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There is a phrase that captures one of the hardest parts of caring deeply about this work: The curse of giving a $h1t. Crude? Yes. Accurate? Also yes. Especially in education. There are a lot of teachers trying very hard to create healthier boundaries. They are trying to stop checking email at night. They are trying not to answer every message immediately. They are trying to leave work at work, protect weekends, reclaim dinner, go to the gym, sit with their families, watch a

In retirement, my “start of the school year” looks different than it did for most of my career. I am not reviewing opening-day schedules, preparing for faculty meetings, checking staffing lists, worrying about transportation, troubleshooting technology, or wondering what completely unexpected issue might appear before the first bell. My mission and purpose have not changed. I still believe deeply in the work of schools. I still believe in children, in educators, in the power

There is a quiet pattern in schools that is so familiar it often goes unnamed. It begins with competence. Reliability. The ability to see what needs to be done and step in without being asked. It begins with trust. The kind that leaders rely on, colleagues lean into, and students benefit from every single day. Then, slowly, the asks start to multiply. Not because the teacher asked for more, but because they can do more. They handle complexity with grace. They don’t complain.

There are moments in the school year when teachers are expected to be everywhere and everything: joyful, creative, generous, festive, responsive, and engaged, at work and at home. This stretch of the calendar often coincides with winter, family obligations, financial pressure, and emotional fatigue. Here’s the truth we rarely name: you cannot give 110% to everything without paying for it later. This week’s reminder is permission-based and protective: Some things only need you