We’d been prepared in case of capsizing before we went on the 2017–2018 senior class rafting trip on the James River. It had been raining steadily for the past week, and the river was running at 12 feet. Our 10 rafts, each with four or five kids and a faculty member and a guide, went out.
Just after lunch, we ferried crosswise against the current to get to a safer area on the river. Our boat flipped over just before the rapids. There was heightened attention but no panic. Swimming impossibly hard, we did everything we could to avoid the sieve. Averting the debris, we drifted into the path of a dam. I only remember a cacophony of sound—a loud, echoing whoosh of water. We were trapped in a hydro, a whirlpool-like feature that runs vertically. We were pushed and pinned underwater over and over again.
As I went down for the third or fourth time, my strength flagging, I was resigned. I knew I was going to drown. I saw flashes of the children in my care, and I remember thinking, There’s too much left to do.
At The Steward School (VA), that rafting trip, the most dangerous situation we faced—and all survived—last year, wasn’t the only crisis. Each event strengthened our management muscles. We put better controls in place to prevent future occurrences. Still, no matter the amount of planning, emergencies are inevitable in the unpredictable environment of a school. As I reflect on what we learn after each crisis, the broader questions for me revolve around resilient leadership and building an intentional community.
Being a Leader
What do you do when you feel like you’re drowning? Do you give up? Do you keep fighting the hydros?We talk a lot about guideposts and north stars. Guideposts are the signs you look for to let you know you are on track with a goal. A north star is not merely your goal; it is your purpose. On the river that day, we followed our guideposts, and I confirmed my north star: the children we serve. My north star gives me the strength to bounce back; it reveals to me the intersection of who I am and the world’s needs, as Founder of the Center for Courage and Renewal Parker J. Palmer puts it. My practice of leadership—I will never master it—obligates me to hear the needs and dreams of our students, families, faculty, and even myself. Can I listen well enough through the noise of danger, crisis, and worry to hear the signals of what is innocent, good, and needed in each of us and in our community?
Before my lightning strike of clarity on the river, I knew that I was doing important work. Because of that moment, though, I know that it is more than “work” for me. I am called to this challenge, this place, and this community. It reminded me that I am not working with problems; I am working with people, and that is the real point for all of us who choose to work in schools.
As leaders, we tend the garden of school culture, which is the combination of expressed and espoused values. It’s largely organic. A culture will express itself under any circumstances—either because of, or despite, our espoused values. Community, on the other hand, is what we create, and it will only happen if people share their hearts and minds and lean in to help build it. Community is culture with intent.
Building a Community
When we got back to land and returned to campus, the community rallied around the boys and me. We had caring conversations with each family, the board offered support and not recrimination, the faculty reached out with understanding, and the boys and I became closer. Our community believes in supporting each other, and we lived that value.Becoming an effective leader involves learning to build an intentional community. A great deal could be—and has been—written on each subject (see Bill George and Edgar Schein, for example). Based on my experiences, I offer two pieces of advice, which apply to both goals: Be as transparent as possible and express your values as clearly as you can. If my north star is to serve these kids, then creating the place in which it happens is one of my most important undertakings.
Be transparent with the communities you lead. I share as much information as I can (there are legal and operational limits), in as many ways as possible. Our students, faculty, and families appreciate our open communications, particularly when we follow up on what we have said we will do, and they are much more forgiving when things are difficult because they have been included from the beginning. For example, we survey our constituents annually and report the results, showing how the data drive decisions and giving updates about significant initiatives or changes that have emerged as a result of their input.
Be open and honest with yourself. Be unafraid to explore with yourself how you feel and think; it will be apparent to everyone else, so it might as well be to you, too. I’ve found that exercises—journaling, exercising, eating well, meditating, tending to relationships, and executive coaching—give me the strength to be honest with myself.
Be courageous with your convictions. Speak and write publicly on behalf of your school. Whatever your values—fairness, compassion, inclusion, respect—say them loudly and often; they are worth repeating. Yours is the abiding voice of the community and the one to which all look, no matter how much you share the stage. If a student expresses something racist, I speak out against it; if a faculty member falls out of step with our school’s needs and values, I address it immediately; if one of us acts altruistically, I celebrate it. As an introvert, I would rather stay behind the scenes, but that is decidedly not always my place.
Not every day is a win. Not everything we do comes easy. We can’t even always see the point in what we do. Like Sisyphus, we will roll the rock to the top of the mountain, and we will do it all over again tomorrow. We don’t always succeed, but we embrace the work. The mountains we climb, the rivers we ride, the paths we walk lead to our north stars.
