Sometimes a leader is afraid to be vulnerable.  Afraid to show any sign of stress.  Always aware of keeping a straight poker face, regardless of what is going on.  In the past month, I’ve been a mess.  It’s the truth – just ask my husband.  I’ve cranked up my level of dissertation writing and revising, and the number of hours I’m putting in each week between my responsibilities as a school principal, working on my dissertation, and managing (I use this word loosely) home responsibilities is truly mind-boggling.  Needless to say, my body just stopped allowing me to sleep.  I mean, who needs sleep, really? We always say that there aren’t enough hours in the day, right? On the third week (THE THIRD WEEK!) of less than three hours a night of sleep, I began to panic.

The truth is that I was scared to death of the crash that I knew was coming.  I spent the next couple of weeks asking medical advice from our school nurse and mental health advice of our school counselor.  I tried taking herbal supplements to help me sleep.  I could feel the crash coming, but I fought hard against it.  Admitting weakness to people is not easy for me to do.

Well, guess what? I crashed (no surprise here).  It was messy.  And here’s the remarkable part.  IT WAS OK.  What I discovered when I finally hit rock bottom was that there was an entire safety net of people that lifted me back up to my feet.  My small group from church prayed for me to get some sleep.  (And I have slept every night since then.)  My family and friends continued checking in on me each day.  And then what happened yesterday blew me completely away.  My Skaith Elementary family pitched in on getting me gift cards for some much-needed pampering, and gave me cards with notes from each of them of encouragement to keep on going.  I was blown away. My eyes still tear up just thinking about their display of caring.

So, here’s my lesson learned.  It’s okay to be vulnerable and fall when you can no longer stand.  For me, falling showed me just how many people give me the strength to stand on a daily basis.  I will forever be indebted to my family and friends for helping me through these last several weeks.  Because of you, I have the strength to continue on and cross the finish line.  Believe me, I’m counting down the days to the completion of my doctoral degree with my dissertation defense on April 13th.  And I will celebrate with each and every one of you, because I know that it was not a journey that I made alone.

Thank you for lifting me back up when I fell.  Thank you for allowing me to be vulnerable.  And most of all, thank you for showing me just how much you cared when I needed you the most.  My heart is full.  I am blessed.  You are wonderful.  Thank you.

I accepted a challenge from fellow administrator and blogger, Jaime Dial, to follow a national initiative for building administrators to schedule a “no office day.” On this day, I pledged to leave my computer silent in my office, not to check e-mail on my phone either, and to spend my day in classrooms.  I scheduled my day, and set forth on a plan to find my way into every classroom for at least 10 minutes.

It was a great day! (Needless to say, I did end up having to handle some office stuff, like discipline, that popped up throughout the day and needed my attention.) Other than a few isolated incidents, though, I spent my day surrounded by teaching and learning. I worked on my “names challenge” – being able to name all 430 kids in the first 4 weeks of school.  I gave teachers some much-needed feedback about their classroom instruction.

I’m surrounded by great instructors, making a difference in the lives of kids each and every day.  My break from the office was a great lesson learned, reminding me to keep getting out into the place where the real action happens – the classrooms!

I feel truly blessed to have the opportunity to wake up each day and go to work in a job I truly love. Spending my day out of the office and in the classrooms reminded me of just how incredible our work is, educating each child for success.  Blessings abound!

CHANGE.

For me, sometimes, change might as well be synonymous with fear.  Maybe that is true of most people.  I haven’t submitted a new post in a long time, and it’s certainly not because I haven’t learned any lessons.  I think it’s because I’ve been so busy dealing with all of the changes in my professional life that I am just now coming out of the fog of it all.  And now that the fog is lifting, I’m reaffirmed with what I have known all along:  Change is good.  Change stretches us to the edges of what we know, and pushes us even further than we thought possible.

During times of change, I learn the most.  And most importantly, I remember that I am surrounded by phenomenal people.

So tonight, I am thankful. I am thankful for the leaders who pushed me to make a change that I would not have taken on my own. Thankful for my professional colleagues who have supported me during the process. Thankful for those who had faith that I would make it through when I didn’t believe it myself.

Thanks.

Images:

signs of autumn by Brenda Anderson on Flickr

I learned this week that I will be moving to a new elementary school next fall.  Edison has been my home, my mission field, for nearly 13 years.  It occupies my whole heart.  I love the staff, the students, the parents, the community.  I have spent the last several days consumed with the grief of the upcoming loss of all that I have known and identified myself with as a professional.

Often, I am struck with the timely presence of a Sunday morning sermon.  Today’s sermon was a perfect example.  Speaking from Ecclesiastes, the pastor talked about our reaction to change and being faced with inner turmoil.  (Wow. What a perfect description of my own thoughts this week. Inner turmoil. You betcha!) When faced with change and turmoil, we must turn to our faith and trust that we will persevere.

With this coming week, I will begin to accept the challenge of change. There is a bigger picture at play, and I am but a piece of this big picture.  I will continue to grieve, I know, but I will also begin to accept that change, although difficult, always results in new learning and exponential growth.

My lesson learned this week is to expect of myself what I expect of my staff:  to learn and grow. To accept new challenges and let them meld current thinking into something new and wonderful.

I have senioritis.  My doctorate classes will wrap up at the end of June, bringing the end to two years of driving to Overland Park every Wednesday.  The end of leaving St. Joseph every Wednesday at 4:00 and arriving back home at 11:00. The end of kissing my kids good night on Tuesday evening and not seeing them again until after school on Thursday.  It’s March.  March, April, May, June.  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel… it’s dim, but it’s there! And it’s giving me the worst case of senioritis I have ever experienced in my life. I’m itching for it to be over.  No more papers (well…except for my dissertation), no more group projects, no more PowerPoint presentations, no more electronic discussion boards, no more textbook reading, no more field experience hours, no more, no MORE, NO MORE!!!

So what’s my lesson learned, you might ask? All the while that I’m itching for the course work to be over so that I can focus my attention on research and finish up, it is bittersweet really.  The greatest joy in this experience for me has been in the journey.

“The highest reward for man’s toil is not what he gets for it but what he becomes by it.” — John Ruskin

Here’s my lesson — I get just four more months, about 16 Wednesdays, to carpool to class with a couple of amazing St. Joseph administrators that I may not have otherwise had the opportunity to get to know on this level.  We talk.  We laugh.  We laugh until it hurts.  We share ideas.  We laugh some more.  And because of them, this journey has been more memorable and has had deeper meaning.

True, at the end of this journey, there will be reward that will come from my toil.  I will earn my doctoral degree.  But as Ruskin so wisely said, the highest reward comes in the journey itself.

Instead of focusing my attention on wanting it to be over, I think I will focus on enjoying the last few weeks of the journey.  I will miss these drives with my friends.

Leadership Lessons Learned from Dancing Guy

If you’ve never watched this YouTube video, you must click on the link above and watch. It is three minutes long.  I love, love, love this video.

My favorite quote is at 0:45, “The first follower transforms a lone nut into a leader.”

Albert Schweitzer said, “Example is not the main thing in influencing others. It is the only thing.”

This lone nut dancing guy is the epitome of leading by example.  He is unafraid of ridicule, even though what he is doing seems crazy at first.  He embraces his first follower by recognizing the guy’s efforts, and then instantly creates a team effort with him.  Soon the movement builds momentum, but only at the beckoning of the first follower.

I’ve watched this video at least fifty times.  Each time, I’m struck with the implication this has on my own practice.  Am I recognizing my first followers? Am I willing to put myself out there in the first place and do things that are risky enough to make me a lone nut?

I am so excited about the wheels of change that are turning in my school.  The momentum is slow, but it is building.  I think it’s time for me to stand out on the hill and be a lone nut.  And if I am fortunate enough to gain a first follower, I will follow the lead of the dancing guy and recognize the important role of this follower.  It is only through this person that change will really happen.

In an earlier blog post, I talked about a student who wrote a letter to his teacher to let her know that he thinks of her as his mom. For those of us who work in schools with high levels of poverty, we know all to well about the mobility of students. Sadly, this young man transferred to another school due to living temporarily with a different family member.  We tried everything to keep him at Edison.  We offered bus transportation, gas reimbursement to the aunt for driving him to school, even picking him up to drive him to school ourselves, all to no avail.  The aunt insisted on switching him to the new school.  Maybe she’s trying to get back at his mother for not sending her any money or food stamps to care for the kids.  I don’t know, but I do know that this poor baby is stuck right smack in the middle.   This past week, we received news that he (no surprise here) is struggling with missing his biological mother, with getting along in his new home, and with missing our Edison staff and his friends.

Here’s what he said… “I miss Edison! They are the only people who have ever loved me! They are the only people who have ever fought to keep me!”

Sick.  We just feel sick for his broken heart in this situation.  We know the reality – that he will be back to us soon, and we will again wrap him with all of the love we can while he attempts to transition yet again between homes and schools.  We will provide his safe haven and consistency during the day as his life continues at its whirlwind pace outside of our doors.

This has kept me up at night all week, thinking about his words over and over again.  I know that this child may never score proficient or advanced on the state tests, and I know that our building may never make AYP.  But we ARE making an impact. And it’s a big deal.

If you visit my office, you will find a blue and white frame behind my desk carefully guarding an orange piece of paper.  It may look unassuming to someone just glancing past it, but it is my most treasured piece of written advice.  Upon careful inspection, you would find an orange construction paper fish, with the tail folded back to help it fit into its 5×7 window.  In my dad’s distinctly left-handed print, the words read, “You will be on your own more and more. Remember your upbringing. I love you, Dad”  This paper fish came from a send-off on a high school trip with New Generation Singers following my senior year of high school.

“Remember your upbringing.” I read it every morning when I enter my office. I smile.

My upbringing taught me that life is tough.  Kids can be cruel.  A hug from mom cures nearly all wounds.  Never, ever, EVER, tell your dad to shut up.  Playing outside is way more fun than staying in and watching TV.  Your true friends will stand by you through it all.  There is nothing respectful for a young lady to be doing out past eleven o’clock at night.  Your actions represent not just yourself, but your entire family.  Be proud of who you are.  Be a leader when necessary, and a follower too.  Be kind to others even when you don’t feel like it.  Education is essential.

As these words enter my conscious stream of thought upon seeing that simple paper fish, I think of the way that my dad treats other people.  He is interested in what they think.  He engages them instantly in conversation.  He knows no stranger, and strives to make connections with everyone he meets around common interests.  He is a “Fred.”  As I strive to put the lessons from my upbringing into daily practice, I am comforted in the knowledge that I make him proud, not because of any successes I’ve had in life, but simply because of who I am.

Thank you, Dad, for the years of mentoring and parenting.  Being a parent is the hardest job in the world, and you rise to the occasion with flying colors.

In just the one week I’ve been experimenting with this blog, people have asked me about why I’m doing it.  I think I can tell you. I think that what this blog is doing for me is reminding me of powerful lessons I’ve learned in the past, bringing them freshly to the surface again. It is also causing me to be acutely aware of what can be learned every day about how to be a more effective leader for the group of amazing professionals to whom I have been blessed with the gift of service.

Remember your upbringing.  Amazing words.  Love you, Dad.

Abraham Lincoln said, “Whatever you are, be a good one.”

A teacher loaned me a book this week, The Fred Factor by Mark Sanborn.  It’s about being passionate in whatever it is you do.  Fred was a mail man, and he provided extraordinary service to those around him.  Mostly, Fred accomplished this by taking just a few extra minutes each day to build a relationship with the people he was delivering mail to.  He went above and beyond his call of duty in order to be the best mail man he could be, and he worked to spread positive energy among others.

I want to be like Fred.  Some days I find myself being quite the opposite of Fred, trapped in my office completing tasks rather than spending the majority of my day out building relationships with the staff and students I have dedicated my professional career to serving.

My lesson for this week — Be a Fred.  Take extra minutes building relationships with those around you.

My friend Nancy Mooney stated this so well in a message she sent a few days ago.  She said, “I know for sure that leadership is more about character than accomplishments; more about relationships than programs.”  Leaders will come and go from schools.  The way to make a lasting impact is to be like Fred and make a difference with people while I have the opportunity to do so.

I know that the sources of these messages have not come to me all at once by accident. Lincoln’s quote, stumbled upon in a book.  The Fred Factor, passed along by a good friend, and Nancy’s e-mail all converged upon me in a 48 hour period.  Message received!

My challenge to my school colleagues is simply this:  if you see me at my desk, buried behind my computer or in stacks of paperwork, please ask me this one simple question.  “How is Fred today?”

I never want to stop learning.

Thankfully, I am surrounded every day with a group of educators, families, and children who teach me invaluable lessons every day.  My lesson this week comes from one of our fourth grade teachers.  There is a boy in her class that struggles to keep his behavior in check, and he’s had a visit to our district’s management school a few years ago.  We’ve managed to find some strategies that keep him motivated to try his best, even though he struggles academically and has, literally, no family support.  Every day, he gets to come to my office at the end of the day when he’s had a great day.  For his reward, he wants nothing more than to spend fifteen minutes playing with some Star Wars action figures.  I brought some from home, “borrowed” from my own eight year old son.  While he’s playing with them scattered out around the floor in my office, he talks.  And talks.  And talks.  My heart breaks for him when he tells me that his mom was arrested again.  And it breaks again when he tells me that he doesn’t get to live with her anymore, even though I know this is for the best.  He’s hurting, and he’s hungry, and he needs a bath, and no one at his house really even cares if he comes home at night. Some days, his behavior exhausts us as he tests every single limit we have. If something sets him off, he will lash out to hurt anyone in his path, just like a wounded animal.  We remind ourselves on these days just how wounded we know his heart is, and strive to make the next day a better one. We want to be his safe place, his consistent place, his home.  We keep our chins up, starting each day anew trying to make a positive difference.

So the lesson comes when his classroom teacher says that he gave her a letter.  It had only one word, and read “MOM”  He came up to her some time later, and asked her if she had gotten his letter.  He said he didn’t have time to write the rest, which he meant to write.  If completed, he said, it would have said, “You are my MOM.”  The teacher said that at that very moment she thanked God for the opportunity to be in this place, with this young boy.

While I’m learning along the way about being a leader, and about making an impact with the opportunities presented to me in this role, I want to remember this lesson from my nine-year-old friend.  His teacher really IS his mom.  We are his family.  What an awesome responsibility.  What an awesome impact.  May we never, ever, take that for granted!