One Word, One Why: Finding Our Focus for the Year

This past Thursday, our cabinet members participated in an activity called "One Word, One Why." It was simple in structure but powerful in impact, a way to kick off the year with intention, focus, and a deeper understanding of what drives us as leaders.

The process went like this: Each person selected a single word that captured their intention or focus as an instructional leader for the year ahead. We paired up, shared our word, and rotated every two minutes, meeting multiple partners in quick, energizing conversations. On an index card, we wrote our word and an explanation of why we chose it. Finally, volunteers shared their word and their why with the full group.

This activity wasn’t about setting lofty, complicated goals. It was about placing our professional purpose into one clear, guiding word, a point we can return to when the pace of the school year speeds up, when distractions creep in, or when challenges threaten to pull us off course.

When it came time to choose my word, growth came to mind immediately. If we aren’t all learning and growing from our professional experiences, from feedback we receive, and from coaching by supervisors, we’re missing opportunities to hone our skills, improve our practice, and positively impact student learning. Growth is about more than adding to our skillset; it’s about refining what we already do well, challenging ourselves to step outside our comfort zones, and seeking new ways to serve students better.

Now, I know from personal experience that growth can be hard. In fact, I’m still waiting for physical growth to catch up; I haven’t stretched beyond 5’4” in height, and I think it’s safe to say that ship has sailed. But all joking aside, growth in our professional lives can be just as uncomfortable as the growing pains we may remember from childhood.

In the workplace, growth often means taking risks, embracing change, and being willing to try something that might not work perfectly the first time. It can mean listening to feedback that challenges us, even if it’s hard to hear, or working through situations that test our patience, creativity, and resolve.

Athletes understand this concept well. In competitive sports, you don’t get better without pushing your limits, running that extra mile, lifting a little more weight, or working on a skill until your muscles ache from repetition. The same is true in education. The challenges we face along the way can be painful, but they make the progress we achieve all the more meaningful.

What struck me most during the One Word, One Why activity was the variety of words people chose. Words like purpose, community, relationships, collaboration, intentional, and focus filled the room. Each one was rooted in the individual’s personal leadership journey and the needs of their school or department.

Hearing the “why” behind each word gave us a glimpse into each other’s priorities and perspectives. It also reminded me that while we may have different areas of focus, our ultimate mission is the same: to create the best possible learning environment for our students.

The activity also provided something that’s often missing in the hustle of school leadership, a moment to connect. By rotating partners, we had the chance to engage in quick but meaningful conversations with colleagues we might not normally work with day-to-day. In just 120 seconds, you can learn something new about a coworker, find common ground, or spark an idea you wouldn’t have thought of on your own.

The real challenge, and the real reward, will be keeping these words alive throughout the school year. It’s one thing to declare a word in August; it’s another to live it out in February, when the energy from summer has faded and the reality of midyear work has set in.

For me, keeping “growth” front and center will mean seeking feedback regularly from colleagues, staff, and community members, and acting on it. It will mean investing in professional learning for myself and my team, even when time is tight. And it will mean encouraging others to take risks, try new strategies, and see mistakes as opportunities for improvement.

For you, it might mean something entirely different. But whatever your word is, I encourage you to keep it visible. Write it on a sticky note by your desk, put it in your planner, or make it your phone’s lock screen. Let it be a constant reminder of your focus for the year.

In education, we talk a lot about vision, mission, and strategic goals, and those are important. But sometimes, what we need is a single, powerful word to ground us. A word that cuts through the noise and reminds us why we do this work.

This year, my word is growth. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. Growth pushes us to be better than we were yesterday, and when we grow, our students grow with us. That’s the kind of ripple effect worth working for.

What’s your one word for this year? And more importantly, why?

The Work is The Work

At the Minnesota Department of Education and Minnesota Association of School Administrators Back-to-School Conference, I was struck by a powerful reflection shared during a panel discussion. One of my respected colleagues from another Minnesota district recalled a moment of frustration when day-to-day distractions seemed to get in the way of what we often consider "the real work." After reflection, his team came to a realization: the distractions are the work.

That statement stuck with me. In my 18 years as a school and district leader, I’ve often found myself juggling major initiatives, strategic planning, or crisis response, only to be interrupted by what feels like small, peripheral issues. But when we pause to see through someone else's eyes, those "distractions" are often the most important thing to them in that moment. And in serving others, that makes it important to us, too.

One story that comes to mind dates back to my time as a superintendent in a smaller district. A nearby homeowner repeatedly expressed concerns about our baseball team warming up too close to his property. Players and fans occasionally crossed onto his land to retrieve foul balls, and he wasn’t shy about voicing his frustrations. At the time, I’ll admit it felt like an interruption. But then I realized: if I wanted the issue resolved, I had the power to help make that happen. I brought it to our Activities Director and Buildings and Grounds Director, and together we decided to install a fence. Problem solved. When I followed up with the neighbor, he was appreciative and agreed to allow foot traffic for foul balls. That conversation never had to happen again.

Why? Because I paused. I listened. I took the time to remember that this issue was the work.

Another example: every summer, our district hosted a marching band during a major regional competition held at Minnesota State University, Mankato. For many, it was a highlight of the season, the sounds of music, community members gathering in the stands, and kids excitedly soaking in the atmosphere. But for one local resident, it was a noise nuisance. Each year, like clockwork, they would visit me at the school, stop me in the grocery store, or catch me at church to share their displeasure.

Finally, one summer, I invited them to my office during band practice. After we talked, I asked them to walk with me down to the stadium. We stood and watched about 50 community members, many of them children, cheering, clapping, and smiling as the band rehearsed. After a moment, the resident turned to me and said, "I guess I can suffer for one week if these kids are having that much fun."

While these are two success stories, I’ve certainly had outcomes that weren’t as successful. But each experience, successful or not, has taught me something new about leadership and helped me grow professionally.

Those moments, like many others, have become gentle reminders: it's easy to get lost in what we define as "priority work," but the true work is people. It's listening. It's responding. It's pausing. It's being present.

So, the next time a "small" concern lands on your desk, in your inbox, or in the middle of your big-picture planning, remember: This, too, is the work.