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On some mornings, leadership feels like standing at a busy intersection with no traffic light. Phones buzzing. Emails stacking. Families waiting. Deputy Superintendents, Staff, and School Board Directors are requesting answers and support. In those moments, a Superintendent needs more than random responses; a Superintendent needs a compass.

Public education is one of the highest stakes, human centered systems in our democracy. Our organizations operate in a political environment that is often loud and always demanding. Expectations increase. Resources feel finite. There is no single 鈥減erfect鈥� approach to leadership because guiding improvement is context based, shaped by local needs, history, and the people of a community. That is exactly why a leadership philosophy matters.

A leadership philosophy is the throughline that makes daily practice coherent. It is the set of beliefs about people, learning, power, and what matters that sits beneath a thousand decisions. Our work is complex and moves too fast to wing it on instinct alone. A clear philosophy becomes a compass amidst the pressure and ambiguity: what to prioritize, how to behave when the heat rises, and what not to trade away. It becomes a promise, what people can count on from you, even when you are tired, criticized, or uncertain.

My leadership philosophy stands on three pillars:

1. Adaptive Leadership: Ron Heifetz and colleagues offered language for something many superintendents live every day: some leadership challenges cannot be solved through technical expertise alone. Adaptive leadership applies when problems are complex, answers are not immediately clear and progress depends on collective learning and behavioral change (Heifetz, 1994; Heifetz et al., 2009).

It means resisting the temptation to simply provide answers. It means helping a community face reality, learn in real time, and change habits and beliefs so the system can improve. It requires human connection and shared purpose, grounded in deep reflection and inner work, because people will not take on difficult learning for an institution that feels cold, distant or transactional.

They do it for children, for one another, and for a future they can imagine together. In practice, it looks like getting on the balcony to see the system, distinguishing technical fixes from adaptive work, regulating the heat so people stay engaged, and mobilizing others to share responsibility for the learning ahead (Heifetz, 1994; Heifetz et al., 2009).

2. Strengths-Based Leadership: Psychologist Donald O. Clifton once posed a question that still grounds me: what happens when we focus on what is right with people rather than fixating on what is wrong? (Buckingham & Clifton, 2001). A strengths-based stance begins by seeking what people already do well, talents, patterns of contribution, relational gifts, quiet excellence. It names those strengths clearly and then builds systems and structures so that the strengths are deployed in service to students. This is not na茂ve optimism. It is disciplined culture building. Instead of trying to fix everyone into the same ideal, I work to build complementary teams, delegate intentionally, and develop people by amplifying their strengths, while still addressing gaps, without allowing deficit thinking to define the story of who we are.

3. Students First: Students are our moral compass. Student centered moral clarity is an unwavering anchor to a single question: what choice most protects and advances students鈥� learning, wellbeing, and future, especially those who have been least served?

When politics are loud, finances are tight, or adult comfort is at stake, moral clarity keeps the district from drifting. It shows up as a consistent set of priorities and a refusal to let anything pull us away from what students need the most.

Where Philosophy Becomes Practice

These pillars may sound theoretical, but they show up in visible practices central to how I lead. I build leadership councils that bring together diverse perspectives to glean insights, co-design solutions, and stress test decisions. Membership is intentionally varied, spanning roles and viewpoints, with norms that protect psychological safety, candor, and a relentless focus on student experience. When the work is demanding, I do not lead in isolation.

When the work is demanding, I do not lead in isolation.

Urgency is a form of care because the movement of time is not neutral for young people. Moving faster than people assume is possible is not recklessness; it is a belief in the capacity of adults to make the system work better for young people. We can learn while we move, adjust while we build, and improve while we serve.

Moreover, I center playful and joyful connections through music, imagery, art, and slogans.

Symbols are not decoration. They are culture building rituals. When aligned with real action, they become coherence tools, helping staff and families interpret change as part of something larger than any single initiative. A song, an image, or a shared phrase can tap into collective energy and hope, reminding people that they are not merely performing tasks, they are part of a living, growing commitment to children and to one another.

This year, we opened our Convocation ceremony with the song Keep Rising from the movie, The Woman King. On that day, we made the deliberate choice, to set the stage for 3,000 staff members and community partners from across our the city. I shared the story of The Woman King, which is one of courage, collective responsibility, and standing for one another. That song and that film mirrors the work of public education in this moment and time.

This is how philosophy becomes practice. Not words in a speech, but as shared moments that help a community understand who we are, what we stand for, and how we will show up for children, together.

That day, our district did not just choose a theme. We made a promise. Keep Rising became our shared declaration for the year, a call to step forward with courage, lead with clarity, and hold fast to an unshakable commitment to our scholars. It was the kind of message you could feel in your chest, because it named what we already knew to be true.

This work matters, and so do the students who are at the heart of everything we do. Now, more than halfway through the school year, that call has not faded. If anything, it has grown louder in the places that matter most. I still hear it months later, sometimes in the middle of a classroom visit, sometimes in a passing conversation in the hallway.

I hear it in the way teachers keep showing up with patience and purpose, pouring their hearts into lessons, adjusting, encouraging, and trying again. I hear it in the steady resolve behind tired smiles, in the quiet moments when staff choose hope on hard days.

Keep Rising has become more than words we said at the start of the year. It is something we carry with us, something we choose, again and again, every single day.

This is how philosophy becomes practice. Not words in a speech, but as shared moments that help a community understand who we are, what we stand for, and how we will show up for children, together.

Wherever your intersection may be today, phones buzzing, emails stacking, expectations pressing, look to your compass. Let it steady you. Let it guide you. Let it remind you that the work is hard, the stakes are high, but the reward is profound.

I would love to learn more about your leadership philosophy. What are the pillars that hold the weight of the work, steadying you and guiding you forward when the path is unclear? And how do they show up in your leadership practice, in the decisions you make, the way you communicate, and the culture you build?

Buckingham, M., & Clifton, D. O. (2001). Now, discover your strengths. Free Press.

Heifetz, R. A. (1994). Leadership without easy answers. Harvard University Press.

Heifetz, R. A., Grashow, A., & Linsky, M. (2009). The practice of adaptive leadership: Tools and tactics for changing your organization and the world. Harvard Business Press.

Wardle, D. (2024) How a Playful Mindset Can Boost Creativity on Your Team. Harvard Business Review