During a recent conversation
with a trustee, he remarked, “I don’t know how or why you do what you do, but
I’m glad you do.” That same afternoon my board president asked, apropos of
nothing, “Do you feel we pay you enough?”
Such comments are not that uncommon. They call to mind a conversation I
had with another head of school. As
usually happens, we discussed the challenges of the role and shared some war
stories. Towards the end he said, “The things we do, we have to be crazy.” In
such conversations people often make such off-hand comments, sort of a hybrid
between self-deprecation and venting. But it draws attention to the rather
ludicrous way some of us choose to put ourselves in stressful leadership
positions, whether in independent schools or any field. I believe we are called
rather than crazy.
But
why? It’s a very complex and demanding job. (See this recent article “A Complex Web: The New Normal
for Superintendents.” Different role in different world, but similar
issues.) That’s not whining. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I thrive on the
myriad aspects of the role, of the unpredictability, of all the moving pieces.
There’s also something ethereal about it. I believe school heads need to
reflect quite regularly, and this is an essential question. However our
personal stories may vary, the answers can sustain and ground us. For me, they
are framed by what I call my “P Statement,” which I wrote in my letter to self
at the Institute for New Heads. The abbreviated version reads, “You are at this
place at a point in time for a particular purpose because of the person you
are.”[i] In unpacking this a bit on a personal
level, I hope something resonates and affirms your work, whatever it may be.
Sometimes I wonder how I
ended up leading an independent school. I attended Catholic elementary school
and then went to public schools. Throughout college I had no clear career
goals, majoring in English because that meant loads of reading and writing and
thinking about big ideas. Education never entered my mind…until an insightful
career counselor studied my personality, interests, soccer background, coaching
experience, and work with kids; and told me to consider working at an
independent school. Clueless what that
meant, I felt drawn to the idea. I thought I would try it for a little while. Thirty
years later, here I am.
Therein lies the real irony.
Growing up, I couldn't wait to be done with school. I loved learning, but I
hated school. My parents knew what was coming at all conferences and on all
progress reports: some version of very-bright-but-does-not
work-to-his-potential. Simply put, I was bored. I found the work rote and
uninspiring, the teachers too rigid in approach and expectations. Two examples
capture my frustration. In middle school I could not move ahead in math because
I lost one point due to a computational error on a test despite my strong
conceptual grasp. Throughout school I asked to be given alternative books to
read because I already had read the assigned text, only to be told no.
Occasional teachers engaged me through wonderful projects and challenging
discussions or assignments, but most of the time I could race through the
checklist. Only towards the end of college—during seminars, independent
studies, and a thesis—did I dive into academic study.
To deepen the irony, my
experience led me to education. There had to be, I believed, better ways for
schools to work. Now I know there are. As the leader of an independent school,
I have the incredible opportunity to leverage our freedom we to create amazing
places that reveal the infinite possibilities of a meaningful education. One not
determined by curricular standards, data, benchmarks, college placement, or
exit exams. Instead, one about less quantifiable ideals—the soul of the matter .
The connections in a caring community where diverse people are valued for what
they can offer. The courage to take risks in search of understanding. The
awareness of one’s potential and growing towards fulfilling it. The development
of a supple mind, a healthy body, and a kind heart. A rich atmosphere that prompts people to explore
widely and to plumb the depths of themselves. The realization of a purpose
beyond oneself.
I find thinking of my work this was to be both inspirational and
aspirational. As head, I have the sacred responsibility of holding forth this
vision towards which we keep striving. The hope is that others will see the
work the same way. Then steady,
determined progress becomes the default setting. And the less savory parts of
the job become more digestible.
More than anything, the work truly matters. Of course, we’re often left
to wonder if we have succeeded. Then, out of the blue, we hear from an alum who
is doing wonderfully. That person has become contributing positively to the
world. He or she then explains how your school helped that happen. For an
educator, what’s better?
[i] If
you’re interested, the entire letter reads:
Dear Self,
Today, high or low, and every day, great or crummy,
remember the P’s.
Point—You are at a particular point. It’s less than a millennial
blink.
Place—You are at a particular place, a place you love
and are meant to be right now.
Person—You are a particular person, with your unique
mix of human qualities, both saintly and devilish.
Purpose—You have a particular purpose, to this place
and to your person, and they are intersecting at this point in time. Serve both
well.
3 comments:
Hi Mark,
Thanks for writing this. I think all educational leaders need to read something affirming now and then. It's far too easy to dwell on the little negatives that pile up around our ankles.
Doug
Thanks, Doug. At the end of each day, I try to think of three positives. It's a nice way to finish. Similarly, I try to think in terms of what I "get" to do on any given day rather than what I "have" to do. So often, for me attitude is a matter of re-framing.
Awesome blog you have heree
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