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The Shiny New Thing
Apple introduced a new iPhone recently. And, predictably, I want one.
I don't need one. The phone in my pocket works perfectly fine. I'm not even sure I could explain exactly what this new one will do that mine can't. But it's new. It's different. And I love new technology.
I've always been a bit of a sucker for the latest gadget.
There's probably nothing wrong with that. Sometimes something can simply be new and cool, and that's reason enough to want it.
But as I watched the launch a week or two ago, I found myself thinking about the risk of responding the same way in leadership. Because "that's new" might be a perfectly good reason to buy a cool-looking phone. But in leadership, "that's new" isn't a good enough reason to chase something.
New things always seem to be coming our way.
A new idea.
A new strategy.
A new book.
A new program.
A new problem.
Some require our attention. Others don't. The challenge is knowing the difference.
I can afford to be distracted for a moment or two by a shiny, new gadget. But, as a leader, I need a way to decide what actually deserves my time and energy.
Over time, I've learned to come back to a simple question:
What does this moment require from me as a leader?
It's one of the most important questions we can ask ourselves. Because the answer isn't always what we want to do. It isn't always what we like to do. It isn't always what we're best at doing. And it certainly isn't always the newest or most interesting thing we could be doing.
Sometimes the moment requires us to listen when we'd rather talk.
Sometimes it requires patience when we'd rather move.
Sometimes it requires action when we'd rather keep thinking.
Sometimes it requires us to hold steady when everyone around us is ready for something new.
And sometimes it requires us to change when staying where we are would be much more comfortable.
I've come to think of that question as part of the consistent structure I need in my leadership. Not because I want my leadership to be rigid or predictable. Just the opposite. I need something consistent precisely because the moments I'm leading through aren't.
Without it, it's easy to default to what comes naturally. To spend time where I feel most capable. To gravitate toward the work I enjoy. To respond to what's loudest or most urgent. Or to become captivated by whatever happens to be new.
But the people we lead don't need the version of our leadership we most enjoy giving them. They need the version the moment requires.
Sometimes that means leaning into our strengths. Sometimes it means recognizing that our strengths aren't what is needed right now. And sometimes it means doing something that feels uncomfortable, unfamiliar, or simply isn't where we'd choose to spend our time.
That's the responsibility that comes with leadership.
The question isn't simply, What do I want to do now? It's, What do the people I lead need from me right now? What does the organization I lead need from me right now?
None of this means we should stop exploring what's new. I hope I never do.
Curiosity matters. New ideas challenge our assumptions. New technologies create possibilities that didn't exist before. New perspectives cause us to reconsider things we've accepted for far too long.
Curiosity should expand our possibilities. But it shouldn't determine our priorities. For that, we need to keep asking what the moment requires.
So, will I buy the new iPhone? Probably.
But maybe the more important thing I got from its release was a reminder about how I want to lead. And maybe that's worth noticing too.
I wonder if this will become a dot I’ll choose to connect.
9.30.2026
What We Believe
I have been a fan of Shawn Achor’s work for a long time. His research and writing have challenged the way I think about happiness, success, and human potential. So I was eager to read his latest book, The Power of Beliefs.
In it, Achor explores a simple but powerful idea: what we believe shapes the lens through which we see the world. Our beliefs influence what we notice, what we believe is possible, what we attempt, and ultimately how we behave.
As I read, I kept thinking about leadership. More specifically, his work kept reinforcing a leadership philosophy I believe strongly in:
Personal Meaning + Consistent Structure + Intentional Action = Impact
Each part matters. But Achor’s work had me thinking particularly about why personal meaning comes first.
The most impactful leadership begins with personal meaning. And at the heart of personal meaning are our “dots”: the experiences that continue to influence how we see ourselves, others, and the world.
The people who believed in us.
The moments that challenged us.
The successes that gave us confidence.
The failures that changed us.
The experiences that made us feel valued, trusted, capable, or that didn’t.
Some happened years ago. Others may have happened yesterday.
What makes them dots isn’t simply that we remember them. It’s that they continue to influence us.
Achor’s work reminded me just how powerful that influence can be. Some beliefs are shaped slowly through experiences repeated over time. Others can be changed by a single moment. Either way, those experiences can leave something within us.
A belief that people are capable of more than they realize.
A belief that high expectations matter.
A belief that we should give others opportunities to grow.
A belief that persistence matters.
A belief that people need to know they belong.
Over time, some of those beliefs become convictions about how we want to lead.
Personal meaning is recognizing what our dots have created within us and intentionally choosing the convictions that we want to travel with us. They shape what we believe about the people, opportunities, and circumstances in front of us.
If I believe people are capable of growth, I am more likely to notice opportunities to develop them.
If I believe culture matters, I pay attention to interactions someone else might dismiss as insignificant.
If I believe people need to know they belong, I notice who is standing at the edge of the room.
If I believe my behavior matters, I think differently about what my own behavior communicates to others.
That may be what stayed with me most from Achor’s work.
We don’t simply experience the world around us. We experience it through what we believe. And those beliefs influence what we notice, what we see as possible, and what we choose to do next.
For leaders, that matters.
Because long before we develop a strategy, make a decision, or take an action, we are already carrying convictions about people, ourselves, our work, and what is possible. And those convictions came from somewhere.
From experiences.
From people.
From moments that continue to influence how we see ourselves, others, and the world.
From our dots.
Of course, believing something doesn’t make it happen. Achor is clear about that.
Belief matters because of what it causes us to notice, attempt, and ultimately do. But what we believe has to eventually become visible in how we lead, which makes understanding the beliefs we carry, and where they came from, even more important.
Achor puts it simply: “Beliefs bend reality.”
I keep coming back to that line.
Because if what we believe really does shape what we see, what we attempt, and what we do, then understanding what our experiences have created within us and intentionally choosing what we carry forward may be some of the most important work we do as leaders.
I wonder if this will become a dot I’ll choose to connect.
9.14.2026
The First Morning
There is something special about the first day of school.
I know that’s probably true everywhere. But after more than a decade of first days in our school district, I have come to believe there is something particularly special about the way our community begins a new year.
At one of our elementary schools, teachers gather outside the building to welcome their new students. Families fill the lawn, pictures are taken, hugs are exchanged, and before anyone walks through the doors, the entire school says the Pledge of Allegiance together.
At our other elementary school, students, parents, community members, police officers, and firefighters gather for a special flag-raising ceremony to mark the beginning of another year.
I've watched these traditions unfold year after year. They haven't changed much. But this year, I saw something in them I hadn't thought about quite the same way before.
Trust.
Not new trust. Trust that has been built over years.
It was visible in the parents sending their children toward our doors. In the community members who showed up even though they didn't have a child starting school that morning. In the police officers and firefighters standing alongside our teachers. In the excitement and optimism surrounding our kids.
Standing there, I couldn't help but think about what all of that represented.
They believe in us.
They believe something good is going to happen to these kids when they walk through our doors. More than that, they believe we can help their children do extraordinary things once they're inside.
That kind of trust doesn't happen just because we ask for it.
It’s built.
Built over generations by teachers who care deeply for children, by staff members who notice when someone needed help, by principals who pick up the phone, by families who partner with schools, and by a community that consistently invests in its children.
Thousands of moments, most of them probably ordinary when they happened, have accumulated into what I was watching on the first day of school: Trust made visible.
There’s a leadership lesson in that.
We sometimes think trust is built in the big moments. A new initiative. An important speech. A major decision.
Usually, it isn't.
It’s built much more quietly, one interaction and one decision at a time. Do what you say you're going to do. Show up. Listen. Care. Deliver. Then do it again tomorrow.
Eventually, consistency becomes credibility. And credibility becomes trust.
But trust isn't something we get to keep simply because it has been built.
Trust must be stewarded.
Those of us leading and working in our schools inherited some of the trust we benefit from today from the people who came before us.
That is an incredible advantage and an incredible responsibility. Because every interaction gives us an opportunity to add to that trust or take something away from it.
The traditions on the first day celebrate what has already been built. The hundreds of days that follow determine what happens to it next.
And perhaps most importantly, trust creates possibility.
When parents trust teachers, when teachers trust leaders, when schools trust families, and when a community believes deeply in its schools, we can do more together. We can challenge kids. Try something different. Take risks. Change something that has always been done a certain way. Dream a little bigger about what might be possible for our students.
Trust isn't simply something that makes a school community feel good. It creates the conditions for people to do extraordinary things.
As I watched our students make their way through the doors, I found myself looking at the parents still standing outside. I wondered what they hoped would happen on the other side.
Maybe this will be the year their child discovers a love of reading.
Finds a best friend.
Realizes she's good at math.
Finds the courage to raise his hand.
Discovers something he didn't know existed.
Feels known.
Gets pushed beyond what she thought she could do.
Begins to imagine a future that looks a little bigger than it did before.
Those parents can't possibly know everything that will happen after their children walk through our doors. Neither can we. But they believe in what is possible there.
Eventually, the pictures are taken. The flag reaches the top of the pole. Parents head home. Police officers and firefighters return to work. And by the next morning, there isn't a crowd outside. But the trust is still there.
And now we get another year to build on it. To protect what others helped create. To strengthen it through the ordinary interactions that fill our days. And, most importantly, to use it to help our kids accomplish things none of us can fully imagine on that first morning.
What an extraordinary privilege. And what an extraordinary responsibility.
I wonder if this will become a dot I’ll choose to connect.
8.19.2026
Make People Happy
It's my favorite presentation of the year.
Every August, before students return and before classrooms fill with activity again, I have the opportunity to welcome our staff back for another school year. It's one of the few moments when every person in our district is together in the same room, preparing to begin the same journey.
This year, I asked them to consider an unlikely comparison.
What if great schools have something in common with great amusement parks?
No, I don't believe schools should be all fun and games.
Learning is challenging. Growth is often uncomfortable. The purpose of school is far more than entertainment.
But the best amusement parks aren't really just in the ride business. They're actually in the experience business.
As I prepared my opening day message, I spent a day with the general manager of Kings Island, the amusement park just a few miles from our district. I expected to learn about operations, leadership, and customer service.
Instead, I walked away thinking about one simple sentence.
He told me that every employee, regardless of their position, has the same job. Whether they're operating rides, checking tickets at the front gate, serving food, sweeping sidewalks, running games, or leading the organization, every person shares one responsibility.
Make people happy.
At first, it sounded almost too simple. But the more I thought about it, the more profound it became. Every interaction contributes to the experience guests will remember long after they leave. So every team member has the responsibility to make that experience just a little better.
I couldn't stop thinking about that because schools aren't no different.
Our jobs and role vary. We teach lessons, drive buses, prepare lunches, answer phones, coach teams, clean classrooms, and greet families at the front door. But every one of us contributes to the experience our students have while they're with us.
And every interaction tells a child something.
You belong here.
You're important.
We're glad you're here.
This is a place where you'll discover what you're capable of.
Or it tells them the opposite.
Think about your own life. Have you ever done your best work in a place where you felt invisible? Where you didn't feel welcome? Where you never believed you belonged?
Neither have I.
We do our best work when we feel valued, connected, and trusted.
Author and researcher Shawn Achor argues that we often have it backwards. We assume success creates happiness, when in reality, positive emotions almost always come first. When people feel hopeful, connected, and engaged, they're more likely to learn, persevere, solve problems, and succeed.
That's true for our students in schools, too. Joy isn't the absence of challenge. It's what gives them the confidence to embrace it.
As I finished my opening day message, one thought kept coming back. Great schools aren't defined by a single teacher, principal, or program. They're defined by the experience every one of us creates together.
Because regardless of our respective roles, we all contribute to the same experience. An experience where every child can feel welcomed, challenged, encouraged, and, yes, lots of joy.
That’s when my message became clear.
When every one of us takes responsibility for creating that kind of experience, something happens.
It becomes amazing here.
And to think, it all started with a day at Kings Island. Sometimes the most meaningful leadership lessons come from the places we least expect.
I wonder if this will become a dot I'll choose to connect.
8.12.2026
Blank Pages
It happens every August.
Before teachers return. Before students fill our classrooms. Before the buses roll and the hallways come alive.
I find myself sitting quietly with a blank page.
Soon it will become the agenda for my first meeting with our leadership team. A few days later, it will become the message I share with our staff as we begin another school year together.
But for now, it's simply a blank page waiting for the first mark.
Every year, that blank page reminds me of something Disney Imagineer Marty Sklar wrote. There are two ways to look at a blank sheet of paper. It can be the most frightening thing in the world because you have to make the first mark. Or it can be the greatest opportunity in the world because you get to make the first mark.
I've always loved that thought.
Leadership is filled with blank pages. A new position. A difficult conversation. An idea no one has tried before. An action plan. A new school year.
And every meaningful beginning starts the same way.
With the opportunity to decide what we want this moment to become.
That's why I've always loved beginnings. There's an energy that comes with them. Nothing has changed yet, but everything feels possible. The routines haven't settled in. The obstacles haven't appeared. The doubts haven't had time to take hold, and for a brief moment, the future exists only in our imagination.
Leaders need these moments.
We spend so much of our lives responding to what already exists. Solving problems. Managing challenges. Making decisions. Those responsibilities matter. But leadership isn't only about responding to today's reality. It's also about imagining tomorrow's possibility.
One of the greatest responsibilities we have as leaders is to imagine a better future before anyone else can see it. We need to believe something can become better before there's evidence that it will be. And then we need to help others believe it too and invite them to help us build it.
Over the past two years, my focus has been exactly that through the development of our new strategic plan, Destination NEXT.
Teachers, staff, students, families, Board members, and community members gathered around a blank page with me and responded to a simple question: What can come NEXT?
This strategic plan that we created matters. It comes on the heels of our incredibly successful twelve-year plan, Destination 2026. We need to keep our momentum going.
But this new plan is not what excites me most. Rather what excites me most is the imagination behind it. The conversations. The hope. The willingness to believe our best work may still be ahead of us.
As another school year begins, I hope I never lose the excitement of standing in front of a blank page. Because every blank page is an opportunity waiting for someone willing to make the first mark.
I wonder if this moment will become a dot I’ll choose to connect.
8.1.2026
