Everybody Needs A Fan

As many of you know, I love reading. I constantly have a book I am in the middle of reading lying on a counter or table at home. I am also a chain listener to audiobooks. When I finish one, I am off to the next. In both cases, I consume all different genres.

For example, I just finished The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Cool name, Cormac. It was excellent, but heavy and deeply emotional as a parent. The follow-up was the book I want to write about today, Big Fan by Michael Schur and Joe Posnanski. It is a funny and heartwarming look at fandom and why human beings become fans.

When I saw the title Big Fan, I immediately thought of sports. I was only a few pages into the book when I realized it was about much more. It was about all fandom. Chess fans, music fans, collectors, sports fans, and people who become completely fascinated by something simply because it matters to them.

The authors attend a Grateful Dead concert, a Taylor Swift concert, chess championships, dart championships, and explore sports card collecting and collecting in general. The book was a wonderful reminder that the things we become fans of are as varied as we are.

What stayed with me most were three ideas the authors explored. Life can be boring, and fandom gives us entertainment. Life can be chaotic, and fandom gives us order. Life can be lonely, and fandom gives us community.

I loved that. I now know I have plenty of kin in my crazy desire to follow cycling, chess, and Premier League soccer's Manchester City. Go Citizens! There is something wonderful about caring enough about something to experience the emotional highs and lows that come with it.

Then it occurred to me that schools work in much the same way.

A good school does all three of those things. It turns ordinary days into moments worth remembering. It gives structure to what can sometimes feel like chaos. Most importantly, it creates community. For many of our students, school is one of the first places where they discover what it feels like to belong to something larger than themselves.

But there is another side to fandom that may matter even more in our work. Every student needs a fan.

Not a fan only when the grade is high, the assignment is perfect, or the winning point is scored. Students need people who remain in their corner when they struggle, make mistakes, need another chance, or have not yet discovered what they are good at. That is one of the great privileges of working in a school. We get to notice. We get to cheer. We get to celebrate growth that others may never see. Sometimes we even get to believe in a student before that student knows how to believe in themselves.

Maybe that is why fandom matters so much. It reminds us that caring deeply is not silly. It is human. So this week, be a fan. Be a fan of your students, your colleagues, our school, and the good work happening around you. Let people know that you are in their corner.

Every child deserves to look into the stands of their life and see somebody cheering for them. Be the one they see and make an impact.

Until next time...

When You Least Expect It

For this week, I want to talk about a saying I have used my whole life, even though it is rarely heard. "When you least expect it, expect it." I have no idea where it originated, but this past week has caused that phrase to bounce around continuously in my head.

Lately, I have been dealing with some serious issues of a cardiac nature. Then, just when I thought things could not get any more difficult, I caught COVID.

For me, that hit hard. During the initial pandemic, I was part of the very first wave of infections. Hospitals were overflowing, and I was stuck on a gurney in a hallway, literally told "good luck" by the attending physician.

This past Friday night, I started feeling sick again. My chest hurt terribly, but because of my recent health struggles, I assumed it was my heart. The pain was so severe that I could not even lie down. Ironically, I was not sharp enough to make the connection.

You see, I actually wrote an Amazon bestseller about my original battle with COVID. It was called Upright. I chose that title because, back then, the pain was excruciating whenever they tried to flatten my gurney. I kept begging them to let me sit up. The title was also a double entendre and a reflection of my life for my children. Have I been an upright person? Will my kids be proud?

But I digress. The point is, time made me forget.

I had started feeling almost invincible against COVID. Not only did I survive a near-fatal case early on, but I have since received six vaccinations. You read that right. Six. Yet here I am, infected again. Where did I catch it? I have no clue.

What I do know is that my favorite saying has returned to teach me another lesson.

This past month has been incredibly tough, but this too shall pass. What I am learning through all of this is that I am more human now than I have ever been. Time is our most valuable commodity, and it is strictly limited for all of us. Spend it wisely.

Make the phone call. Take the trip. Sit with the people you love. Laugh when you can. Rest when you need to. Do not assume there will always be a better time later.

Life has a way of reminding us that we are never quite as in control as we think we are.

And when you least expect it, expect it.

Until next time...

Where Your Mind Goes

There is an old saying that goes, “What you focus on expands.” It sounds simple, maybe even a little too simple, but there is actually a great deal of science and philosophy sitting underneath that idea.

One place to start is with something commonly referred to as Hebb’s Law: “Neurons that fire together, wire together.” In simple terms, the brain strengthens the connections it uses most often. The thoughts we rehearse, the emotions we revisit, and the patterns we repeat can become easier for the brain to access over time. That should get our attention.

If I spend my days looking for what is wrong, replaying frustrations, anticipating problems, and focusing on disappointments, I am not simply having a bad day. I may also be practicing a way of thinking. The more frequently I use that pathway, the easier it becomes to travel down it again. Eventually, negativity can become less of a response and more of a habit.

The opposite is also true. When we intentionally notice something good, express gratitude, recognize progress, celebrate someone else, or simply stop long enough to appreciate what is working, we are practicing a different pathway. We are teaching our minds where to go.

Psychology gives us another way to understand this through what we might call the cognitive distortion cycle. Our thoughts influence our feelings. Our feelings influence our behavior. Our behavior often reinforces the thoughts that started the cycle.

Think about how quickly that can happen. A colleague walks by without saying hello. One person thinks, “They must be upset with me.” That thought creates anxiety. The anxiety changes the next interaction. Maybe the person becomes distant or defensive. The colleague senses that distance and responds differently. Suddenly, the original assumption feels confirmed. Yet the colleague may simply have been thinking about the lesson they were going to teach upon returning to their classroom. The event did not necessarily create negativity. The interpretation did. This is why attention matters so much.

There is another popular phrase: “Where attention goes, energy flows.” Whether we are talking about neuroscience, psychology, mindfulness, or simply lived experience, the message is remarkably similar. What we continually feed with our attention tends to occupy more space in our lives.

Marcus Aurelius expressed a related idea centuries ago when he wrote about the relationship between our thoughts and the quality of our lives. The Stoics understood something we still wrestle with today. We cannot control every event around us, but we have far more influence over the interpretation we give those events.

Schools give us plenty of material to practice on. There will always be a difficult conversation, an unexpected problem, a challenging student, a frustrated parent, a deadline, a change in plans, or something that simply does not go the way we hoped. The question is not whether negative things will happen. They will. The question is whether we allow those things to become the only things we see.

So here is my challenge this week. Notice what you are noticing. Catch yourself and alter your thoughts to a student who improved, a colleague who helped, a lesson that worked, a parent who said thank you, or a moment that made you laugh. You are not ignoring reality. You are training your attention to see all of it. Sometimes, changing what we focus on is the first step toward changing what we find.  

Until next time... 

#MakeAnImpact 

You Are Part of the Plan

At the beginning of a school year, we spend a tremendous amount of time making sure everyone else is ready. We prepare classrooms, build schedules, organize materials, review plans, welcome families, and make certain our students have what they need. Educators are very good at taking care of other people. Sometimes we are so good at it that we forget one important person in the plan: ourselves.

I have had a personal reminder of that recently. Health has a way of getting your attention when you have been moving too fast, sleeping too little, eating whatever is convenient, or convincing yourself that you will slow down later. I am not sharing that to create worry. I am sharing it because I think there is a lesson in it for all of us. We cannot wait until we are exhausted, sick, or completely empty before we decide that taking care of ourselves matters.

The beginning of the year is actually the perfect time to establish those habits. It is easy to think about self-care in May when everyone is tired. The better strategy is to begin in August. The sleep you protect now, the meals you choose now, the water you drink, and the time you give your mind to shut down are deposits into an account you will draw from later in the year.

Sleep matters. Good nutrition matters. Movement matters. So does downtime. There needs to be a point in the day when the school problems stop following you from room to room and eventually all the way home. We all need moments when we are not solving something, answering something, grading something, planning something, or worrying about what comes next.

None of this means we become less committed to our work. In fact, it is the opposite. Taking care of yourself is one way of protecting your ability to continue doing the work you care about. You cannot continually withdraw energy without eventually making a deposit. We are building toward June, and the habits we establish now will determine how much we have left when the year asks the most from us.

So this week, pay attention to yourself with the same care you give your students. Get the sleep. Eat the meal. Drink the water. Take the walk. Put the phone down for a while. Sit quietly. Laugh with someone. Go home when the work can wait until tomorrow. There will always be another email and another item on the list. There is only one you.

Make an Impact, absolutely. Just remember that you are part of the impact plan too.

Until next time...

The Power of "Not Yet"

There is a small word that can change the direction of a school year: yet. A student says, "I can't do this." Add one word and the sentence becomes, "I can't do this yet." The first statement sounds final. The second leaves the door open. It acknowledges the struggle without turning the struggle into an identity.

That matters because students are constantly deciding what kind of learners they believe themselves to be. They collect evidence from grades, assignments, conversations, and the expressions on the faces of the adults around them. A difficult task can quickly become a label: I am not a reader. I am bad at math. I never understand science. I cannot behave in class.

Our words can either reinforce those labels or interrupt them. One of the most important things we do as educators is help students separate where they are today from where they are capable of going. High expectations are not a refusal to recognize difficulty. They are a refusal to believe that difficulty must have the final word. Students need adults who can say, "This is hard, and I am staying with you while you learn it.'

The phrase "not yet" also belongs to adults. We may not have mastered a new program yet. A classroom routine may not be working yet. A relationship with a student may not feel strong yet. The opening weeks of school can tempt us to judge too quickly. We see a problem and assume we are seeing the finished product. But this is only Week 2.

Improvement is rarely dramatic. It is usually a series of small adjustments made with patience and purpose. We try something, study the result, and try again. We reteach. We listen. We change the approach without lowering the expectation. That is not failure. That is learning in motion.

This week, listen for the sentences that sound final. When a student says, "I can't," help add the word that keeps possibility alive. When you hear the same sentence inside your own head, offer yourself the same grace. Not yet is not an excuse. It is a promise that the story is still being written. Let us keep the door open. Let us Make an Impact.

Until next time...

The First Full Week

The first day of school receives most of the attention. We prepare the classrooms, organize the supplies, review the schedules, welcome families, and make certain everything is ready when students walk through the gates. There is excitement in the air, along with just enough nervous energy to remind us that something important is beginning.

Then comes the first full week. The decorations are still fresh, the pencils are still mostly sharpened, and everyone is beginning to settle into a routine. This is when the work of building a school year really begins.

A successful year is rarely created by one opening-day presentation, one perfectly planned lesson, or one memorable event. It is built through hundreds of small actions repeated over time. It happens when we greet students at the door, learn a name, notice an effort, offer encouragement, reteach an expectation, or check on someone who seems unusually quiet. Those moments may appear small, but small does not mean insignificant.

One of the central ideas behind building a streak is that meaningful progress often comes from actions that are simple enough to repeat. You do not have to change everything today. You simply need to do something worthwhile today and then do it again tomorrow. Schools work the same way. Culture is built one interaction at a time. Trust is built one promise at a time. Achievement is built one lesson at a time. Mentoring is built one conversation at a time. Impact is built one
moment at a time.

The challenge is that these moments do not always provide immediate evidence that they mattered. A student may not thank you for your patience. A colleague may not tell you that your encouragement arrived at exactly the right time. A family may never know how many people
worked behind the scenes to help their child succeed. Make the investment anyway.

This week, look for the small opportunities. Learn one more thing about a student. Recognize improvement before waiting for perfection. Take one extra moment to listen. The first full week is not simply about getting through the schedule. It is our first opportunity to establish the habits that will carry us through the year. Let us make those habits count. Thank you for making it a wonderful opening week.

Until next time...

The Home Stretch

There is something about the end of a school year that feels different from every other finish line. It is not just one event. It is all of them stacked on top of each other. Promotion ceremonies. Awards assemblies. Final meetings. Discipline clean-up. Parent questions. Student emotions. Staff exhaustion. Last-minute reports. Graduation speeches. Classroom clean-outs. The final bell. The final goodbye.

Then, in the middle of all of that, life keeps happening. This past Friday, schools were released for the summer. My son graduated from high school. It should have felt like a clean and beautiful ending. In many ways, it was. But it came after one of the most fatiguing three-week stretches I can remember. By the final week, everyone was running on fumes. Students were done. Staff were tired. Parents were juggling schedules. Administrators were trying to hold all the pieces together. We had reached the home stretch.

The problem with the home stretch is that it can fool us. We can see the finish line, so we convince ourselves we do not need to slow down. We tell ourselves we can push just a little harder. We can make it a few more days. We can skip the rest. Skip the meal. Skip the walk. Skip the water. Skip the pause. After all, we are almost there. But almost there is not the same as there.

At my son’s graduation, my 93-year-old father came to watch his grandson walk across the stage. It was hot. The bleachers were full. The ceremony was underway. Families were cheering, phones were recording, names were being called, and the evening carried all the pride and joy that a graduation should carry. Then my father collapsed in the bleachers from heat stroke. EMTs had to come into the stadium and remove him on a gurney during the ceremony. It was scary. It was emotional. It was one of those moments where everything around you keeps moving, but your own world suddenly stops. All because he had not had enough water. Water.

Something so simple. Something so ordinary. Something completely available. Yet when neglected, it became the difference between being present for a celebration and being carried out of it. Thankfully, my father made a full recovery. My son still graduated. We made it through the ceremony. And by the time the weekend arrived, we all slept well. Deeply. The kind of sleep that comes not only from physical exhaustion, but from emotional release.

But I have not stopped thinking about that moment. Because in many ways, it was a perfect picture of what happens to so many of us in education, leadership, parenting, and life. We push. We serve. We show up. We carry responsibility. We tell ourselves that people are counting on us, so we keep going. We take care of the students. We take care of the staff. We take care of the families. We take care of the program, the event, the schedule, the crisis, the expectation. Then somewhere along the way, we forget to take care of ourselves. And sometimes, the thing we need is as basic as water. 

Self-care is often talked about like it is a luxury. A spa day. A vacation. A quiet morning with coffee. Those things can certainly help, but real self-care is often much more practical. It is drinking water before sitting in the heat. It is eating before the long day begins. It is going to bed instead of sending one more email. It is taking a walk when your mind is overloaded. It is saying no when your body has already said enough. Self-care is not selfish. It is stewardship.

If we do not take care of ourselves, how can we take care of others? If we run ourselves into the ground, how can we be fully present for the people we love? If we ignore our own limits, how can we expect to lead with wisdom, patience, compassion, and clarity? The truth is that fatigue changes us. It shortens our patience. It clouds our thinking. It makes small problems feel large and large problems feel impossible. It causes us to react when we should reflect. It can take the joy out of moments that deserve to be celebrated. 

That is why self-pacing matters. Pacing does not mean we are weak. It means we are wise enough to know that life is not a sprint. Even the home stretch requires strategy. Runners do not finish strong by pretending their bodies do not need oxygen. They finish strong because they understand rhythm, breath, recovery, and timing. Educators need that same wisdom.

The end of the school year will always be busy. Graduation season will always be emotional. Leadership will always carry weight. Family milestones will always come with both joy and stress. We cannot eliminate the demands, but we can become more intentional about how we move through them. We can drink the water. We can take the break. We can ask for help. We can step into the shade. We can recognize that being there for others begins with being well enough to stand beside them.

My father wanted to be there for my son, and he was. That matters. His presence mattered. But the lesson from that night was clear. Love and commitment are powerful, but they do not replace the basic need to care for ourselves.

As we enter summer, I hope we allow ourselves permission to recover. Not because the work was unimportant, but because it was important. Not because we are finished caring, but because we want to keep caring well. Not because we are stepping away from our purpose, but because rest helps us return to it with strength.

The school year ended. My son graduated. My father recovered. We all slept. And somewhere in all of that, there was a reminder worth carrying forward. Take care of yourself. Drink the water. The people you love still need you in the bleachers.

Until next time…