The Places That Shape Us Stay With Us

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More than 20 years have passed since I left Greenfield, Ohio and my native state. I’ve built a career in public education, grown into leadership and made a home in North Carolina. Yet every so often, something reminds me just how much those early experiences helped shape the educator and person I am today.

Recently, watching the Greenfield community rally around McClain High School and its opportunity to win a $1 million football field upgrade has brought those memories back into focus.

My time in Greenfield lasted just one year, but its impact has stayed with me for decades. Sometimes, the most influential chapters of our lives aren’t the longest ones. They are the ones that come at just the right time, when we are finding our footing and learning what kind of professional we want to become.

Greenfield was that kind of place for me.

Greenfield isn’t my hometown, but it’s just a short drive from the small Ohio community where I grew up. After graduating from Wilmington College, I rented a little house in Greenfield and began my career in public education. I walked to work every day, living just a few blocks from the school.

I was fresh out of college, learning the profession and beginning to understand the importance of relationships, community and the responsibility that comes with working in public education.

One memory that has stayed with me involves my mentor teacher. When the Ohio weather turned particularly cold, she would sometimes insist on picking me up and driving me to work, even though I lived only a few blocks away.

It was a simple gesture, but more than 20 years later, I still remember it. She was looking out for a young educator who was still finding his way. At the time, it might have seemed like a small act of kindness. Looking back, I recognize it as something more: an example of what it means to invest in another person.

That was the kind of care I experienced in Greenfield, both professionally and personally.

I was invited to countless gatherings, attended high school football and basketball games and became part of the community beyond the school day. Although I worked at the elementary level, I felt connected to the middle school, McClain High School and the broader Tiger family. I wasn’t simply part of one building. I was welcomed into a district and community that took pride in its schools and its people.

That sense of belonging left a lasting impression.

Greenfield is a village in Highland County, Ohio, with approximately 4,339 residents according to the 2020 census. It’s a small town with a strong sense of identity, where school pride is woven into community life.

It’s also the hometown of the great Johnny Paycheck, one of my country music heroes. It’s another reminder that a small town can leave a mark well beyond its borders.

Greenfield’s educational history is equally meaningful. In 1912, local native Edward Lee McClain donated $500,000 toward building a state-of-the-art high school for his hometown. The school opened in 1915, reflecting an ambitious vision for education that included the arts, science, physical education and practical learning.

That investment helped establish a legacy that continues today. The Greenfield Exempted Village School District includes three elementary schools, Greenfield Middle School and McClain High School. The schools serve different grade levels, but together they create a strong connection between education and community.

Even though my assignment was at the elementary level, I experienced that connection firsthand. Athletics were a big part of community life when I worked there, and Friday night football and high school basketball brought people together across generations. School pride extended far beyond the classroom.

More than a century after McClain’s founding, that spirit remains unmistakable.

McClain’s advancement into the top 40 schools in T-Mobile’s Friday Night 5G Lights competition has brought that community pride into focus once again. The school has already earned $25,000 as a finalist and is competing for the opportunity to win a $1 million athletic field upgrade.

What makes this especially meaningful is seeing Greenfield’s story reach far beyond Highland County. Television news stations serving both the Cincinnati and Columbus metro areas have covered McClain’s opportunity, bringing attention to a school and community that many people across Ohio may not know firsthand.

For a town of roughly 4,300 people, that kind of regional attention is a big deal. And it’s a reminder that small communities have stories worth telling, traditions worth celebrating and students worth investing in. Even the sitting Governor made a strong pitch for support as the school is the only remaining in the state in the contest.

The coverage has also given people outside Greenfield a glimpse of what those of us who have been part of the community already understand: school pride here is about more than a scoreboard. It’s about generations of families, educators, students and alumni who share a connection to a place.

Students, staff, alumni, families, local businesses and supporters well beyond Greenfield have rallied around the effort. Even the community’s magenta makeover has become part of the fun, adding another color to the purple and gold that have long represented McClain pride.

Watching from North Carolina, I recognize the community I remember. People show up. They support their schools. They take pride in the opportunities available to their students.

The potential field upgrade is about more than turf or facilities. It’s an investment in students, school traditions and a place that has brought generations of people together. Community support cannot replace the daily work of educators, but it sends a powerful message: your school matters, your opportunities matter and people believe in you.

https://www.wlwt.com/article/ohio-mcclain-high-school-friday-night-5g-lights-contest/74159992

And while I may be more than 20 years and several states away, I’m still finding ways to show up for Greenfield. I’ve been voting daily from afar in the competition, and I’m encouraging others to do the same before voting closes on October 25.

For me, this is a small way to support a community that welcomed me at an important point in my life and a district that helped shape my professional foundation. I may not be in the stands on Friday nights anymore, but I’m still cheering for the Tigers from a distance.

More than two decades into public education, I understand even more clearly how much our professional journeys depend on the people who invest in us. From the classroom to instructional coaching and school administration, I’ve been fortunate to learn from others and to have opportunities to support educators as they develop their own practice.

The lessons I learned in Greenfield remain part of how I lead today. Relationships matter. People matter. Community matters. And sometimes, the smallest gestures leave the biggest impressions.

I think about my mentor teacher insisting on driving me those few blocks on cold Ohio mornings. I think about the educators who shared their knowledge, the invitations that made me feel included and the community that welcomed me as more than an employee.

They may have viewed those moments as ordinary. For a young educator just starting out, they helped establish a foundation that has lasted a lifetime.

Greenfield wasn’t my hometown, and I spent only one year there. But it became an important part of my story, and I’m grateful for the people who made it so.

No matter how far we travel or how much our lives change, the places that shape us have a way of staying with us. Sometimes, all it takes is watching a community rally around its school—and seeing that story reach far beyond its borders—to remind us why.

I’m proud of where I come from, grateful for the educators who helped shape my early career and thankful that, after all these years, I can still see the spirit of Greenfield shining through.

That’s something worth celebrating.

What Time Has Taught Me About What Matters

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There is something interesting about looking back at who we were 20 years ago.

At 25, I was brand new to North Carolina, brand new to my district and still a few years into my career in public education. I was learning a new community, building relationships and trying to figure out where this next chapter of life would take me.

My lens was completely different. A fresh young adult from small town Ohio teaching third grade in one of the largest school districts

I was eager. I was ambitious. I wanted to make a difference and prove myself. I was excited about the opportunities ahead and ready to embrace whatever challenges came next.

What I did not fully understand at the time was how much the people around me would shape this journey.

Those early colleagues welcomed me in, invested in me and helped make a place that was unfamiliar start to feel like home. They shared their knowledge, offered encouragement and reminded me that even in a new place, you are never truly starting over when you are surrounded by good people.

Many of those relationships began as professional connections but became so much more. More than 20 years later, some of those same people are still lifelong friends, even though our careers have taken different paths and life has brought us different experiences. We have celebrated successes, supported each other through challenges and watched each other grow through different seasons of life.

Looking back, those relationships were one of the greatest gifts of starting over somewhere new.

At that point in my life, I thought success was measured by progress. The next opportunity. The next accomplishment. The next milestone. I was focused on building a career, establishing myself and finding my place in a community that was still new to me.

And there is nothing wrong with that mindset. In many ways, that drive helped shape who I became.

But time has a way of changing your perspective.

At 45, I still have ambition. I still have goals. I still believe there is more ahead. But I measure success differently than I did two decades ago.

I care less about what is visible and more about what is meaningful. I care less about proving myself and more about being present. I care less about the next accomplishment and more about the impact left behind.

Early in my career, growth often meant moving forward. It meant learning more, taking on new challenges and continuing to build a career. Those things still matter. But after more than 20 years in education, I have learned that leadership is not defined by a title, a position or a role.

It is defined by the people who are better because you were part of their journey.

The moments I remember most are not always the accomplishments that can be listed on a resume. They are the conversations. The student who needed someone to believe in them. The teacher who needed encouragement. The colleague who stepped into leadership because someone saw potential in them.

The older I get, the more I realize leadership is not about being the person in front of the room. It is about helping others find the confidence to step into the room themselves.

I have also learned that being busy is not the same as being successful.

At 25, I often measured progress by how much I could accomplish. A full schedule felt like momentum. Taking on more responsibilities felt like growth.

And while hard work and commitment are important, I have learned that some of the most meaningful moments in life do not happen between meetings or on a calendar.

A conversation over coffee. A long workout. A quiet evening at home. A record spinning in the background. Time spent with people who matter.

Those moments are not distractions from life. They are life.

Over the years, I have become much more intentional about creating space to disconnect and recharge. Not because I care less about the work, but because I understand that taking care of myself allows me to continue showing up for others.

I have also learned there is freedom in no longer needing everyone to understand your path.

At 25, I was building a life in a place that was still new to me. I had left what was familiar, moved away from where I grew up and was creating a future that looked different from what I had known.

I did not have every answer. I simply knew I was ready for something different.

Looking back, some of the best decisions in life are not always the ones that make the most sense on paper. They are the ones that align with who you are becoming.

There is a difference between seeking approval and seeking alignment.

The older I get, the less interested I am in convincing people that my choices make sense. I am much more interested in making sure they make sense for the life I am building.

Perhaps the biggest lesson I have learned is that relationships matter more than accomplishments.

The degrees, promotions, awards and milestones are meaningful. They represent hard work and commitment. But the things I value most are the people who have walked alongside me.

The mentors who invested in me. The colleagues who became friends. The students who reminded me why this work matters. The people who showed up during both the exciting seasons and the difficult ones.

No accomplishment means as much without people to share it with.

At 25, I thought life was about becoming someone.

At 45, I realize it is about becoming more fully myself.

I still have goals. I still have ambition. I still believe some of the best chapters are ahead.

But success looks different now.

It is found in meaningful relationships. In work that matters. In being present. In staying true to who I am while continuing to grow.

The road ahead is still unfolding and thankfully there is still plenty left to learn.

Home Has a Way of Evolving

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Twenty years ago this summer, I packed up everything I knew and headed south.

At the time, it felt like a massive leap of faith. I was a young teacher from a small Ohio town, leaving behind family, friends, familiar roads and the comfort of being surrounded by people who had known me for most of my life. Looking back now, it is hard to believe that two decades have passed since I made the move to the Raleigh area and began what would become the next chapter of my life.

Before North Carolina, I spent a year teaching in Greenfield Exempted Village Schools, neighboring my hometown. It was an incredible first professional experience. So many people invested in me during that year. Veteran educators, administrators, colleagues and community members helped shape the teacher and leader I would become. Their support gave me a strong foundation and I remain grateful for every person who poured into me during those early days of my career.

Yet even then, I knew it was time for a change.

A big change.

As much as I appreciated my roots, I was ready for a new challenge. I was ready to move beyond a small district where everyone seemed to know everyone. I wanted to experience greater diversity, broader perspectives and the opportunities that come with a rapidly growing metropolitan area. I wanted to stretch myself professionally and personally.

So I loaded up and headed to North Carolina.

One of my earliest memories of arriving in the Triangle was the excitement surrounding the Carolina Hurricanes and their run to the Stanley Cup Final. The energy around the region was impossible to miss. Twenty years later, it feels fitting that the Hurricanes are once again competing for hockey’s biggest prize. There is something special about that full circle moment.

What strikes me most, however, is how much the region itself has changed.

The Triangle of 2006 is not the Triangle of today.

The growth has been remarkable. New neighborhoods, businesses, schools, parks and opportunities seem to emerge every year. What was already a thriving area has become one of the most dynamic regions in the country. The excitement surrounding the Hurricanes today mirrors that growth. The atmosphere feels bigger. The community feels larger. The pride feels stronger.

In many ways, my own journey has mirrored the growth of the region.

Over the last twenty years, I have had the privilege of serving Wake County Public School System in a variety of roles. I began as a classroom teacher, later served as an instructional coach and today work in school leadership. At every step, people have invested in me. Mentors, colleagues, principals, district leaders, teachers, staff members and friends have challenged me, encouraged me and helped me grow.

One lesson I have learned repeatedly is that leadership is never a solo endeavor.

No accomplishment happens alone.

Every opportunity I have received has been influenced by someone who believed in me, offered guidance, opened a door or provided encouragement when I needed it most. Twenty years later, I am still learning. I am still growing. Thankfully, I continue to be surrounded by people who pour into me both within our district and beyond.

Some of those professional relationships have become lifelong friendships.

That is one of the greatest gifts this journey has provided.

Despite spending two decades in North Carolina, I have never lost sight of where I came from.

Ohio will always be part of who I am.

The family farm remains an important connection to my roots and a reminder of the values that shaped me. Wilmington College continues to hold a special place in my heart as well. It was there that I learned the value of community, service and leadership. What I appreciate most is that my connection to Wilmington did not end at graduation. Through alumni involvement and service to the college community, I have remained connected to an institution and a group of people who continue to shape my life in meaningful ways. Every visit back to campus feels familiar, not because of the buildings but because of the people and relationships that continue to make the place special.

Those connections remind me that while careers evolve and addresses change, the communities that help shape us never really leave us.

Over the last twenty years, the Triangle has become home in every sense of the word. My parents now call North Carolina home in retirement. I have spent twenty years serving students, families and educators in Wake County. Along the way, I have built friendships, professional relationships and community connections that have enriched my life in countless ways.

When I crossed the state line twenty years ago, I had no idea what the future would hold. I simply knew I was ready for a challenge and ready to see what was possible.

What I found was a community that welcomed me, challenged me and invested in me. Along the way, I found lifelong friends, incredible mentors and opportunities I never could have imagined as a young teacher leaving Ohio for North Carolina.

When I look back on the last two decades, what stands out most are not the titles or milestones. It is the people.

Mentors, colleagues, principals, district leaders, teachers, staff members and friends have challenged me, encouraged me and helped me grow. Whether in Ohio, at Wilmington College, at NC State or throughout Wake County, I have been fortunate to be surrounded by people who continually pour into me and help me become a better educator, leader and person.

Ohio will always be home in some ways. The family farm, Wilmington College and the people who helped shape my early years remain an important part of who I am.

But after twenty years, the Triangle is home too.

I am grateful for every student, colleague, mentor, friend and community member who has been part of this journey. The last twenty years have shaped me in ways I never expected and I know there is still more growth ahead.

Twenty years later, taking that leap remains one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Choosing my own path

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There’s a pattern in my life that’s become easier to recognize the older I get: I’ve never really followed the expected route.

Not out of rebellion or a need to be different for the sake of it. I’ve just always felt a steady pull toward what felt right for me — not what was assumed, inherited or mapped out ahead of time. That started early.

In my family, The Ohio State University wasn’t just a college. It was the college. Generations on both sides. Tradition. Pride. The expected next step.

And when it came time to apply for college, I didn’t even entertain it.

Not because I didn’t respect what it meant to my family, but because I already knew I wanted something smaller, more connected and more personal. I wanted a place where relationships mattered and where I could carve out my own identity instead of stepping into one already waiting for me.

That decision led me to my beloved Wilmington College — one of the most important choices I’ve ever made.

Wilmington shaped me in ways that still impact how I move through life and leadership today. It taught me how to think critically, build relationships, lead with authenticity and understand that education is always about people first.

Years later, my connection to the college still remains strong through alumni involvement and continued relationships. Some places don’t just educate you. They become part of your foundation.

Then came another leap that changed everything: Leaving Ohio for Raleigh nearly 20 years ago. No built-in network. No familiar faces. No real safety net. Just a decision rooted in instinct and belief that growth was waiting on the other side of discomfort.I didn’t know a single person when I moved here.

But I knew staying comfortable wasn’t going to stretch me personally or professionally the way I needed. The initial reason for my leap, employment in the Wake County Public School System — a district that has challenged me, sharpened me and given me opportunities to grow as an educator and leader in ways I couldn’t have imagined back in the summer of 2006.

There’s also another layer to all of this that matters deeply to me. Public education and farming both run through my family history. Both represent legacy, hard work and identity. Choosing education over the family farm and an agricultural career wasn’t something I took lightly.

But even then, I knew I needed to build a life that aligned with who I was — not simply continue a script because it already existed. Looking back now, none of these decisions feel disconnected.

Choosing Wilmington. Leaving Ohio. Building a career in North Carolina. Taking risks professionally and personally instead of defaulting to comfort or expectation.

It’s all the same thread. I’ve always been willing to take the longer road if it felt more authentic.

And honestly, that mindset shapes how I lead in education every single day. Schools are filled with systems, traditions and “the way things have always been done.” Some deserve protecting. Others deserve rethinking entirely. Leadership requires discernment. The ability to honor tradition without becoming trapped by it.

That’s probably why I’ve always gravitated toward leadership rooted in relationships, trust, communication and authenticity over performative leadership or rigid hierarchy.

Students know when adults are genuine. Staff know when leaders are grounded. Communities know when decisions are being made with integrity.

I think living independently — making difficult choices based on alignment instead of expectation — has ultimately made me a better educator and leader because it’s taught me how important voice, identity and ownership really are.

At the end of the day, independence has never meant isolation to me. It’s meant having the courage to choose a path that feels honest — even when it’s unfamiliar. Looking back, the biggest leaps I’ve taken ended up becoming the moments that shaped me most.

In a world of posts, choose presence in the work that matters

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Spend a few minutes scrolling any social platform and you will see it. Promotion announcements, milestone celebrations, polished reflections on success. Education is no exception. In many ways it has become part of the rhythm. Do the work, then share the work.

There is value in that. Celebrating students, staff, and community matters.

But I keep coming back to the moments that never make it online.

A quiet conversation with a student who just needed someone to listen.
A teacher staying late because they care, not because anyone will notice.
Families fully engaged in a school event, present with each other instead of documenting it.

Those are the moments that stay with you. Most of them never get posted.

Social platforms are not neutral spaces. They are designed environments. Renowned psychologist Jonathan Haidt (https://jonathanhaidt.com/) has written extensively about how the rise of smartphones and social media, especially since the early 2010s, has reshaped how people experience connection, validation, and even identity. His work points to clear increases in anxiety and depressive symptoms among young people during that same period, trends that closely align with constant access to these platforms and the feedback loops they create.

It is not just about students. It is about all of us.

When attention is the currency, behavior adjusts. We share more. We think about how something will be received while we are still experiencing it. We start to measure impact through engagement. At some point it becomes harder to tell the difference between doing meaningful work and being seen doing meaningful work.

NYU professor, renowned podcaster and entrepreneur Scott Galloway (https://scottgalloway.profgmedia.com/) talks about this in a different way. He often points out how digital spaces have amplified status signaling. Success is no longer just something you experience. It is something you present. For many people, especially younger professionals, there is an added pressure to show progress in real time, even when that progress is still unfolding.

You can feel it across every corner of education – schools, district offices, and support areas alike. The quiet expectation to share wins, highlight momentum, and keep the narrative moving forward.

There is nothing inherently wrong with that. But it is worth asking where the line is between sharing and performing.

In schools, the work that matters most is rarely public.

It is relational. It builds over time. It is often invisible to anyone not directly involved.

The strongest leaders and educators I know are not focused on building a personal brand. They are focused on creating conditions where people can do their best work. Supporting staff when no one else sees it. Building trust with families over time. Showing up for students on the days that are not easy.

A lot of the most meaningful work happening across our schools and community would never translate into a post. That is not a gap. That is the point.

There is also a cost to always being on.

When everything becomes something to share, it changes how you experience it. Reflection can turn into reaction. Purpose can slowly shift toward perception. Even in spaces filled with good people doing important work, comparison finds a way in.

Haidt’s research speaks to the impact of those feedback loops on well being. Galloway’s work reinforces how they shape how we define success in the first place.

In education, where the work already asks a lot of you, that tension matters. The work is too important to be driven by optics.

I have been thinking more about what it looks like to be intentional here. To share when it adds value. To celebrate others without making it about myself. To recognize that not every meaningful moment needs to be documented to count.

Through my work in schools, across the community, and in alumni engagement, I have had the opportunity to be part of a lot of meaningful experiences. I am proud of that. At the same time, I am learning that the value of those moments is not determined by how they perform online. It is determined by who they impact and whether that impact lasts.

It might be worth rethinking how we measure leadership.

Not by visibility, but by consistency.
Not by engagement, but by trust.
Not by how often we are seen, but by how often we show up.

Social platforms are not going anywhere. They can be useful and they can build real connection when used with purpose. But the best leaders I know are not focused on being noticed. They are focused on making sure others are.

There is nothing wrong with sharing your work. But not all work needs an audience to be meaningful.

In a space that constantly pulls for attention, there is something steady about choosing impact.

Lead well when no one is watching. That is the part that actually lasts.

Finding peace in challenging times

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There are moments in history when the noise feels louder than the hope. When headlines carry more heat than light. When it feels like the ground beneath us is unsettled, and the temptation is to either harden our hearts or retreat entirely.

This is one of those moments.

Across our country, deep division and unrest are impossible to ignore. Minnesota has been heavy on my mind lately — another place carrying the weight of anger, grief, and unresolved pain. It’s a reminder that the fractures we feel are not abstract or distant; they are lived, local, and deeply personal. At times, the national mood feels dark, uncertain, and on edge.

And yet — right here in the Triangle — something powerful has been unfolding.

Over the past several days, our community has been part of the Walk for Peace, a remarkable procession of Buddhist monks journeying across the country to promote mindfulness, compassion, and peace. As the monks made their way through our region on their walk from Texas to Washington DC, many beared the cold to witness the monks’ calm determination and hear their words about living with intention and kindness.

People stood quietly together, often moved to tears, feeling more peace in that moment than they had in weeks. Some held flowers and watched as the monks regifted them — a simple but poignant reminder that peace multiplies when shared.

It’s hard to overstate how meaningful that contrast is.

While parts of our country wrestle with chaos and division, our community chose calm, courage, and connection. The Walk for Peace didn’t deny the pain we carry — it acknowledged it and responded with dignity. It reminded us that peace is not passive. It requires intention. It requires showing up.

As a school leader, this is how I strive to lead every day.

I lead with love and care — always. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. Schools are microcosms of our society. Every fear, every hope, every fracture eventually walks through our doors. My responsibility is to create spaces where students, faculty, support staff and families feel seen, safe, and valued, even when the world outside feels anything but steady.

Leading with love doesn’t mean ignoring hard truths. It means holding people through them. It means choosing empathy over ego, listening over reacting, and modeling the calm we want young people to carry forward.

Fittingly, today’s vinyl spinning in the background was Bruce Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town — released in 1978, but somehow always timely. The album is gritty, honest, and unflinching. And tucked within it is “The Promised Land,” the first song on the B side. A song that feels like it was written for moments exactly like this.

Springsteen sings, “Blow away the dreams that tear you apart / Blow away the dreams that break your heart.” There’s an acknowledgment there: dreams can wound us when they’re deferred, distorted, or denied. We feel that tension now — between what America promises and what it delivers. “The Boss” pushes forward: “I believe in the faith that can save me / I believe in the hope and I pray.” That line lands hard these days. Faith. Hope. Prayer. Not as slogans, but as anchors.

The song closes: “I’m gonna get a little bit of rest tonight.” Even in darkness, there’s permission to pause. To breathe. To gather strength for the work ahead.

That’s what peace looks like right now.

Not pretending everything is fine — but choosing not to let the darkness define us. Walking together when it would be easier to turn away. Leading with love when fear would be more convenient. Teaching our children — by example — that calm is a form of courage.

The Promised Land isn’t a place we arrive at all at once. It’s something we build, step by step, walk by walk, choice by choice.

Even now. Especially now.

Why a Thank You Can Change a School — Even on the Hard Days

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There’s a point every school year — usually somewhere between a chaotic morning arrival, a hallway conversation with a student who just needs someone to listen, and the third fire drill of the quarter — when I have to remind myself to stop and take inventory of what’s actually holding our school together.

It’s never the systems.
It’s never the spreadsheets.
It’s always the people.

Over the years, I’ve learned that the most powerful tool I have as a school leader doesn’t cost a thing and nor does it require extensive professional learning: a genuine thank you.

When you work in a building where everything is urgent, it’s easy to start operating like gratitude is optional. But I’ve found the opposite is true: the more pressure we’re under, the more essential taking time to show sincere gratitude becomes.

Some of the most grounding moments of my day happen in the tiny spaces between tasks:

  • Thanking a member of our custodial team who quietly cleared a spill before most people even noticed it
  • Stopping by a classroom to tell a teacher, “Hey, that lesson today? You had them. That was good work.”
  • Telling your grade level counselor that you saw the way she handled a tough parent meeting with grace.
  • Pointing out to a front office teammate that her calm presence is the reason the day didn’t unravel at 7:05 AM.

Those acknowledgments take seconds.
But they change trust.
And trust changes a building.

Schools go through seasons. Some feel light; others feel heavy. Some years the climate shifts week to week. But what I’ve seen consistently is that people feel steady when they feel seen.

I think about the moments that happen behind the scenes — the kind that rarely get mentioned in newsletters:

  • The teacher who quietly checked on a student going through something at home.
  • The counselor who stayed late to support a family no one else could get ahold of.
  • The core team that turned a small idea into something that made 100 students feel proud.
  • The teammate who brought laughter into a meeting that was heading toward stress.

When I recognize those things — even in a quick “Hey, I noticed that” — I watch shoulders ease. People breathe differently when they know their work isn’t invisible.

There was a morning not long ago when a student walked into my office — unprompted — and said, “I just want to thank you for always checking on me.” It wasn’t a big, dramatic moment. It was simple. Human. And it reminded me that appreciation is contagious.

When students hear thank-yous exchanged among adults…
When they watch teachers affirm each other…
When they see leaders shout out a bus driver, or a cafeteria worker, or a teammate behind the desk…

…it becomes normal for them to practice gratitude too.

And honestly? That may be one of the most culture-shifting things we can teach.

The more intentional I’ve become about expressing appreciation in the building, the more it’s shaped the rest of my life.

I’ve learned to thank the people who love me, the friends who show up, the partner who sees the parts of my day that no one else sees, the family who holds space for me when I’m tired. Gratitude has a way of softening you — of reminding you to pay attention to what’s working, not just what’s hard.

No matter the season.
No matter the climate.
No matter the pressure of the day.

Genuine gratitude costs nothing.
But it returns everything.

If you want a school to feel different, start with appreciation.
If you want people to feel valued, say the words out loud.
If you want culture to shift, notice the humans doing the quiet work.

And if you’re tired, overwhelmed, or unsure where to begin — start with this:

Thank you.
For showing up.
For choosing this work.
For giving more than people ever see.

We can’t control everything in a school, but we can control how we care for the people in it. And in my experience, that changes everything.

Kicking off 2025-26 on the right foot

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Summer planning is winding down. More and more faculty members are making their way into the building the past few weeks to get a jump on creating hallway signage, arranging classroom spaces, planning, etc. Our staff kickoff is a matter of days away and our students return in a week. 2025-26 is coming.

There are countless advice articles out there from ASCD and other reputable sources ahead of a new school year for faculty and staff of all walks to get information from. A sampling:

https://www.edutopia.org/article/realistic-goal-setting-teachers/

https://steinhardt.nyu.edu/ihdsc/path-program/path-perspectives/top-10-tips-starting-school-year-strong

https://www.edutopia.org/article/school-leaders-back-to-school-resources/

This is an exciting time but can easily be overwhelming even for veteran educators. So much to do, so little time before the students arrive in a matter of days. So many boxes to check — district, state and federal mandated items, building specific areas, time and space with grade level and content teams — the list goes on. This can be stressful.

Routines. To assist routines are essential. Start them before the school year begins on a smaller scale to get “in the swing” of things. getting enough sleep, eating healthy, and exercising regularly all items I’ve blogged about in the past. 

Positive thoughts. Focusing on the positive aspects of returning to school, like seeing colleagues, students, families and learning new things, can assist in counteracting negative thoughts.

As a school leader specifically there are a long list of items I try my best to utilize to support the faculty and staff I lead in the beginning of the year and ongoing. These include…

1. Cultivate a Culture of Trust and Transparency:

  • Build strong relationships. Prioritize building positive relationships with staff, students, and families from the outset. Essential early, often and ongoing. Authentic.
  • Open communication. Create a culture where open and honest communication is encouraged, fostering a sense of security and belonging. Teamwork – approachability, willingness to listen, while being open to adapting.
  • Transparency. Be transparent about your vision, goals, and decision-making processes. 
  • Regular check-ins. Hold regular meetings, both formal and informal, to facilitate open dialogue and address concerns. 

2. Set Clear Goals and Expectations:

  • Define a shared vision. Articulate a clear vision for the school year, ensuring it aligns with the needs of the school and community.
  • Establish authentic goals. Work with your team to set specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound goals for the school year that are both authentic and meaningful.
  • Communicate roles and responsibilities. Clearly define the roles and responsibilities of each team member in achieving the shared goals.

3. Provide Support and Resources:

  • Coaching and mentoring: Offer coaching and mentoring to help staff develop their leadership skills and build confidence. As I’ve blogged about in the past, this is truly a win-win as a leader – building capacity in others while increasing their confidence and scope as professionals.

4. Lead by Example:

  • Model positive behaviors. Demonstrate the behaviors and attitudes you want to see in your staff and students. Professional, model what you want from the professionals you lead.
  • Be a lifelong learner. Show my own commitment to continuous learning and improvement, inspiring others to do the same. 
  • Celebrate successes. Acknowledge and celebrate both individual and collective achievements, creating a positive and motivating atmosphere. Small or large – celebrate the wins.

5. Embrace Adaptability and Resilience:

  • Be flexible. Be prepared to adapt to changing circumstances and adjust your plans as needed.
  • Maintain a positive attitude. Cultivate a positive and optimistic outlook, even in the face of adversity. This can be easier said than done some days but as a school leader — eyes are always watching. Attitude is everything — especially in this role.

Here is to a wonderful new school year. We’ve got this.

#WhyD3 – Love for my undergraduate institution and the small college atmosphere

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All my life two things have persisted. I’ve been an “old soul” and have tended to do my own thing rarely given into pressures no matter how small or large.

Growing up in Ohio it was pretty much expected I would go to The Ohio State University. Being in south-central Ohio all my K-12 life — becoming a Buckeye is often the next step for many. Especially given my parents, numerous aunts and uncles on both sides of the family were alumni. I grew up all around it. Football games every fall, the university came up in some capacity at every family function and growing up an hour from Columbus — you couldn’t avoid it. With the addition of two successful professional sports teams things have changed but as a kid — OSU essentially was the main aspect of the city.

However, I had little to no interest. Way too large. OSU was a city within the city. I wanted to do my own thing. University of Dayton? Too large. Xavier University? Still a bit too large for my liking. John Carroll University? Beautiful campus and right size but the scholarships weren’t enough to make it happen, unfortunately.

However, while JCU didn’t work out — another school in the same conference much closer to my hometown came through with scholarships and when I visited — everything clicked. It was home. Wilmington College.

So the Catholic kid from small town Ohio landed on a beautiful Quaker institution just one county over. Doing my own thing once again.

That was 25 years ago when the journey began. As an undergraduate student, I was immediately taken in by the faculty and staff. Small class sizes and dorms you really got to know everyone on campus – student and faculty alike. A true campus community.

The campus community pushed me in ways I never realized. Socially, leadership opportunities galore and intellectually.

Fast forward to today. I look back with pride on how much the university has meant to me both as an undergrad and many years into my alumni journey. Giving back to the college fiscally is never enough. Nor is being active on alumni advisory council. Being several states away, I still try to get back on campus at least annually and maintain friendships with faculty and fellow students from my undergraduate days while bonding new connections with current faculty.

Google #WhyD3. You’ll get a small sense of the small college bond. Why this lifelong Bengals fan can’t help but be thrilled when the Eagles won the Super Bowl this year. Their head coach is a Mount Union alum – our conference. He represents small colleges everywhere and always talks about his D3 college experiences. Just one example of this bond — even outside of my college specifically.

The bond is special. Always has been – always will be. Even though I’ve far away the bond between myself and my beloved small college has never been stronger.

#WeAreDubC

*Photos throughout this post are from homecoming weekend 2024*

The power of maintaining balance through daily unplugging.

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Emails, texts, social media. We are plugged in daily throughout our daily lives at work, home and in our lives. It can be and often is — too much. We often spend so much time being connected it can be a challenge to connect effectively with people in person.

I found that no matter how busy the calendar of events is maintaining set time to be disconnected from our devices is not only refreshing but necessary in seeking balance.

I have blogged in the past about my workouts always being device free. (For reference – https://brendanfetters.com/2024/02/18/maintaining-professional-stability-through-daily-balance/) This is one time daily that I know I have disconnected time in place. I hold myself accountable to this daily by keeping my phone not only in another room but on another section of the house.

Being device-free for 60-90 minutes straight most days during this block makes shifting to time and space to read, do chores, etc. completely disconnected easier as well.

In other personal lives it is also vital to have time and space for human connection – device free. I’m not accessing my phone while engaging with friends and/or family — being in the moment distraction free and completely focused on conversation and that human connection.

Completely disconnecting is sometimes a challenge but this recent article in The New York Times offers several outstanding tips and tricks around common situations that require us to be connected in some capacity — to have a healthy relationship with our devices. I highly recommend giving it a read —

Disconnecting is powerful in our 24/7 “on” lives but it takes effort. The rewards are powerful. This is something I’m continuing to grow within myself as there is always room for improvement within ourselves, right?