Friday Thought : Here’s to the Crazy Ones

In 1984, Mac released their iconic commercial. A decade later, Steve Jobs developed a slogan, "Here's to the crazy ones." It reads: 

Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.

If that doesn't define the teacher's spirit, I'm not sure what does. 

But recently, as I’ve reread and wrestled with it many times over, I’ve come to believe that it also seems a bit incomplete. 

Here's what I mean.

I have almost always believed that greatness and genius are manifested when we break through a ceiling of restriction - when we prove the impossible possible. Think landing on the moon, running a sub-4-minute mile, or summiting Mt Everest - things that no one thought could ever be done and then suddenly are. These acts have traditionally embodied the spirit of The Crazy Ones and have been my criteria for greatness.

Recently, though, I've begun to believe that many crazy ones walk among us, looking just like normal people, enduring seemingly impossible hardships yet continually changing the world. They may not be climbing Everest, but they are battling a terminal illness, enduring devastating loss, or shouldering the exhausting weight of life's struggles. And they do so daily, without complaint or attention, with grace, kindness, and dignity. 

We have several of these people working and walking in our schools. And I don't know about you, but these are the people who inspire the hell out of me. They are the ones who encourage me to show up and try harder than I feel, give more than I want, and keep me grounded in this beautiful yet seemingly impossible profession. They are - you are - the crazy ones who even amid the title waves of pain, frustration, and sadness, choose to believe they can still change the world. And then they do.

And I just friggen love that. And am fully inspired by it. 

So, thank you, teachers for being the crazy ones. For inspiring us all to be better and to do better. Thank you for changing the world.

As you do, please allow others - even invite others - to help you:) No one ever summited Everest, ran a record-setting mile, or landed on the moon alone. They all had help. They all needed help. 

And so do you.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Be a Greater Fool!

My family and I just finished watching season 1 of Newsroom. The last episode was entitled, "The Greater Fool" and centered around the main character, Will McAvoy (played by Jeff Daniels) who was suffering from depression because of an article that was published about him, calling him "The Greater Fool." In response, he self-medicates (which triggers a bleeding stomach ulcer) and doubts his abilities, and his worth. He expresses a desire to quit, largely because the article isn't wrong. "They're right!" he yells at his trusted coworker, "this piece was right about everything."

Although we - the audience - never fully know what the article is "right" about, we know a little, as Will McAvoy quotes it by heart, "Will wants to change the world and hates that the world has changed." And because of that, they think him arrogant and pompous. Which he is. Or was, anyway.

And that’s what made him great, what allowed him to inspire change and move hearts, and it’s exactly what his coworkers want him to be: the Greatest Fool.

This is why, as Will struggles to regain confidence and purpose, a coworker confronts him, "The Greater Fool is actually an economic term," she says, "For the rest of us to profit, we need the Greater Fool" because "the Greater Fools is someone with the perfect blend of self-delusion and ego, to think that he can succeed where others have failed. This whole country was made by Greater Fools." 

Near the end of the episode, Will asks a young intern why she wants to work for the Newsroom. "I watch the show and I read the article," she responds. "I know what a Greater Fool is, and I want to be one."

While watching, I couldn't help but think of educators around the world who show up each day believing THEY can make a difference, that they can help that child or connect with that kid, that they can improve a student’s learning or change their lives, even when nobody ever has. Educators believe we can succeed in changing the world! 

We too are arrogant, we too are confident and at times even pompous because our students need us to be! How else do you show up, day after day with hope and belief that we - our students, our staff, our school - are better today than yesterday? How else do you show up year after year planning for and believing we will impact hearts and change lives? There is no other way but to be a Greater Fool.

I know what a Greater Fool is, and I am proud to be one. More importantly, I know what a group of Greater Fools looks like, and I am thankful to work among them. 

Thank you for being a Greater Fool.

(Sidenote . . . we did a brief competition of what a group of Greater Fools would be called . . . are we a herd? A flock?)

Here are my two favorite suggestions:

• Pace pr Drove (which are both names for a group of donkeys, which is brilliant!)

• Fooliaminy

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Don't Take it Personal. Make it Personal

"Don't take it personal, make it personal."

I gave this advice to a fellow principal a few weeks back. "If we take it personally,” I said, “we get defensive. If we make it personal, we take action. We do what is best."

As educators, we are in the business of taking action, doing what is best for staff and students, and helping others succeed. The problem is, this profession is so personal!

We give up time with our family, pour into other people's kids before our own, and sacrifice COUNTLESS of unpaid hours so that OTHERS may flourish. 

Only we know how much time we spend planning, thinking, and worrying about our profession, our students, so when we are criticized, scolded, offered unsolicited suggestions, or overhear/read unflattering comments about who we are and what we do, it is difficult to not be offended.

When a parent yells or accuses of not caring for their child, we take it personally.

When a Facebook group rants about the decisions we’ve made, we take it personally.

When students refuses to work in our class or asks to be moved from our classroom, we take it personally. 

And when we take it personal, we get defensive. When we get defensive, oftentimes, we lean towards making decisions that are best for us, for our ego, rather than what is best for the parent, the student, the situation.

I know I do, anyway. Because I care so much about what I do and about who I serve, because I know the sacrifices my family makes - the sacrifices I make - whenever I am challenged or criticized, whenever my intention are questioned it is easy for me to get take it personally, to get defensive.

It is easy for me to easily fall into the trap of protecting me.

But then, I am reminded of truths such as this: "A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they will never sit in." Said another way, a society grows great when people care more about others than they do themselves. Which, as an educator, is exactly what you do, each and every day.

When we take it personal we get defense, we point the finger, and complain that there is no shade. When we make it personal we take action. We plant trees.

That is what I've been thinking about - and wrestling with - this past week: "Don't take it personal, make it personal."

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Friday Thought : See My Children in What I do. Then, Do Better.

I do a thing with my staff called a “Skiddy Daddle” where I give them a 15-minute break from class and spend my time reading to their students.

This most recent time, my daughter was in the class and rather quickly I noticed something peculiar about my 15 minutes. I treated the class differently. All because my daughter was sitting in one of the seats.

Which reminded me of a similar story.

A few years ago I heard a story about a world-renowned speaker who stopped inviting her mother to her speaking engagements because whenever she saw her mother in attendance, she saw herself as a daughter, not a world-renowned speaker. She wasn’t doctor so-and-so, she was Emily the daughter of her mother, and it impacted the way she spoke, the way she carried herself, and presence she commanded on stage. She acted based on how she was viewed, not on who she was.

In much the same way, I did the same when reading to my daughter’s class. I acted as how my daughter saw me, not on who I was. How I viewed me.

And that realization was deeply convicting.

When I entered my daughter’s class, I didn’t want to disappoint her. I didn’t want her friends to think I was mean or boring or whatever. I wanted them - and her - to be entertained, inspired, and encouraged. So I raised the bar on almost everything. I was more fun, more relaxed, and more interactive. I was what I normally am at home. I was acting more like a father, and it made me a better person. It made me a better principal.

Later that evening, a fellow principal - Mr. Ty Moore - encouraged me in much the same way, “See yourself as a dad,” he said, “Not merely a principal.”

For most educational leaders, this isn’t anything new. Because it isn’t. Even for me! I just forget it, at times. And every now and then, I need a good reminder of how I can improve and where I can do better. And this week, the lesson of seeing my children in the eyes of every interaction has been deeply convicting.

When speaking to kiddos or walking down the hall, how would I treat my own children?

When discussing poor behavior or inappropriate choices - when enforcing discipline - how would I engage the situation if it were my child? How would I reconcile and restore?

When talking about students with staff members, how would I talk about my own children?

When considering a child’s future and potential, how would I encourage, believe, and hope in the potential if it were my child?

If at any point the answer is something like, “Not like that,” then I need to do better.

And when I fail, just like I do at home with my own children, I need to make it right. With the student, the staff member, or the school at large. I need to acknowledge where I blew it, make it right, then do what is right. I need to do better.

Especially when I remind myself that for many kiddos in my school, I am one of the only constant and reliable father-figures in their lives. Day in and day out.

No matter how tired, how frustrated, distracted, or insecure I may feel, there are kiddos who need the best of what I can offer. And if I can muster it up for my own kids, I can muster it up for them, too.

Day in and day out, I need to do better.

That’s what has been on my mind lately.

Happy Friday!

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Friday Thought : When Tired or Frustrated, Remember to Play.

When Keith Jarrett sat down to play the piano in front of 1,400 people, he expected disaster. The piano was not what he ordered for such a grand concert. Nor was it in tune or in good shape: some of the keys didn’t work and the foot pedals stuck. Which is why, initially, he refused to play.

But then, he did. Because 17-year-old Vera Brandes asked him to.

At the time, Brandes was Germany’s youngest concert promoter and she had done all that she could do to get everything right. And now, with eager spectators starting to line up at the door, she needed him to play.

So he did.

“I will do this for you,” he said. Then, turning to his producer, he requested that they record the session for an example to others of what they would get if his demands were not met. He knew it was going to be a disaster, and he wanted it recorded. As an example.

Instead, by the end of the night, what they had was Keith Jarrett’s best ever selling album, the best selling solo jazz album, and the best selling solo piano album of all time!

Instead of a disaster, he produced a masterpiece. All because he was willing to look like a fool.

I first heard this album a little over six years ago during a city walk through a Chinese city. Years later, after listening, analyzing, and drawing inspiration from this album, this story, three takeaways continue to rise to the surface.

1. No matter what, Try.
   Although simple and perhaps more than a bit cliché, one of the most important decisions we can continually make is to try. This isn’t new for anyone to hear, especially in the world of education. But another more profound and less commonly understood consequence of trying is this: When we try and when we fail, we allow others to grow.

   This week, I tried running a two-day event of PLAY for our students and staff, and although many things went well, there was also more than a few blunders - all of which were my fault. In the midst of it all, however, people rose to the occasion, displaying their gifts and talents in ways previously unknown, and earning the respect of their peers. My failures allowed others to rise.

   If we don’t try we don’t fail.
   And when we don’t fail, we steal opportunities for others to shine.

   When we embrace our limitations - out loud and in the open - we allow others to exercise their strengths and abilities, we provide the opportunity for the right people in the right place, and we create a stronger, better product. We develop a better team.

   And often times, these discoveries only come when we try new things, when we allow ourselves opportunities to fail, and when we provide space for others to rise.
   

2. “I will do it for you.”
   Some of the most destructive events of our world have come at the hands of those considering only themselves. The most beautiful and influential, people and moments however, have come from those who have considered others before themselves. They look at life, at difficulties and struggles as opportunities to love on and help others, rather than defending what is theirs and looking out for number one (think Nelson Mandela, Sojourner Truth, and on especially on Easter weekend, Jesus Christ). These men and women did not slink into the shadows when trials and tribulations came, they leaned into them, embraced them, endured them. All for the benefit of others.

   So too did Keith Jarrett.

   When Keith Jarrett stepped onto the stage, when he sat before the less-then-sufficient piano and slammed his fingers into the keys so that all could hear, he wasn’t considering himself. He was thinking of a 17-year old girl who needed his help. And created a masterpiece.

   As an educator, when times are difficult, when the season of winter seems to drag on forever, when administrators forget what it’s like to be a teacher, when parents complain, students slouch, and deadlines approach - when we just cant seem to muster up the energy to try any harder - it is then that we must look into the eyes of those we are responsible for, those whom we have influence over, and think to ourselves or say out loud, “I will do this for you.”

   Then, we must get to work.
   

3. Break Routine.
   If Keith Jarrett had received the piano he wanted I’m sure the evening still would have been a success. It was the break in routine, however, that allowed him to create something truly special.

   Routines are important. They allow us to create habits that, overtime, can produce purposeful and quality results (think practicing a musical instrument, working out, or working diligently on writing a book). They provide safety and develop consistency.

   They can also make us blind. Blind to new ways of thinking, better ways of living, and the beauties of life. Routines hold tight to “the way we’ve always done it” and are fearful of change. They lull us into desiring comfort rather than growth.

   A break in routine, however, forces change. And change, although difficult and often uncomfortable, produces growth. But only if we embrace it.

As an educator, father, and husband, there are times and seasons of times where it feels like I am just going through the motions. That what I am doing seems dull, that my passion and excitement for the beautiful gift of educating students, raising children, or loving my wife seems exhausting, not exciting, and that all the time and effort put in day in and day out, seems to amount to nothing.

I know we’re not supposed to say that, but it’s true. For me at least.

Which is why I listen to Keith Jarrett’s Koln concert, because when it comes on in the morning or randomly throughout the day (classical music and soundtracks play in my office all day, every day), I am reminded to keep trying, to do it for others, and to - when needed - find ways to break my routine and fight the temptation to remain in comfort.

Our attempts may not always produce a masterpiece, and in truth, it is more likely that it won’t. But refusing to play the broken piano will produce nothing.

This week, amidst frustrations, fears of failure, and exhaustion, I have been encouraged to play the piano.

Happy Good Friday!!!

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