Music

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/

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.

    Getting Back: Leadership Riffs from a Quiet Maine Lake

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    Current State

    I’m writing this on a still, cool summer morning beside a lake in Maine. Loons call across the water, pine needles perfume the air, and sunlight pirouettes on gentle waves. After the year-end whirlwind of school life, this New England retreat feels like hitting the reset button; an invitation to get back to what matters.

    Nature’s Prompt to “Lead”

    A few minutes of etymology searching reminded me that “lead” comes from the Old English lǣdan—“to guide” or “to bring forth.” Add the suffix “-ship,” meaning “state or quality,” and leadership becomes the state of bringing forth. That phrase reframes my job description: draw out the gifts, voice, and brilliance already living inside the people I serve.

    The Beatles’ Blueprint

    Getting back isn’t a new idea; The Beatles modeled it in January 1969. They shelved overdubs, circled their instruments, and vowed to play live in the studio: just four bandmates and a friend (thank you, Billy Preston on keyboards). The result was the rooftop concert and the album that still centers me: Let It Be. Their back-to-basics experiment birthed fresh energy, trust, and a legendary final act. I call that ripple The Let It Be Effect—and it’s the heartbeat of my Leadership Riffs mantra.

    When “Innovation” Becomes Noise

    Scroll any feed and you’ll find viral clips of table-top dances, choreographed high-fives, and selfie spectacles masquerading as leadership. Fun has its place, but hype is not the same as guidance. Authentic leaders serve others; they don’t stage-manage them. The Beatles didn’t grab headlines by stunts—they plugged in, faced each other, and played. The best leaders do the same by being present in the marrow of each moment in the schoolhouse and empowering others to share their gifts.

    My Own Get-Back Move

    Before leaving for vacation I hand-wrote a note to every colleague at Charles England. No templates, no mass email—just ink, gratitude, and belief in their gifts. It took hours and cramped my hand, yet each card was a little rooftop concert: proof that I see them, trust them, and am ready to make music together next year.

    Your Lakeside Challenge

    This summer, carve out your version of lakeside stillness:

    • Re-read the book that first lit your leadership fire.
    • Phone the mentor whose wisdom steadies you.
    • Gather teammates around a whiteboard and ask, “How might we…?”
    • Write one genuine note of thanks—no emojis necessary.

    These simple riffs spark innovation while stitching the fabric of belonging and trust that every schoolhouse and every team needs.

    Take the time to get back.
    Get back to what called you.
    Get back to your purpose.
    Get back to the people you serve.

    When we get back to our core, we lead with clarity, conviction, and heart. That’s the gig. That’s the work. Let’s get to it.

    Special thanks to Lauren Kaufman for helping to inspire this blog post! Be sure to check out her amazing and insightful blog site: https://laurenmkaufman.com/.

    A very special thanks to Deb Gaillard for inspiring our visit to Maine! She’s my favorite human and the best person I know!

    Light Our Fire: Leadership, Problem-Solving, and the Sound of Collaboration

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    Recently, I came across a clip on YouTube of the late Ray Manzarek of The Doors telling the origin story of their 1967 hit Light My Fire. It’s one of those creative origin stories that just sticks. Ray talked about how each band member added a unique musical flavor that transformed the song into something iconic.

    Guitarist Robby Krieger brought his flamenco background and wrote the core of the tune. John Densmore layered in a Latin beat on drums. Jim Morrison added a poetic and haunting verse about a funeral pyre. Ray himself took a page from Bach to create that unforgettable keyboard intro. All these ingredients came together like a great jam session, different parts working in harmony to create something innovative, inspired, and bold.

    The Doors didn’t play it safe. They took a leap. They trusted each other. And they built something greater than the sum of their parts. That story got me thinking about what it means to lead and solve problems in a school.

    When it came time to revise our master schedule at the school I serve as principal, the challenge was real. We needed to maximize instructional time and expand opportunities for intervention. But we didn’t tackle it in isolation. We did it together.

    Over two weeks, I brought the challenge to our Instructional Leadership Team, the School Improvement Team, and several staff and teacher partners. These weren’t just quick drop-ins or top-down mandates. These were real conversations, one-on-one meetings, small group huddles, and full team sessions. I started each one with a simple design thinking prompt: How Might We…?

    I’ll never forget one particular session with the School Improvement Team. We were all gathered around the same table. Teachers led the discussion. We weighed pros and cons. Ideas flew. Everyone added a perspective, and each voice mattered. There was no single author of the final schedule. Just like The Doors building Light My Fire, each person added a line, a beat, a riff.

    Once we landed on a draft, I shared we’d treat it as a trial run. That removed pressure and opened space for feedback. We gave it a shot, came back, reflected, and adjusted. And here’s the best part—it worked. Not because it was perfect, but because it was owned. Teachers had skin in the game. Everyone contributed. Everyone collaborated. Everyone made it better.

    This process reminded me that these collaborative moments between teachers and school leaders must echo what we want our students to experience. According to the World Economic Forum, one of the top job skills for 2025 is complex problem solving. Our students won’t master that skill from worksheets alone. They’ll learn it because we model it. Because we live it. Because we solve problems together.

    3 Action Steps To Take Build A Collaborative Problem Solving Culture

    Leadership is about making space for others to create. It’s about asking How Might We instead of You Must. It’s about letting teachers jam. Here are three ways schools can start building that kind of collaborative problem-solving culture:

    1. Create Solution Building Time
    Set aside time during the month for small, creative think tanks. Bring together teachers, staff, and leaders in a low-pressure space to brainstorm, ideate, and prototype solutions. Use design thinking prompts. Use sticky notes. Use music. Just make it fun and focused.

    2. Launch #InstantPD Moments
    Give teachers the mic. Once a week, host a 15-minute pop-up PD session where a teacher shares a strategy that works. These micro-sessions build confidence, spread great practice, and create the conditions for more teacher-led innovation.

    3. Use the Power of the Trial Run
    When testing something new, give permission to try without pressure. Frame it as a pilot. Invite feedback. Circle back. This builds trust and opens the door for authentic input that shapes real change.

    Whether it’s jamming with colleagues on a new idea or leading a full schedule redesign, when we bring people together, we get better. We build trust. We spark creativity. We light fires.

    Let’s keep jamming. Let’s keep solving. Let’s keep leading like it matters.

    This is your latest #LeadershipRiffs moment from the desk of a school principal who still believes in the power of collaboration, creativity, and the beautiful noise we make when we lead together.

    Keep leading with rhythm. Keep building with heart.
    Watch the Ray Manzarek Clip

    In the Key of Brian

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    How Brian Wilson’s Music Taught Me About Leadership, Vulnerability, and the Courage to Keep Going

    Devastated.

    Brian Wilson is gone.

    The news hit me hard today. Brian wasn’t just a musical genius. He was a spiritual guide, a quiet architect of harmony, and the voice behind songs that shaped my life. His music—those symphonies of soul, longing, and joy—have been my compass through the loud and quiet moments of living.

    Just last week, I was basking in the joy of a surprise Father’s Day gift from my wife and daugthers: tickets to see The Beach Boys live. Brian had long since retired from performing, but his presence was felt. It always is. It lingers in the harmonies. It rises in the arrangements. It pulses in every chorus sung by a crowd of strangers suddenly made family by melody.

    I was fortunate to see Brian perform live several times in the late 1990s and early 2000s during his remarkable comeback. It was more than a concert. It was a rebirth.

    Brian’s music has accompanied the milestones of my life.

    I remember pressing my ear to a clock radio 45 years ago, trying to catch every layered nuance of Good Vibrations. I didn’t understand the complexity of what I was hearing yet—but I felt it. I was entranced.

    I remember watching a Beach Boys concert on HBO in the 1980s with my dad. He loved R&B and soul, and yet there we were—grooving, smiling, singing along to Fun, Fun, Fun like it was gospel.

    I remember hearing the opening chords of California Girls in the delivery room as my twin daughters were being born. That mini-symphony played while new life entered the world, and in that moment, I felt the rush of peace. God was with us. Everything was going to be okay.

    I remember not getting Pet Sounds, in its first when I first heard it in 1990. But I grew into it—and came to see it for what it is: the greatest album of all time. A masterpiece of heart, soul, and innovation.

    I remember hearing Cabin Essence from a bootleg copy of SMiLE on vinyl in a record store. I looked around in stunned silence. A clerk caught my gaze and nodded as if to silently say, “We get it, don’t we?” No words. Just knowing.

    I remember driving my oldest daughter home from daycare, both of us singing Heroes and Villains at the top of our lungs. Laughter and joy spilling through the car like sunshine.

    But Brian Wilson didn’t just give us songs. He gave us strength.

    Through Pet Sounds, he showed me that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s strength in its purest form.
    Through SMiLE, he taught me that unfinished dreams can be resurrected with grace, imagination, and perseverance.
    Through his life, he reminded us that the creative process is messy, sacred, and worth the fight.

    Brian Wilson’s willingness to face his mental health struggles publicly—amidst a whirlwind of fame and pressure—changed how I view courage. He didn’t hide his pain. He didn’t pretend it wasn’t there. He just kept going. Kept writing. Kept harmonizing. That quiet, determined bravery became a guiding light for me.

    Last year, when I experienced a heart episode that resulted in me being rushed to the hospital, I found myself in one of the most vulnerable seasons of my life. Alongside the physical recovery came emotional weight—mental health struggles I didn’t always know how to name. In that difficult stretch, I thought of Brian. I revisited his story. I played Pet Sounds and SMiLE. His music gave me permission to slow down, to feel, to heal. His example reminded me that we don’t have to be perfect to keep going—we just have to keep showing up, one note at a time.

    Brian Wilson’s quote, “Music is God’s voice,” echoes eternally in my mind.

    As a school leader, that idea centers me. It reminds me that learning is sacred. That harmony matters. That love, when set to rhythm, can move hearts and minds in ways nothing else can.

    For those who’ve followed this blog or listened to the Principal Liner Notes podcast, you’ve heard me talk about Creative Courage. That’s Brian Wilson to the core. The courage to innovate. To feel deeply. To fail. To rise. To try again.

    Today, I mourn. But I also give thanks.

    I give thanks for the peace his songs brought me in a delivery room.
    I give thanks for the laughter his melodies brought into my car.
    I give thanks for the strength his life gave me when I needed it most.

    Brian Wilson changed my life.

    His harmonies still ring. His spirit still sings. And for those of us willing to listen, his legacy keeps leading us forward—in the key of empathy, in the tempo of grace.

    Thank you, Brian.
    You gave us harmony.
    You gave us honesty.
    You gave us your heart.

    We’ll carry the melody from here.

    A Full Cirlce Moment: The Return of The Principal Liner Notes Podcast

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    Seven years ago today, a lifelong dream came true—I became a published author.

    The Pepper Effect was more than a book. It was a love letter to The Beatles, to education, and to believing in the impossible. I’ll never forget the moving moments that surrounded its publication:
    — My daughter Maddie finding my book on the shelf at Barnes & Noble—the first time I ever saw it in a bookstore.
    — Hugging my parents and seeing the joy and pride on their faces when I handed them their copy.
    — My true Fab Four—my wife and daughters—by my side at my first book signing at Underdog Records.
    — Watching a stage adaptation of The Pepper Effect performed at a school in Canada.

    I’m forever grateful for those moments and for every reader who took the time to read the book, share it, and apply its message in classrooms and schools around the world. If you haven’t read it yet, it’s available here: Order on Amazon.

    Today, something serendipitous happened. On the book birthday of The Pepper Effect, I released a new episode of the #PrincipalLinerNotes podcast—featuring none other than Dave Burgess, the publisher who believed in me and gave my book its wings.

    Our conversation is a celebration of creativity, connection, and passion for education. It’s also the beginning of a short summer season of the podcast, where I’ll be amplifying the voices of those who continue to inspire and lead.

    🎧 Listen here:
    Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/3wUE2MTDzX7vcBnJ9T2yP8?si=yUDdid98TJ6NP7Q5FjZyyQ
    YouTube: https://youtu.be/BxYkq96GBUs

    I’m currently working on another book—fingers crossed that it gets the nod for publication. Until then, thank you for being in the band. Your encouragement, listens, reads, and reflections mean more than I can ever express.

    Feel free to drop me a line at sean@seangaillard.com to share your thoughts on the podcast, the blog, or The Pepper Effect. I’d love to connect.

    Let’s keep riffing.
    —Sean

    New Blog Post: A New URL, A Big Thank You, and a Little Help from My Friends

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    I’m excited to share that Principal Liner Notes now has a new home on the web:
    🎶 seangaillard.com 🎶

    This new site is where you can find all of my blog posts, reflections, podcast updates, and more. You’ll also be the first to hear a big announcement (or two) coming soon—things I’m really excited about and can’t wait to share.

    To those who have followed, subscribed, shared, or just quietly read along—thank you. Your support fuels the creative spark and reminds me that this journey matters.

    Please take a moment to subscribe at seangaillard.com and share it with a friend or fellow educator. I hope it continues to be a place of inspiration, connection, and purpose.

    Today also marks the anniversary of an album that changed the world—Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. That album didn’t just change music, it changed my life. It lit the fire that led to my first book, The Pepper Effect, a celebration of belief, collaboration, and educational leadership.

    📚 Grab your copy here: https://a.co/d/4CD2gLW

    And if you ever want to connect, collaborate, or just say hello, I’d love to hear from you.
    📧 sean@seangaillard.com

    Let’s keep building, growing, and creating together.
    Cool things are coming. Stay tuned.

    ✌️
    —Sean
    #ThePepperEffect #PrincipalLinerNotes #LeadershipRiffs #SgtPepperDay

    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.