourn in Maine, I gaze upon the lake on another cool summer morning. A warm cup of coffee is my company along with the occasional sparkles smiling at me on the water and a lone loon swimming alongside this morning reverie in the distance.

There’s a certain kind of silence that settles in when your waiting. It’s not always peaceful. It’s filled with hope, doubt, questions, and whispers of “what if.” That’s where I have been reflecting upon lately. There is an art to waiting that leaders must take hold of and learn to appreciate. Many look to us as a lamppost on a dark, foggy night. It is important that we make that the light we carry within, our leadership core, is intact, balanced, and focused.

The Struggle of Waiting

It is important to acknowledge the truth. Waiting is frustrating. It is excruciating into its life span and sometimes I allow negative moments to roam rent free in my head. I try to cope with waiting by cueing up familiar songs to carry me through the anxiety of waiting: “The Waiting” by Tom Petty, “Tired of Waiting for You” by The Kinks, or “I Am Waiting” by The Rolling Stones (a great deep cut by them from my favorite album of theirs, “Aftermath.”) Speaking of the Stones, I even imagine myself in their classic “Waiting on a Friend” video hanging out on the stoop with Mick Jagger looking for Keith Richards. Yet, the bottom line remains for me that waiting is just plain hard.

As leaders, we are wired to take action, make moves, plan next steps. We calculate, strategize, and analyze. There is urgency in the air that needs our focus and we called to act. The clock is ticking, people need decisions, and our vision and mission to serve our school community must be maintain momentum.

Sometimes the most important growth most important growth happens when nothing appears to be happening. For leaders, waiting can feel like failure. It can compel us to embrace the abysmal and tune into second-guesses and should haves. But in this stillness, I’m learning that not moving doesn’t mean not growing.

Waiting is an opportunity.

A Leadership Riff in the Shadows: George’s Quiet Resilience

George Harrison waited. He always did. Whether it was waiting for his guitar solo cue during the early days of The Beatles or waiting for spiritual enlightenment during his pursuit of Transcendental Meditation, George simply waited. He endured a long journey to have his voice and songs recognized within The Beatles. He waited in the shadow of the successful and thriving shadow of the Lennon-McCartney songwriting partnership for years. He watched song after song of his get passed over. But instead of giving up and surrendering to doubt, he kept writing. Occasionally, a song would be accepted and many of his songs in The Beatles still resonate today like “Something,” “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” and “Here Comes The Sun.”

When the time finally came, George Harrison released the epic-three album, “All Things Must Pass.” This was an album of such depth, resonance, and majesty that it proved to the waiting wasn’t a waste; rather, it was a gathering. That gathering included an all-star line up musicians ranging from former bandmate, Ringo Starr, to Eric Clapton, Klaus Voorman, and all members of Badfinger. Phil Spector co-produced and served the album up with the Wall of Sound. It was filled with songs that The Beatles had rejected and hits that still spin today like “My Sweet Lord” and “What Is Life.”

George Harrison proved that waiting does not have to yield in an abrupt ending. Waiting can compel something beautiful to happen.

Leadership Wait Time

Waiting is a leadership discipline. It can take years to cultivate and nuance for one’s own leadership practice. Waiting teaches us patience, humility, faith, and emotional agility. In the classroom, teachers use “wait time” as a move to create space for students to pause, think, and reflect. It is an intentional pause that is meant to create belonging for students who may feel bashful at responding or to set the stage for a teachable moment to resonate within the classroom.

Leaders have wait time, too. The waiting room is where character gets built. It’s where we learn to lead without control, to listen instead of speak, to reflect instead of react.

As leaders, we have to cultivate space for waiting to ignite reflection. We have to give permission for ourselves to roam into that space to discover new things within ourselves and the people we serve.

This is not always easy and it can be ponderous. I reflect upon the moments of when I am challenged to wait as a leader and as an individual. Within the frustration of the moments of endless waiting, I have sometimes missed those opportunities for reflection and positivity. It’s easy to default to damning doubts and shifting the blame to some universe conspiring against me. Waiting does not have to be negative. We have to shift the paradigm on waiting to something akin to opportunity.

Brene Brown expressed this best for leaders, “Patience is not about waiting. It’s about how we behave while we’re waiting.” This is where we must be very cognizant of how we respond and move during our leadership wait time. We model the expectations and set the tone in our moves. Many look us to be that solid beacon of calm during any level of wait time and it’s important that we lead with grace, poise, and purpose during a leadership wait time.

Waiting can be a pressure cooker for leaders, but it’s important to maintain our core during those ponderous wait times.

There may have been pressure to fill a vacancy quickly whether it was for a teacher, assistant principal, or support staff member. But instead of rushing, you held out for the right fit. You waited, trusted your instincts, and stayed aligned with your school’s mission and values. And when that person arrived, it was clear they were the one. They didn’t just fill a role; they elevated the culture, built trust, and made a lasting impact on students and staff.

That moment, that hire validated the wait. The right choice often takes time.

A Quiet Riff to Carry Forward

Waiting is not weakness. It’s part of the journey. The silence we endure on a decision to be made or an action to occur is not empty. The silence may be an opportunity for you to compose a new song you don’t yet hear. I think of a time during my first principalship when our school was waiting for the outcome of our magnet grant application. The waiting was far-reaching and I remember checking my inbox every day several minutes at a time. This lasted for months and it was not pleasant. The waiting period did bring the faculty closer together as we shared this collective anticipation.

Looking back, it was the waiting that not only bonded us but it helped us persevere when we found out that we didn’t get the grant. The community that was forged during this period lead our school to being the first in the district to successfully implement a non-funded magnet. We had a positive impact on kids and achievement due to the community that was forged during the waiting game.

The truth is, we don’t always get to fast-forward through uncertainty. But we do get to keep showing up with grace, grit, and belief. You can use waiting as an opportunity to model resilience, reflection, and connection with others. And that’s the kind of leadership I want to grow in, one quiet step at a time.

    Three Action Steps to Make Waiting More Meaningful for Your Leadership

    1. Seek Out Thought Partners

    Waiting doesn’t have to be lonely. Use the pause to deepen your leadership bench. Reach out to a mentor, a colleague, or someone who inspires you. Take a spin within your Professional Learning Network (PLN) to seek those people out who can inspire and support you. Share your thoughts and listen to theirs. Thought partnership sharpens perspective, calms uncertainty, and reminds you that you’re not navigating the unknown alone. Collaboration during the waiting season often leads to renewed clarity and creative momentum.

    2. Study Leadership Riffs from History

    Waiting has shaped some of the most significant leaders and movements in history. Lincoln waited through agonizing losses before the tide turned. Mandela waited in a prison cell for 27 years before transforming a nation. Singer-songwriter Carole King waited years to emerge as a solo artist and record her multi-platinum selling masterpiece, Tapestry. Even The Beatles waited through setbacks and missteps before crafting Sgt. Pepper. Explore these stories not just for inspiration, but as evidence that purpose-driven delay can lead to extraordinary outcomes.

    3. Use the Quiet to Bring Your People Closer

    While the external outcome is pending, focus inward. Use this time to connect more deeply with your team. Hold space for listening. Celebrate small wins. Reaffirm your shared mission. Leadership isn’t just about making decisions, it’s about fostering belonging. Waiting offers a powerful window to strengthen community, build trust, and ensure your team feels seen and valued.

    The Power of the Pause:

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    3 Reflection Tips for School Leaders

    It’s loud at the end of the school year.

    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.

    The noise will pass. The moment won’t.

    Make space for it.

    The Applause We Don’t Hear

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    The Applause We Don’t Hear

    #PrincipalLinerNotes

    There are moments in leadership—more than we care to admit—when it feels like leadership isn’t there for you.

    You stand in a room and no one greets you. No one looks up. No one notices.

    You offer ideas, vision, care—and it’s met with silence, or worse, indifference.

    You give your best self and sometimes receive no acknowledgment in return.

    The gig is tough. The gig is lonely. The gig will ask you to keep showing up, especially when the room grows quiet. And sometimes, it stays quiet.

    And yet—we still walk in.

    Why?

    Because we’re human.

    Because we crave meaning.

    Because we want to belong just like anyone else.

    I carry what my father taught me in these moments: Hold your head high. Even when no one seems to see you. Especially then.

    And so, I look for the small things.

    The fleeting glances. The quiet nods. The invisible applause.

    Those moments when you know—deep in your gut—that you’re still in the groove.

    I remember those moments when I played in bands. We’d be deep into a tune, and someone across the band space would catch my eye and offer a knowing smile. Just a look. A small moment that said, We’ve got this.

    There’s a video I love of the Dave Brubeck Quartet performing Take Five. During Joe Morello’s legendary drum solo, Brubeck stops playing. He turns from the piano—not to take center stage, but to watch. To admire. To honor. No words. Just presence.

    The Beatles did it, too. During that final rooftop concert, even amid the tension, they stole glances. Smiles. They saw each other. And they saw Billy Preston, too—playing keys right alongside them, lifting the sound, lifting the moment.

    Even as the world watched from the streets below, the real audience wasn’t the crowd down there—it was amidst the band.

    That’s what keeps me going in leadership—the small, true things.

    A student’s unexpected smile.

    A teacher’s thank-you whispered in the hallway.

    A quiet moment where someone sees you—and maybe, just maybe, you see them too.

    We may not always receive the applause. But we can give it.

    We can be the nod.

    We can be the smile.

    We can be the Dave Brubeck who turns his head in full admiration.

    We can be the Beatle who shares a grin in the middle of the chaos.

    Those small moves? They matter.

    They are leadership.

    And when the room is quiet—lead anyway.

    You never know who might be listening for your cue.

    A Leadership Riff for You

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    Here’s a thought to share from my reflection and writing this morning.

    I hope you know that your sound matters and any band is lucky to have you. I sure do believe in you. Thanks for being in the band!

    Somewhere in the Universe, Someone Believes in You Completely

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    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.

    The Loneliness of Leadership: A Heartfelt Reflection for School Leaders

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    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 Riffs: Jamming for Impact

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    In music, a riff is a heartfelt, memorable melody—like the opening chords Keith Richards plays on The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” But riffs aren’t limited to music alone; they’re found in those spontaneous, soulful exchanges we have as leaders after faculty meetings, in hallway conversations, or during inspiring conferences.

    At the recent North Carolina Association for Middle Level Education (NCMLE) conference in Charlotte, NC, I experienced some deeply moving “Leadership Riffs.” Visionary leaders like Dr. Darrin Peppard opened my mind to fresh possibilities about cultivating vibrant leadership teams. Dr. Marie Moreno shared her heartfelt passion for an upcoming book, igniting an inspired dialogue that still resonates. These beautiful exchanges reminded me that leadership, like music, thrives on improvisation, authenticity, and the power of human connection.

    Leadership Riffs aren’t about playing the same old notes—they’re about courageously pushing boundaries, creating harmonies, and passionately innovating together.

    Here are a few heartfelt “Leadership Riffs” that underscore why our impact truly matters:

    1. “A Throwaway Line in a Beatles Epic”

    Paul McCartney nearly tossed out the lyric, “The movement you need is on your shoulder,” from the timeless Beatles’ classic “Hey Jude.” He saw it merely as a temporary placeholder, lacking clarity. But when John Lennon passionately insisted the line remain, Paul recognized something deeper—a powerful moment of trust and affirmation between friends. Now, every time Paul sings that lyric, he holds tightly to the memory of John’s insight, a bond made even more poignant by John’s absence. Lesson: The seemingly small details, moments, and gestures in our leadership carry profound significance and lasting impact.

    2. “A Word of Thanks”

    After a challenging and exhausting day filled with meetings, decisions, and the weight of responsibility, a teacher quietly appeared at my office door. Bracing myself for another issue to solve, I was instead met with a gentle smile and sincere words: “I just wanted to say thank you. You probably don’t hear it enough.” Her unexpected gratitude moved me deeply, serving as a gentle, transformative reminder of how kindness and acknowledgment can lift our spirits and renew our sense of purpose. Lesson: Every word of appreciation we speak has the potential to uplift and sustain those around us.

    3. “The Words of a Child”

    During a parent conference discussing support strategies, their first-grade child quietly explored the books on my office shelf, eventually selecting Green Eggs and Ham. As he confidently read aloud, his enthusiasm and ability amazed me. Inspired by his joy, I offered him a book from my collection, and with a smile, he whispered, “You’re my hero.” In truth, his words profoundly touched my heart and reminded me of the true heroes in our schools—our students, whose growth and potential inspire us daily. Lesson: Every interaction with a child echoes profoundly, reminding us why our roles in education matter.

    4. “A Heart in the Wild”

    My dear friend, Maria Galanis, recently shared a poignant image on X—a heart carefully crafted from seashells by an unknown stranger on a serene beach. Maria’s simple act of sharing this discovery instantly sparked joy and reflection in those who saw it. This beautiful moment powerfully illustrates how our intentional actions, even small gestures left anonymously, leave trails of positivity, hope, and inspiration that uplift others far beyond our immediate circle. Lesson: As leaders, we are called to intentionally leave pieces of our hearts behind, illuminating paths of connection and possibility.

    How to Host Your Own Leadership Riffs Jam Session

    Looking to cultivate deeper connections, creativity, and heartfelt impact in your school community? Consider hosting a “Leadership Riffs Jam Session”:

    1. Create a Welcoming Space: Offer an inviting, relaxed, 15-minute gathering after school—no pressure, just meaningful conversations.
    2. Invite Everyone to the Table: Emphasize inclusivity, encouraging participation from every role and level.
    3. Lead with Openness: Share your own authentic stories or pose a meaningful question to inspire genuine dialogue.
    4. Encourage Improvisation: Let ideas flow freely, embracing spontaneity to spark innovative and meaningful exchanges.
    5. Reflect and Empower: Conclude with clear insights and actionable steps, empowering everyone to bring their inspired “riffs” to life.

    Heartfelt gratitude to Darrin Peppard, Marie Moreno, and Maria Galanis for their invaluable friendship, inspiration, and thought partnership.

    Let’s keep riffing from the heart—because the songs we create together truly matter.

    The Power of a Check-In

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    “So, what’s on your turntable?”

    That question was a daily gift during my final year of teaching at Bedford High School. It came from my colleague and kindred spirit, Barry Low, our brilliant music teacher. Barry had a way of showing up with his warmth, wisdom, and that irresistible curiosity for all things music.

    Back then, it was 2003. I had a small boombox perched in the corner of my English classroom. CDs were still king, and there was always one queued up and ready to play—usually something from The Beatles, Sinatra, or a little Bossa Nova to soundtrack the morning.

    Barry would pop in between classes and ask that now-legendary question: “So, what’s on your turntable?”

    Those moments felt like sacred mini-sessions—a spontaneous graduate seminar in music. We riffed on everything from Sergio Mendes to Frank Sinatra to Brazilian jazz. Barry always had a new artist to share, a bootleg CD to lend, or a story that made both of us laugh. My students waiting for class would often catch a glimpse of our camaraderie, and they were drawn in by his wit and warmth.

    What Barry didn’t know at the time was how much I needed those check-ins. I was carrying some heavy emotional weight. I’d taken an ethical stand in my department and found myself increasingly isolated. There were days when the silence from others felt deafening. But Barry’s daily drop-ins cut through that fog. His kindness, his curiosity, his way of being present—it all reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

    And isn’t that the thing? We never really know what someone is carrying when they walk through the doors of the schoolhouse. But one simple check-in can shift everything.

    That’s the lesson Barry gave me—and it’s a lesson that’s stayed with me for over 20 years.

    In my last blog post, I shared about being rushed to the hospital after a heart episode that occurred at school. I believe now more than ever in the power of a check-in. A few friends reached out after that moment. Their words, texts, phone calls, and prayers helped guide me back to healing. That experience reminded me again that compassion is not complicated. We just need to ask, “How are you really doing?” And mean it.

    We live in an era where emojis and likes are often mistaken for connection. But real connection—life-giving connection—happens when we extend our arm, when we lean in, when we show up. As my good friend Max Pizarro says, “Arm extended.” That phrase carries a quiet power. It’s a posture of empathy. A stance of solidarity. An invitation to belong.

    Lauren Kaufman recently wrote, “You don’t have to carry it all alone.” That line struck a deep chord. It reminded me of the invisible loads we all carry and the ways we can lighten each other’s burdens just by being present.

    Belonging isn’t just a buzzword—it’s essential. Dr. Susie Wise puts it best in her book Design for Belonging: “Being accepted and invited to participate; being a part of something and having the opportunity to show up as yourself.”

    That’s the heart of it. Create spaces where others can show up as themselves. Be the colleague who tunes into others. Be the leader who notices. Be the friend who checks in. Because that’s the gig—that’s the leadership jam that transforms classrooms, staff rooms, and lives.

    We are the entry points for belonging. Let’s carry that with purpose and with rhythm.

    So, what’s on your turntable today? Maybe it’s kindness. Maybe it’s courage. Maybe it’s simply showing up for someone. Whatever it is, press play and let it echo.

    Further Reading:

    🎧 Design for Belonging by Dr. Susie Wise — Purchase the book here

    📝 Lauren Kaufman’s blog post, “Shine A Light, Share A Load” — Read it here

    A Special Note of Gratitude on My Last Blog Post:

    A special thanks to for the overwhelming response for my last blog post, “A Principal’s Rebirth: Finding Life, Love, & Leadership Again.” That post came from a deep place in my heart and I am humbled by the outreach many of you shared. I want my words to help others and this post serves a salve for others who are struggling. Please feel free to share that post linked HERE. Mental Health is so important and my hope is that this blog is a support for all who need it. I am here for you and I am glad that the world has you in it.

    A Principal’s Rebirth: Finding Life, Love, and Leadership Again

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    “Call 911.”

    These were the last words I heard from our SRO before everything went dark and I fell to the ground.

    This was not just a sudden medical emergency—it was the culmination of years spent silently carrying anxiety, stress, and deepening depression. It was the moment my body forced me onto a new path, the first steps toward rebirth.

    Last year, I experienced a traumatic health crisis, what doctors described as a cardiac episode triggered by years of relentless anxiety, chronic chest pains, and suffocating Imposter Syndrome. It happened at school, amid the daily chaos and pressures we face as leaders. My body simply gave out.

    When I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by paramedics and the incredible members of my office staff, working rapidly to keep me alive. Tears filled my eyes as fear overtook me—I genuinely believed I might never see my wife and our three beautiful daughters again. Breathing was impossible, and the chest pains intensified.

    As they rolled me into the ambulance, a flood of thoughts rushed in. I saw my family—moments missed, memories sacrificed. My heart ached thinking of the countless times I’d prioritized my work over my loved ones, placing duty to my school ahead of duty to my family and, ultimately, myself. I called out to God, and then darkness returned.

    When I awoke in the hospital, tethered to various medical devices, my heart eased the moment I met my wife’s calming eyes. My oldest daughter was already there, confidently navigating conversations with doctors, demonstrating remarkable strength and poise. Pride overwhelmed me—but so did shame. As her father, I should have been protecting her, not the other way around.

    It’s been a full year since that fateful day—a journey of healing, renewal, and rediscovery. My physical health and blood pressure are now managed carefully. Regular therapy sessions every other week have transformed my outlook, grounded in the love and unwavering support of my family and a few deeply cherished friends who check in weekly. Every day, I practice intentional self-care, finally understanding that my identity as a principal should never overshadow my humanity.

    As the creator of #CelebrateMonday, I recognize now that I wasn’t celebrating myself. I leaned too heavily on fleeting PLN connections, seeking external validation while overlooking the unconditional, immediate love from my family. While my PLN gifted me a handful of true friendships, I realize my greatest strength comes from being fully present with those who truly cherish me. In pursuit of acceptance, I had unknowingly compromised my core values as a leader.

    This past year has gifted me profound clarity and growth. I’ve learned to distinguish between genuine leadership and the seductive illusion often sold through polished selfies, viral gimmicks, and ego-driven platforms. I now seek authenticity, humility, and depth, distancing myself from empty slogans and superficial validations. I am grateful being at a new assignment returning to a school district I truly love and feel sincere support, empowerment, and belonging.

    This month marks a year since my rebirth—a new birthday I honor with deep gratitude. My perspective is forever changed. I embrace each moment ahead with my family and true friends, choosing authenticity over illusion, presence over performance, and self-care over self-neglect.

    Here’s to life renewed, leadership redefined, and love fully embraced.

    Go Electric: A Lesson from Bob Dylan

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    I didn’t expect the tears.

    But there I was, sitting in a dimly lit theater, tears streaming down my face as Bob Dylan defiantly sang “Maggie’s Farm” to an audience torn between boos and cheers. I was watching A Complete Unknown with my oldest daughter, Maddie—a thoughtful Christmas gift she knew I’d treasure.

    The scene that stopped me in my tracks was Dylan’s iconic performance at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Armed with a Fender Stratocaster, he boldly plugged in and “went electric,” breaking away from the acoustic traditions revered by the folk community. The reaction was a mix of outrage and elation. Boos echoed from the purists, but Dylan, backed by members of the Paul Butterfield Blues Band and organist Al Kooper, played on.

    As a lifelong fan of the Butterfield Blues Band, seeing actors portray my music heroes—Mike Bloomfield on guitar, Sam Lay on drums, and Jerome Arnold on bass—deeply moved me. Their musicianship had always resonated with me, and witnessing their essence captured on screen added another layer of emotion to an already powerful moment.

    This scene, beautifully brought to life by Timothée Chalamet as Dylan, is more than just a snapshot in music history. It’s a testament to creative courage.

    Resonating with Dylan’s Defiance

    I’ve watched the documentaries, taught this moment in my high school English classes, and pored over Elijah Wald’s Dylan Goes Electric. I even dedicated an episode of my Principal Liner Notes podcast to it. Yet, seeing it unfold on the big screen hit differently.

    Dylan’s act of “going electric” wasn’t just about plugging in an electric guitar; it was about rejecting the status quo, staying true to his evolving vision, and embracing the risk of change. The boos, the backlash—none of it stopped him. He knew that growth required stepping out of the safe and into the bold.

    That lesson transcends the 1960s. For leaders, it’s a call to innovate, to embrace challenges, and to stay true to our core values, even when met with resistance.

    The Courage to Play On

    As leaders, we often face our own “Newport moments.” Whether it’s introducing a new initiative, rethinking old practices, or simply challenging the comfort of the status quo, there’s always a risk of pushback. People may not immediately understand—or embrace—our vision.

    During a recent faculty meeting, I introduced a new approach to teaching and learning. I’ll admit, I was nervous about how it would be received. To ground myself, I brought along my copy of Wald’s Dylan Goes Electric. On the cover was Dylan, guitar in hand, staring down the crowd with quiet resolve. That image reminded me to stay steadfast, to “play on” even when the riffs might not land perfectly with everyone. (See picture below.)

    Going electric is about more than innovation. It’s about embodying the courage to grow, to inspire others, and to stay true to our vision. It’s a reminder that, as leaders, we have the responsibility to model resilience and boldness for those we serve.

    A Legacy of Creative Courage

    Dylan’s 1965 performance is more than a legendary moment in music—it’s a blueprint for leadership. After Newport, Dylan continued to push boundaries, recording groundbreaking albums, earning accolades, and even winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. He didn’t let the boos define him; he let his vision propel him forward.

    His story inspires us to embrace creative courage. When we face the naysayers or wrestle with self-doubt, we can hold our heads high, just as Dylan did, and press forward with conviction.

    Four Ways Leaders Can “Go Electric”

    1. Stay True to Your Vision: Know your core values and let them guide your actions, even when facing resistance.
    2. Embrace Growth: Innovation often means stepping into the unknown. Take bold steps to evolve and improve.
    3. Play On Through Adversity: Be prepared for challenges. Stay resilient and committed to your vision, even when others push back.
    4. Inspire Others Through Action: Your courage can empower those around you to embrace their own growth and creativity.

    Dylan’s journey reminds us that leadership is not about avoiding the boos but about playing on, louder and prouder. So, let’s go electric—and inspire those we lead to do the same.

    Link to my “Go Electric” episode of Principal Liner Notes