Category: Personal

  • Moving Too Fast to Notice Your Life

    Moving Too Fast to Notice Your Life

    Sandstone Canyon is easy to miss if you’re moving too fast. It branches off Fish Creek Wash without much announcement. A sign. A turn. If you weren’t already in the mood to slow down, you’d keep going.

    Once you’re inside, the walls come up quickly. Fifty, maybe seventy feet. The wash is still sand and crushed dirt, still not what anyone would call technical, but there isn’t much extra space. You notice that right away. The way the canyon quietly narrows your choices.

    We’re used to places that reward momentum. Sandstone doesn’t. It rewards paying attention. And not just in the “don’t hit anything” sense. This is a canyon that took millions of years to become a canyon. The walls hold light differently depending on the time of day. The color shifts as you move. If you’re only focused on getting through it, you miss most of what’s actually there.

    Most of the time, you’re moving slowly through it a little stunned, watching the walls change and trying to take in how improbable it all is.

    Every so often, you have to wait for someone coming the other way, or ease past a narrow section. That part isn’t difficult. It just makes it very clear that you don’t get to decide the pace.

    Most days, you do.

    In normal life, days are mostly a series of things to get through. The goal becomes finishing. Clearing. Moving on. You move from one thing to the next at a speed that feels efficient and, over time, becomes automatic.

    Nothing is wrong, exactly. You’re just always moving. And living at that speed flattens things. Even good days start to feel thin.

    Out in Sandstone, that’s harder to maintain. The canyon keeps interrupting you. The walls keep catching the light. The scale of it keeps insisting that you’re moving through something that does not care how quickly you’re trying to get to the end.

    You leave, of course. You always do. You go back to regular days and regular weeks and all the usual noise.

    But places like this change your sense of tempo, even if only briefly. They remind you what it feels like when time has texture again.

    And then, slowly, you start moving too fast.

    Until the next place makes you notice.

  • More Than Content: Why the Future of School Must Be Human

    More Than Content: Why the Future of School Must Be Human

    Everywhere I turn, people seem exhausted. Not just by the pace of change, but by the growing sense that our systems, especially in education, are still answering the wrong questions.

    We’re designing for efficiency when what we need is empathy. We’re measuring content mastery when what’s slipping through the cracks is human development.

    I keep coming back to a question I shared recently with educators at our Elite kickoff:

    What if school wasn’t built for content delivery, but for human development?

    It’s not just a question for classrooms. It’s a lens for our entire society.

    If we keep treating education like a conveyor belt of content, we’ll keep producing students who know what to memorize, but not how to belong, contribute, adapt, or lead.

    But if we build schools where curiosity is safe, connection is prioritized, and hope is cultivated? Then maybe, just maybe, we’ll raise a generation that can heal what’s fractured and build what’s missing.

    Because in a volatile world, content is important. But character, compassion, and critical thinking are essential.

  • Gratitude Reimagined: Spotlighting Authentic Appreciation

    Gratitude Reimagined: Spotlighting Authentic Appreciation

    Subscribe to continue reading

    Subscribe to get access to the rest of this post and other subscriber-only content.

  • This Week, I Get to Do What I Love

    This Week, I Get to Do What I Love

    This week, I get to do what I love: lead professional learning with the incredible staff at Elite Academic Academy.

    We are a virtual school. For most of the year, we wave at each other through screens, send messages in GChat, and meet in tiny Zoom boxes. So when we come together in person, it’s not just a training. It’s a reunion.

    Three days of learning. Three days of hugs, hallway laughter, hallway tears, hallway everything. It’s sacred.

    It’s also the result of months of planning. Spreadsheets, logistics, late-night ideas scribbled in a notebook, and, let’s be honest, a whole lot of anxiety. Will it come together? Will it feel meaningful? Will we use this time in a way that honors how precious it really is?

    And then Tuesday morning arrives, and that first staff member walks down the hall and gives you a hug, and it all clicks into place.

    Yes, we’ll be sharing some amazing things happening at Elite. AI. VR. A live virtual all-school musical that still gives me goosebumps. But the technology is not the story. The people are.

    We’re spending this time focusing on culture, community, and relationships. On making sure every student, every staff member, every person connected to Elite feels like they matter. Because they do.

    This is the work I love. And if you’re planning your own event, or looking for a speaker who leads with heart and clarity, I’d be honored to help.

  • Forgotten Dreams and Quiet Reminders

    Forgotten Dreams and Quiet Reminders

    I have a 1973 Land Rover Series. It’s not on the road. Honestly, it probably won’t be for a while. It was one of those spontaneous “sure, why not?” projects that came home on a trailer and hasn’t moved since. It’s a hot mess. A beautiful one, maybe. But still, a mess.

    I forget it’s even there most of the time. Tucked into a corner of our property, collecting dust and memories of what could be. The only time I really notice it is when I’m out walking and the dog stops there, nose to the metal, tail wagging like it found something new.

    Yesterday, I posted a photo of it on Instagram. No real reason except to have something to post.

    A few minutes later, someone commented, “OMG. That is one of my dreams!”

    And maybe because it’s a high anxiety day for me, but that note literally made me stop what I was doing (or avoiding doing, perhaps…) and reflect.

    Because here I am, forgetting it exists. And for someone else, it’s the dream. The goal. The thing they hope to one day have.

    It made me think about how much I take for granted. The job I love. The husband who makes me laugh every day. The hobbies that keep my mind and heart full. Things that have become so familiar to me that I forget how special they are.

    And maybe you do that too.

    We get caught up in the day-to-day and forget to pause. Forget to look around and see the life we’ve built with clear eyes and open hearts. Forget that what we pass by without a second thought might be someone else’s wish.

    So today, I’m reminding myself to slow down. To feel the joy that’s already here. To treat the ordinary as something worth noticing. Because sometimes the most beautiful things in our lives are the ones we’ve let gather dust.

  • Are You My Leader? Insights from Classic Stories

    Are You My Leader? Insights from Classic Stories

    This post continues my series exploring leadership lessons in the picture books that shaped me. If you’ve been following along, you know I started with sneezing elephants and then followed Grover’s panicked pages. This one? It belongs to my little brother.

    A Bird, a Brother, and the Big Question

    When we were kids, Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman was one of my younger brother’s go-to bedtime book. He couldn’t get enough of that baby bird wandering through the world, asking every creature if they were his mother. (Maybe it’s because I told him he wasn’t really my brother…haha)

    It’s a sweet, silly story on the surface. But re-reading it through a leadership lens? It hits differently.

    Because let’s be honest: most of us, at some point in our personal or professional journeys, have looked around and asked: Are you my person? Is this where I belong? Who’s guiding me through this?

    And for those of us in leadership roles: how often do we recognize that the people we lead are walking in, asking that question of us?

    Leadership as Recognition

    The baby bird isn’t just looking for his mother. He’s looking for connection and affirmation. For someone who will recognize him, respond to him, and meet his needs.

    Leadership, at its heart, is about that same thing: recognition.

    Are we seeing the people in front of us?
    Are we helping them find where they fit?
    Are we guiding them, not just directing them?

    Because when people feel unseen, like that baby bird talking to cows and planes and boats, they start to doubt their place. They go looking, often desperately, for someone to say, “Yes. You belong.”

    And Here’s Where It Gets Techy

    Today’s world is buzzing with talk of AI and machine learning, and this supposed promise to replicate human intuition, automate connection, and even mimic empathy.

    But Are You My Mother? reminds me of the limits of simulation.

    At its core, the baby bird’s journey is about relationship, not recognition alone. He doesn’t just want a “yes” to his question. He wants to feel known. Seen. Held in someone’s awareness.

    No matter how advanced our tools become, we have to ask: can an artificial system truly replicate that? Can it understand the nuance of belonging, or the ache of being unmoored?

    Don’t Be the Bulldozer

    One of the most absurd moments in the book is when the baby bird asks a literal bulldozer if it’s his mother. The machine doesn’t respond, of course. It doesn’t even acknowledge the question. It simply scoops him up and drops him back into the nest.

    Was it efficient? Sure.
    Did it solve the problem? Technically.
    But did it provide comfort and connection? Umm, I’m going to say no to this one.

    That’s the cautionary tale as we advance AI. When our solutions are cold, transactional, or mechanistic, we might get people from point A to point B, but we risk leaving them emotionally stranded along the way.

    True leadership doesn’t just lift. It listens.

    Finding Our People

    The reunion at the end isn’t dramatic. The bird finds his mother, and in that simple moment of recognition, everything settles. It wasn’t about finding the best option. It was about finding home.

    As leaders, our job isn’t to have all the answers.
    It’s to be present when someone asks, “Are you my person?”
    And to have the wisdom—and the heart—to say, “I’m here. Let’s figure it out together.”

    Let’s Keep Exploring Together

    This series has me looking at childhood stories through a whole new lens. What seemed like simple bedtime tales now feel like blueprints for how we show up – for ourselves, for each other, and for the technologies we’re building.

    If there’s a book that’s stayed with you… a story you loved as a kid that now whispers something deeper, I’d love to hear it.

    Drop it in the comments. Let’s keep turning the pages and discovering what they have to teach us. Together.