The Beatles

When the Impossible Finds Its Voice: How a Beatles Song Taught Me About Hope and Carrying On

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There is a phrase I keep coming back to: the impossible becomes possible.

Recently, I had another health scare that resulted in a visit to the hospital. I am alright and recuperating, but in the days that followed, I found myself searching for something to hold onto. A remix of a Beatles reunion song sent me on a journey to re-embrace hope and belief.

When The Beatles broke up in 1970, the world declared it over. Headlines announced the end of the most influential band of all time. In the years that followed, reunion rumors surfaced constantly, often fueled by money, charity, or fan speculation. Yet, The Beatles remained steadfast: no reunion. Even after John Lennon’s senseless murder in 1980, people still asked if the three surviving members might somehow return, with John’s sons stepping in. It seemed impossible.

And yet in 1995, a demo tape of John Lennon’s rough home recording was dusted off. With the steady guidance of Jeff Lynne, Paul, George, and Ringo added their voices and instruments. Out of grief, absence, and fractured history came something astonishing: “Free As A Bird.”

For me, it was a moment of awe. I was a young teacher then, two years into my career. When I read a small article about the surviving Beatles reuniting for Anthology, I ran off copies for every teacher’s mailbox in my school. I wanted everyone to feel the electricity I felt: this is really happening. When the song finally aired on television, I remember tearing up. It was not just about music, it was about reconciliation, healing, and the audacity of creating something new out of what seemed broken forever. I wrote about this event and its personal meaning to me in my book, The Pepper Effect.

In my office today, I still keep a tattered photocopy of Linda McCartney’s photo of Paul, George, and Ringo together from that era. Above it, I have written: “The Impossible Becomes Possible.” Because that is what the reunion meant to me then, and what it still means now.

And now, nearly 30 years later, “Free As A Bird” returns in a brand new mix. Thanks to modern audio restoration, John Lennon’s voice emerges clearer, closer, more present. It feels as if all four Beatles are back in the studio together. Each time I play it, I feel renewal. I feel hope.

Hope as a Leadership Catalyst

Hope is a word often dismissed in leadership circles. Some see it as naïve or impractical, a soft idea in a world that demands hard results. But I believe hope is not a weakness. Hope is a catalyst. It is the ignition that sparks vision into action.

As Casey Gwinn and Chan Hellman remind us in Hope Rising, hope is the belief that “your future can be brighter and better than your past and that you actually have a role to play in making it better.” That belief matters, especially when the weight of challenges threatens to crush our momentum.

The space between vision and action is leadership. Hope and belief have to be in that vision as catalysts.

As leaders, we do not always need a grand plan or sweeping solution in every moment. Sometimes, we just need an entry point. A reminder that even the hardest, most impossible-seeming work can move forward. For me, that entry point is hearing John Lennon’s voice stitched back into the fabric of his bandmates’ music. It is a symbol of reconciliation, resilience, and possibility.

Belief Made Real

The truth is, leadership often feels like trying to reunite what has been broken. It is messy. It is emotional. It is full of skeptics. But the work is also full of potential. When we model belief for our students, for our teachers, for ourselves, we give others permission to believe too.

“Free As A Bird” reminds me daily that impossible things can be made possible. For The Beatles, it was a reunion across decades and even death. For us, it might be turning around a struggling school, reigniting a team’s confidence, or building something new when resources seem scarce.

Whatever the context, hope can be the spark. And belief, when it is shared, nurtured, and lived, can make it real.

So when the days are heavy and the obstacles feel immovable, I return to that song. I hear the reunion of four bandmates who found a way. And I am reminded: if The Beatles could find harmony after all they endured, then maybe we can find our way, too.

As leaders, we have to believe that the impossible becomes possible. That is the gig. We must be relentless in that belief, even when the naysayers gather and the narratives say it cannot be done. Hope gives us the entry point. Belief carries us the rest of the way.

Our calling as leaders is to believe when others doubt, and to carry hope when the weight feels too heavy. When the impossible finds its voice, leaders must believe enough for others to join in the song.

Check out “Free As A Bird” (2025 Mix) by The Beatles:

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!

    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.

    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.

    Echoes of Legacy: Reflecting on Impact, Vision, and What We Leave Behind

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    The other day, I was meeting someone for the first time, and—no surprise—The Beatles came up in conversation. I found myself doing what I often do: searching for shared connection, for kindred sparks, for the chords that bring people together.

    As I sipped from my well-worn Let It Be coffee mug, I found myself reflecting—not just on my love for the band, but on why I love them so deeply. My thoughts landed in the final scene of The Beatles Anthology documentary, where each Beatle offers a summation of the band’s journey. Paul McCartney’s words have always stuck with me:

    “I’m really glad that most of our songs were about love, peace, and understanding.”

    That’s the legacy of The Beatles. A body of work grounded in themes that transcend time and trend. Love. Peace. Understanding. Their music is an echo that still resonates across generations, creating belonging, joy, and reflection in all who listen.

    That’s the power of legacy.

    As I wrap up my 33rd year in education, I find myself tuning in to that word—legacy—and asking what it means in the context of a school year. I think of my good friend, Meghan Lawson, and her powerful book, Legacy of Learning. She writes:

    “What you do in your classroom and school matters. In a big way. We are always making an impact on students and colleagues, whether good or bad.”

    Legacy is not about ego, applause, or glory. It’s not about showmanship or staged stunts dressed up as leadership. Legacy is about the quiet echoes we leave behind in the lives we’ve touched—the ones who are better because we showed up and stayed the course.

    In my office hangs a photo of Walt Disney standing in the middle of a swamp in central Florida, surrounded by blueprints for what would one day become Walt Disney World. He never lived to see it finished. But his vision endured, carried forward by a team who believed in the mission.

    I often show that photo to my leadership teams—not because I want us to build castles, but because I want us to believe in what’s possible. It’s a reminder that legacy is built not in isolation, but in collaboration. It takes vision, belief, and a team that leans into each other’s strengths.

    This year, I invited our Instructional Leadership Team and School Improvement Team to create an Accomplishment Inventory—a running list of all we had done that positively impacted students. It was a celebration of small wins and shared progress. It was a testament to the legacy we’re building together, moment by moment, step by step.

    As this school year nears its close, I offer these reflections and action steps for you to consider:

    🎧 Reflect with Intention
    Take 10 minutes. Journal. Ask yourself: What is the legacy I’ve left this year? Where did I show up? Who did I lift?

    📷 Find Your “Swamp” Photo
    Print or display a photo that symbolizes your long-term vision—the unfinished dream. Revisit it when you need clarity or courage.

    📋 Create Your Accomplishment Inventory
    Alone or with your team, write out the moments that made a difference. Celebrate them. Share them. Build on them.

    Legacy isn’t what we say about ourselves. It’s what others say when we’re not in the room. It’s the tone we set, the hope we pass on, the lives we quietly change.

    So tune in. Reflect. And keep building. Your echo matters.

    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.