Rhonda "Late" Lee

I love a flag. I love watching it dance in the wind. I love hearing the clank, clank of the halyard against the flagpole in front of a school. Whether you believe in what the flag means is up to you, but for me, I believe in those who fought for the freedom it stands for. Late-Lee as I travel the roads to and from schools, I notice flags in all kinds of places. There’s one not far from where I live that waves proudly on a sandbar out in the river. You can admire it as you cross the bridge. A few times hurricanes have held it captive and whisked it away, but someone always replaces it.

I’m thankful for those who gave all so I could get an education when and where I wanted to. I’m grateful I can attend church when and where I want to. And I’m overwhelmed with the choices I get to make due to the sacrifices of others who fought for those freedoms. They’re the threads that make up the fabric of my life.

In schools, we have our own kind of “flag.” It may differ from the one that waves proudly outside the school, but it still carries deep meaning. It waves in the spirit of our teams: teachers, leaders, students, and families all stitched together with purpose. Like the Stars and Stripes on the flag, we may each be different, but together we unite in something greater: opportunity, hope, and a future for every child who walks through our doors.

But here’s the truth. A flag doesn’t rise independently. It takes applying some tension to pull the halyard with intentional movement. Leadership is the halyard in a school. Without bold moves from leaders, the school’s “flag” hangs limp and can’t possibly catch the wind.

Bold leadership doesn’t always mean flashy actions. Sometimes it’s the steady pull that raises the flag higher. Here are a few bold moves leaders may take. 

• Coherent Instruction: If you want teachers to teach, don’t load their wagon so heavily that they can’t move forward. Provide the resources needed to plan and deliver effective instruction that is aligned to state standards and state assessment design. 
• Effective Leadership: Feedback that rambles is like grits without butter; nobody’s going back for seconds. As I have shared in earlier posts, feedback is meant to be targeted, bite-sized, and actionable. 
• Professional Capacity: If you want folks to grow, you’ve got to give ‘em room to stretch—just like tomatoes on a trellis. Provide tiered professional learning opportunities. Coaching cycles prove to be the most effective! 
• Family & Community Engagement: Families don’t just need a seat at the table. They need a fork too. Invite them in to be a part of the learning community. 
• Supportive Learning Environment (MTSS/Whole Child): Talking without acting is like thunder with no rain. You hear plenty of noise but nothing that helps the crops. Ensure you are monitoring data closely and students who need extra support are getting it. 

Like raising a flag, these moves require effort, intention, and courage. But when leaders commit to pulling the halyard, the school’s colors can wave proudly, signaling a place where students thrive and teachers feel empowered.

So maybe the next time you hear the clank, clank outside your school, let it remind you: what bold move am I making to raise our flag higher?

I’ve been thinking about shrimp boats, late-Lee. I’m always impressed by the magnificence of a shrimp boat. It’s not that it’s full of glitz and glam. In fact, it’s more the grit and grime that draws me in. I like the ruggedness of it…the sturdiness of it. I like its imperfections, etched in the architecture of it by the history of its travels. Many of these boats are named after women, a tradition that honors legacy and luck. If I were to name one, I would call it Miss Late-Lee. Wink wink! 😊

Every voyage has the captain and crew hoping for a bountiful shrimp catch. Some days the drag of the nets are heavy, and some days they appear empty. Each catch (or lack of) guides the next decision.

Like shrimpers, our school crews can’t simply press on without adjusting course from time to time. A crew’s success depends on constant monitoring and awareness along with the willingness to adapt. The same is true of our school teams. In response to various conditions, the school’s nets may need to be raised or lowered. They may need to press into the wind facing it head on or shift direction.

Often the study and creation of school improvement plans is seen as an event that gets checked off as complete. Then these plans are forgotten about until the next year. That behavior is compliance focused. Strategic plans may need to be refined. The goals set in May/June don’t always hold once baseline student data starts rolling in. Leaders may have to shift priorities, redirect resources, or reset timelines so the plan matches the current waters.

Instructional practices may need to be modified. Teachers don’t abandon the work, but they may use data to inform the instructional course they originally charted. They widen the net by making adjustments such as how they are reteaching, regrouping, or changing approaches to ensure students catch on.

Student behaviors may need to be addressed. Like storms at sea, behaviors can throw a course off quickly if they aren’t acknowledged. Tackling them directly creates the calm seas necessary for learning to stay on track.

Monitoring has to stay constant. Shrimpers watch the tides, winds, and catch size to know when to stay and move. In schools, leaders should monitor focus areas, review data, and check lesson plans, and review student work.

Like the captains and crew of shrimp boats, school leaders and teachers can’t just depend on the excitement of a new year to carry them through. Grit matters more than you think. Just as shrimp captains lean on experience and memory to navigate tricky waters, school leaders need to rely not only on data but also on their deep understanding of their school culture and environment. How are our leaders supporting crews when change fatigue kicks in? Student behaviors escalate? Or when having to adjust the plan when the nets come up light? One way is to communicate with and involve the teachers. In most cases, they just want to understand the why.

We can’t just sit still when the nets come up light. And when the waters get rough or the catch feels thin, that’s when we anchor up, reset our course, and keep moving forward. Because when we do, the catch of success will come.

As leaders, how would you respond to the following questions?

1. What does the data reveal about possible refinements we need to make to our current plan so we may stay on course?
2. How are instructional practices being modified so students are truly catching on?
3. What systems are in place to monitor progress and ensure we don’t lose sight of what matters most — our students?

As you reflect on these questions, think about your processes. If you don’t have a solid response backed by evidence of practice, you may need to develop a plan.

If I ever did name a shrimp boat Miss Late-Lee, I’d want her to be known for the way she stayed on course, adjusted to the waters, and always brought her crew home with purpose. That’s the same kind of leadership our schools deserve. Anchor up…

Late-Lee I’ve been thinking about my favorite red lipstick. It’s the one I reach for even on the days when I don’t feel my best. That little swipe across my lips doesn’t erase the crow’s feet around my eyes or the tired look staring back at me, but it gives me just enough lift to walk out the door with a little more confidence. Some days I tell myself, “It’s a red lipstick kind of day.”

That’s what good, targeted feedback does too. It doesn’t fix everything overnight, but it gives you the courage to take the next step. It shines a light on what matters most so you can make the adjustments that help you do better and be better. And here’s the key: it has to be honest. Polite compliments might feel nice in the moment, but they don’t move us forward. Honest feedback, given with care, is what builds confidence and sparks growth.

I know this first-hand. In my current role, I have two amazing mentors I lean on. I ask them for feedback because I want to keep growing. After nearly forty years in education, you might think I’d have it all figured out by now, but truth be told, I crave it. Their words lift me up, stretch my thinking, and remind me that growth doesn’t come with an expiration date.

I’ve also seen what happens when a whole school leans into this idea. I once worked with a principal who didn’t just talk about feedback, he embraced it. Together, we built a team of teachers who started doing peer observations. We coached them to use an observation tool, calibrated our ratings, and sat down to debrief on the highest-leverage moves. Then came the real magic—we watched those same teachers practice giving feedback to one another.

Y’all, it was powerful. Relationships started to change right in front of me. The teacher receiving feedback grew, but the one giving it grew by leaps and bounds. It gave me chills. It felt like watching a school transform into a true learning community where everybody was teaching and everybody was learning.

In Coaching from the Sidelines, I wrote about how growth only happens when folks are willing to be open. That doesn’t just appear out of thin air. It takes a culture that makes feedback safe, honest, and connected to growth. I find that some people are just offended when feedback is given. I struggle with that mindset because I want feedback.

And in Beyond the Shine: Looking for Evidence of Learning, I reminded leaders that quiet classrooms and perfect bulletin boards don’t always mean students are learning. Just like lipstick doesn’t erase my wrinkles, appearances don’t prove progress. You have to be willing to look deeper.

Here’s where it all ties together. Real feedback isn’t about pointing out flaws, it’s about giving people the courage to grow. My lipstick doesn’t change who I am, and honest feedback doesn’t change a teacher’s worth. Both just give us the confidence to keep showing up and doing the work.

When a school embraces this, everything shifts. Conversations move from criticism to courage. People embrace the feedback and use it to impact what really matters. You can feel it in the halls. It’s a culture that says: “We’re in this together, and we’re all going to grow.”

So yes, I’ll keep wearing my red lipstick. Not to present myself as perfect. I am far from it. I wear it as a reminder to step forward with confidence. And I’ll keep believing schools can do the same by sharing feedback that is honest, encouraging learning that runs deep, and recognizing growth is the shade everyone wears.

Late-Lee, I’ve been going through old photos trying to purge some to make room for others. I ran across a set from when I took my granddaughter to a gold mine. I had a good giggle remembering how excited we were when we found those little fragments of shiny “gold” only to learn it was pyrite. She learned a new word, but her bank account wasn’t any richer.

That memory came back to me recently as I was visiting classrooms with school and district leaders. The rooms where students were quiet and well-behaved were getting the highest ratings. On the surface, everything looked calm, orderly, almost picture-perfect.

But here’s the problem: when I looked closer, I didn’t see alignment between what students were doing and the standard they were supposed to be learning. People who work alongside me know that the first thing I’m doing is pulling up my state’s standards and testing resources so I can compare the work students are busy completing to the level of the state assessment. And if school leaders aren’t doing that same comparison, how can they honestly say there is rigor? In these classrooms, the match wasn’t there. The students weren’t talking to each other. They weren’t grappling with ideas. They weren’t engaged in meaningful work. The teacher was active, but the kids weren’t the ones doing the learning.

It reminded me how easy it is to get caught up in what I call the “happy shiny features” of a classroom. Quiet can feel like control. Neat rows can feel like structure. A compliant class can look like a successful one. But none of those things automatically equal learning. When students are simply interacting with rote activities, they aren’t exercising critical thinking. If they aren’t writing when reading, there’s no connection between interpreting and constructing text. When they’re just plugging and chugging math problems, there’s no analysis or evaluation of mathematical concepts.

As leaders, we have to inspect closer. Just like panning for gold, it takes some sifting to separate the obvious from the real thing. Instead of stopping at what looks good, we need to ask:

Is the task aligned to the standard? Are students doing the cognitive heavy lifting? Is there evidence of student discourse and engagement? Can I see the learning happening, not just the teaching?

Great leadership requires us to resist being dazzled by surface-level shine. Remember, all that glitters is not gold. And if you have ever panned for gold, you know exactly what I’m talking about. In the end, we’re not in this work to create quiet classrooms. We’re here to create learning ones. Our role is to help grow teachers into their best selves, supporting them with the kind of coaching and feedback that sharpens their practice. When we do that, we’re not just refining instruction. We’re cultivating robust learning environments where students can think deeply, engage fully, and thrive.

(In my last post, Coaching from the Sidelines, I shared a practical coaching frame leaders can use to move teachers past surface-level shine and into meaningful learning. Check it out if you need a framework for feedback.)

So next time you walk into a “happy shiny” classroom, pause and look deeper. Don’t just celebrate the appearance of success. Celebrate the evidence of learning. Because in the end, we aren’t here for shiny. We’re here for bold, messy, thoughtful work. The kind that sparks real learning.That’s where the real shine is.

Late-Lee I’ve been thinking about football season. It’s upon us and with it comes all of the cookouts and cheers! While everyone cheers for the great plays, I’ve been paying close attention to the sidelines. Coaches don’t just stand with their arms folded. They pull players aside, break down what just happened, and point to what comes next.

That immediacy matters. A quarterback throws an interception and the coach is there seconds later, “Plant your foot before you release. Slow down your read. You’ve got this! Let’s try again.” It’s specific, focused, and built on the belief that the player can grow and improve the next play.

Classroom teachers deserve the same. But simply saying, “Leaders should give feedback,” isn’t enough. Feedback without a frame can feel random or overwhelming.

Here’s a coaching frame that works at every level including district leader to principal, principal to teacher, and teacher to student.

Name the strength. Start with what worked. Growth sticks best when confidence is affirmed.

Name the focus. Identify one small, high-leverage move that will have the greatest impact. Don’t try to fix everything.

Model or describe the adjustment. Show it by giving a clear example of what it should look like in practice. Make sure the person receiving the feedback is clear about what it should look like by having them share their understanding in their own words.

Practice or plan the next step. Have the person try it immediately with you and plan for when they’ll implement it next.

Follow up. Circle back. Feedback without accountability fades quickly. Observe the implementation of the feedback to close the feedback loop.

For the coaching cycle to be effective, leaders must calendarize the work. Observations need to be on the calendar as should the feedback sessions. By calendarizing the feedback session with the teacher, the accountability for ensuring the observation takes place is built in.

The truth is a football coach doesn’t have to have played every position to recognize what effective plays look like. In the same way, leaders don’t have to have taught every grade level or subject to spot strong instruction. What matters is staying focused on what grows people, not just what checks a box.

The part leaders sometimes miss is feedback isn’t criticizing someone for not doing it the way you would have done it. Coaching isn’t about creating replicas of ourselves. It’s about helping others refine their craft in ways that make student learning stronger.

For feedback to work, there has to be a growth mindset on both sides. The player has to be open to hearing it, and the coach has to be intentional about giving it. In schools, that means district leaders coach principals, principals coach teachers, and teachers coach students. Each layer invests in the next.

Champions are made when feedback is expected, specific, and used.

I saw a news story awhile back that stopped me in my tracks. A six-year-old boy had to be rescued after an octopus in an aquarium reached out of its tank and grabbed his arm. I would have lost it had I been his mom.

He’s okay, but I’m sure he was terrified. Thankfully he is fine. Still, I haven’t stopped thinking about that octopus. That thing reached right out and did what octopuses do. No hesitation. No need for approval. Just instinct and action.

Turns out, octopuses are built for that. They have eight arms that can work independently from their brain. Each arm has its own kind of intelligence. They can taste, touch, and respond to the environment without needing to check in with headquarters. But even with all that independence, the octopus still moves with coordination and purpose.

So late-Lee, that octopus has had me thinking a lot about schools.

A strong school doesn’t operate because one person is controlling everything. It works because everyone knows the direction it’s heading, and each person feels trusted and equipped to do their part. Teachers, office staff, custodians, paras, cafeteria workers are the arms of the school. Each one is capable of taking action in the moment.

A teacher sees a student in distress? She acts.

A custodian notices a safety issue? He fixes it.

The front office gets word that a family’s going through something? They respond with heart.

They don’t need to wait for the principal to give them permission. They don’t need to write a proposal or schedule a meeting. They know what to do, and they do it, because strong leaders have built a culture where people are trusted and the mission is clear.

If you’re a school leader and your team can’t move without your say-so, that’s not leadership…that’s a bottleneck.

A truly strong leader sets the direction, models the values, and creates the conditions for people to lead from wherever they stand. You don’t have to be in every hallway if your team knows what matters.

That octopus might have been in a tank, but it wasn’t sitting idle. It was watching, sensing, reaching. Doing what it was created to do. That’s the kind of school leaders should want to see. Every arm should be alert and active. Everyone should work together to serve kids well.

So no, I haven’t lost it. I’m just saying… maybe the octopus is onto something.

A friend of mine recently told me they had seen the Blue Angels perform. I was jealous. A recent opportunity was rained out. Still, I’ve watched enough videos of them to be completely captivated. There’s something about the precision of their flight. The way they move in perfect sync is an orchestrated beautiful moment. The trust they place in one another is inspiring and is the direct result of strategic practice and communication.

But what struck me the most was watching a behind-the-scenes video showing them running through their flight plan with their eyes closed. You could actually see them visualizing each maneuver as they internalized every turn, every roll, every shift in formation. They weren’t just going through the motions. They were preparing their minds and their bodies to execute something with precision and excellence.

So late-Lee I found myself thinking about the idea of visualizing and internalizing what the lessons we plan for students will look like when delivered. Why don’t we consider what we are doing for our students as important as what this elite group of pilots are doing?

I’m not talking about performing for an audience. But, in actuality teaching is as much art as it is science. We do have an audience and it is our students. I’m talking about being intentional and I mean deeply intentional about the way we plan. And, I don’t mean picking up a textbook because the company says it’s aligned. ( Don’t get me on that soapbox!😊)

Some districts feel like they are helping teachers by giving them prepared lessons. Our state even has phenomenal math units. And in the review of that math unit, one of the first steps is to internalize it. Are teachers being coached through that process?

Think about it, once a lesson is planned, teachers should take the time to close their eyes and visualize their lesson before delivering it. What do you see yourself doing? What are students doing? Where might they get stuck? Have we planned in the safety nets? What will the energy in the room feel like? I tell leaders that I walk into classrooms with, that one of the first things I do is pause and feel the room. If it’s flat, I know the learning will be too. What will you do after the lesson when you review the assessment data? What’s your plan to reteach, to enrich, to adjust? The answers to all of these questions and more need to be thought out and planned for in advance. It’s part of the maneuvers great teachers should make!

The Blue Angels don’t just show up and fly. They practice. They review. They revise. Because lives are on the line.

And while we may not be flying fighter jets, we are shaping futures. We do have lives on the line. We’re preparing students for a world we can’t fully predict — and that’s just as serious.

So let’s plan like it matters. Let’s visualize like it’s vital. Let’s teach like Blue Angels.

Late-Lee, I’ve been thinking a lot about the resistance some teachers still have when it comes to using data. I’ve heard all the arguments—kids aren’t numbers, we teach humans not test scores, this data doesn’t tell the whole story. And I completely agree. But here’s the thing: using data doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten the heartbeat behind it. Data isn’t one of those four letter words. 

My last post, Play the Right Words, emphasized the need for leaders and teams to analyze data in order to take action. The other side of this story is how teachers should also analyze data daily.

When I go to the doctor and say something doesn’t feel right, the conversation doesn’t stop there. The doctor starts collecting information. He/she asks questions, takes vitals, checks my ears, listens to my lungs, maybe even orders labs or a scan. It’s all data. Why? Because they can’t treat what they don’t understand. They need evidence to make the right call.

That same logic applies in classrooms.

If a student isn’t performing well on a diagnostic test, that’s just the beginning. It raises a red flag indicating we need to look into it and not simply accept the score. We need to observe the student during lessons (data), take note of how they interact with peers (data), and offer smaller, more targeted assessments to figure out what’s really going on (you guessed it…data).  When we start digging deeper we find nuggets of opportunities.

And then? Just like in medicine, a prescription may be written. Maybe it’s instruction in a small group, a scaffolded lesson, a graphic organizer, a specific reading strategy. Maybe it’s all of those. But no good doctor (or teacher) just sends the patient off without a follow-up. They continue to collect data to see if the intervention is working.

The data doesn’t replace the heartbeat. It honors it. It says, “I see you. I want to help. And I’m going to make sure what I’m doing actually works.”

So maybe the problem isn’t the data. Maybe the problem is how it’s been framed. As leaders, we need to ask ourselves to reflect on this practice. In what ways do we need to own some of this? Did we communicate in such a way that made teachers feel like data was the most important thing rather than a piece of the story about the most important thing…the student? 

So how do we change this mindset? I urge teachers to ask for guidance if you aren’t sure how to collect the right data, triangulate the data, and determine actionable next steps. Maybe leaders have assumed you know. But, I’ve worked with many leaders who struggle with that too and it’s okay. We all have the ability to learn. 

Data isn’t the enemy of heart. It’s the tool that helps us respond to it.

Late-Lee, after a long day of coaching, thinking, overthinking, planning, fixing, nudging, and all the other “-ings” that come with this work, I like to unwind with a little game of Words With Friends. It’s my way of cleansing my brain palate before bed.

Now, I’m not saying I’m a champion or anything. In fact, I lose a lot. But I’ve played with some serious wordsmiths. The other night, one of my friends messaged me a screenshot of a single word she played that racked up 105 points. One word. 105 points! I was so impressed, I told her she needed to teach me her secrets. Her response? “Girl, it’s strategy.”

And naturally that got me to thinking. 

Strategy. That’s what this work of improving student achievement and schools requires. Just like in the game, where each letter and move is chosen for maximum impact, educators have to be intentional in every decision they make. We shouldn’t just look at data.  We shouldn’t just report out on the data. We need to triangulate it.  I have heard someone even say, “We torture it until it confesses.” We don’t just react to problems. We use questions like shovels and dig beyond the surface for the root causes. 

A superintendent I used to work with (and admired greatly) would always tell us, “Hope is not a plan.” We didn’t just hope something would work.  Like the careful selection of every letter in the game, we would choose actions that were most likely to make a difference in addressing those root causes. We’d monitor those actions, and if we weren’t getting a high score, we’d adjust. 

There’s no high score without strategy.

So whether you’re figuring out how to support a struggling leader, teacher, improve Tier 1 instruction, or move a school out of CSI status, remember what I often tell those I work with, “School improvement can be some of the most challenging and messy work you will ever do, but it is also the most beautiful and rewarding work.”  There isn’t always a clear path through it. When you are dealing with so many variables, you have to look beyond the obvious moves. 

While it seems hard, it’s winnable. You just have to play the right words at the right time and sometimes that means passing on the easy move to wait for something better.

Just like in the game, it’s not about winning every round. It’s about staying in it, thinking ahead, and making every move count. You don’t just abort the mission. As this school year begins, commit to using all types of data. As we all know our students are more than a number. Every data point you analyze has a heartbeat behind it. We need to monitor the outcomes to ensure our students are getting our very best.

Late-Lee, while walking, I’ve been noticing  the butterflies flitting from flower to flower free, light, and beautiful. The other day I paused to watch one of them and remembered how much I used to love teaching the butterfly life cycle to my students. We’d read, “The Very Hungry Caterpillar”, observe caterpillars in jars, and celebrate when they finally emerged from their cocoons. We’d have a grand send off as we set them free!

And per usual, it got me thinking about the new school year which is now right in front of us. I’m not sure if teachers ever considered this, but as I reflect, I truly believe teachers are in the business of metamorphosis. And, when they carefully tend to those in their care, they have the most beautiful opportunity to not just grow minds, but to also grow wings.

When students enter your classroom, they may come in as crawling caterpillars who are unsure, hungry, and maybe a little guarded. But you have the power to unlock their potential and give them what they need to grow. In general, students need structure, safety, nourishment, and challenge to thrive. It may not look like much is happening on the daily. But remember, while a chrysalis doesn’t seem exciting on the outside, there is something powerful and almost magical happening on the inside.

That’s what great teaching does. Every question you ask. Every expectation you set. Every encouraging word you offer helps shape a student.  And slowly, transformation happens. Confidence takes root. Wings begin to form.

By the end of the year, your goal shouldn’t be for them to know more. Your goal should be for them to be more.

They should leave your classroom not just smarter, but stronger.

PS: Remember the Weed?

If you’ve been following me for a while, you might remember Be Like the Weed, my reflection on resilience and grit. Weeds grow where they’re not supposed to and still find a way to bloom.

Butterflies remind us that growth isn’t always fast, but it is beautiful.

Weeds show us how to survive.

Butterflies show us how to become.

A different take on leadership, relationships, and the little things that build a culture

There’s a family group text that stays pretty active in my world. Someone’s always sharing a funny picture they came across, sharing photos of themselves or my beautiful grandchildren, dropping a screenshot of a receipt we need to settle up, or planning who’s going where for the next visit. Sometimes it’s a celebration like someone getting recognized at work and sometimes it’s just someone venting about a long day. The tone swings from hilarious to heartfelt, and somehow, it always brings us back to each other.

Then there’s the team group text. It’s where we share reminders, shout out small wins, and drop in a “Happy Birthday!” or “Happy Anniversary!” when someone hits a milestone. Prayer requests get lifted up, and every now and then someone shares a success or a strategy that worked like a charm. It’s a blend of encouragement, celebration, and support. And over time, it becomes more than just a thread. It becomes a thread that weaves our lives together. 

Years ago, when I was a principal, we used a Facebook Messenger group for our school staff. It wasn’t fancy. But it was real. We celebrated birthdays, shared reminders, connected during storms, grumbled a little, and honestly, that string of messages held us together more than a lot of formal meetings ever did.

So late-Lee, as I reflect on ways to bring people together and create a space of belonging. I’ve come to believe that group chats, when used with purpose and care, are one of the most underestimated tools in a leader’s toolbox.

Not because they’re professional. They aren’t.  Not because they replace protocols or agendas. They don’t. But because they offer something most leadership manuals forget to mention. It can be a way to create a sense of belonging. As school leaders welcome new staff members, be mindful of the fact that often they are joining your school family with some angst. They are going to have to learn how to navigate your school expectations (written and unwritten), make new friends, and familiarize themselves with a new community. They don’t quite feel like they belong. Help give them that sense of belonging. No meeting will ever do that, but a genuine connection will. 

They say culture is built in the small moments, and a group chat is full of small moments. It’s a place where encouragement is shared in real time. Questions can be asked without a formal meeting. Wins get recognized quickly. And people start to feel like a team, not just a staff.

As a leader, you set the tone. You don’t have to be the one sending a meme or message every day, but your willingness to show up as a human not just a boss opens the door for others to do the same.

So the next time someone says, “Hey y’all, should we start a group text?” Don’t dismiss it as fluff. It might just be the best leadership move you make all year.

Late-Lee when I’m out on the river or chilling in my pond, I’ve been thinking a lot about undercurrents like the ones you find in rivers and oceans.  You can’t see them, but they are lurking just below the surface. You will feel a silent pull that moves various things you can’t always see, but you definitely know they are there. If you’ve ever been swimming and felt something brush against your leg, you know exactly what I mean. Sometimes it’s seaweed. Sometimes it’s trash. But whatever it is, you didn’t see it coming, and it catches you off guard. If you are like me, you pray it isn’t a snake! 

School culture isn’t just about what’s seen. Sure, you can decorate bulletin boards, wear team shirts, and plan a monthly potluck. And to an outsider looking in, they might be mesmerized by the beauty of it all. And while all of that has its place, the deeper truth is this: culture is more about what’s felt than what’s posted. 

School culture has its own version of undercurrents. Maybe it’s unspoken frustrations. Perhaps it’s gossip passed in hallways or the infamous eye rolls in meetings. At times, it’s the tone behind the words that are shared in various contexts. It’s in the sound of the sighs expressed when unpopular information is communicated. It’s the quiet resistance. Much like the things floating beneath the surface of the water all of these things (and more) can catch even the best leader off guard. 

Teams blame it on leaders, but leaders can’t do it all, and this is especially true when it comes to culture. They can set the tone, model professionalism, celebrate the wins, and call out what’s not okay. But culture isn’t something leaders can dictate. It’s something that is co-created. Let me say that again…co-created! 

Teams have a responsibility in this creation too. If there’s an undercurrent of negativity, no amount of surface-level celebrations leaders try to implement is going to fix it.  Leaders can host “Jeans Day” every Friday, but if collaboration feels forced or colleagues feel isolated, the undercurrent still flows moving the negativity throughout the building. And eventually, it pulls people under. People leave.

Here’s the hard truth: leaders can’t force adults to be friends. They can’t even make them be nice. But they can expect professionalism. They can expect grace, kindness, and respect to be part of how the work gets done. Leaders do have a big stake in the creation. They must be available to their teams. They need to be approachable and open to ideas.

Great culture isn’t an event. It’s a daily decision by every person in the building to either fuel the undercurrent or help shift it. When members of any team starts saying, “Morale is low,” they need to follow it up with, “What can we do to improve it?” It’s not about pointing fingers at any one person. (My mom used to remind me that when you point a finger there are three pointing back at you.) It goes back to everyone making a daily decision to be co-creators!

In just a short couple of weeks, school doors will open to the many scholars educators are going to teach. Teachers have already begun decorating their rooms and preparing in a variety of ways for their arrival. There are still numerous smiles on the faces of teachers as they gear up for the new year. But the undercurrent is there lurking…waiting. I challenge each school team/leader to fully commit to preventing the inevitable shift in tides that occurs almost like clockwork (once the reality of the year has kicked in) from allowing undercurrent to become negative.

Be lifeguards for one another and throw out smiles and support like life preservers to ensure the school culture stays healthy and afloat. It takes everyone!

I recently had my annual mammogram. And like always, the anxiety showed up a few days early, tagging along with me like an unwanted shadow. I’ve been called back for additional imaging more times than I can count, so that nervous hum in the background I deal with in the days preceding the appointment is all too familiar. 

You stand there in a gown, bare from the waist up, while the tech gently but firmly moves you into position.  They use simple directions like chin up, shoulder forward, arm here, and hold your breath. That’s a hard one for me because I feel like I hold my breath the entire time. By the time I’m directed to do that I feel like I might pass out. The room is cold. The machine feels even colder. You’re not in pain, but you’re exposed and you feel vulnerable.  During those few moments, you’re completely still, both in body and in thought.

And standing there trying to distract myself, I started thinking about empathy. Real empathy. The kind that goes deeper than a kind smile or quick “I understand.”

A few years ago, after retiring from education (the first time), I worked at a hospital and helped in providing Service Excellence training for the team members. So late-Lee I have been thinking about that training. I know it wasn’t a favorite among some team members, but it did provide opportunities for going deeper into the core values of the organization. One of the conversations we often had was about empathy versus compassion. Compassion is feeling for someone. Empathy is feeling with them. That distinction has stayed with me ever since.

Back in my school leadership days, I tried to lean into my own experiences to better connect with others like a struggling parent, a burned-out teacher, or a grieving or frustrated student. I’d search my heart for something I’d been through that might help me relate. But the truth is, you can’t always do that. I haven’t lived every story. None of us have.

So how do you empathize with something you’ve never personally experienced?

It’s a question that matters for every leader, and honestly, for every human. Because real empathy doesn’t require that you’ve walked the same road. It requires that you care enough to stop and notice the weight someone else is carrying.

Over time, I’ve learned to use the emotions I have felt such as fear, sadness, helplessness, and shame as a bridge that I could cross over and connect. I’ve learned to say, “I haven’t been where you are right now, but I know what it’s like to be scared. I’m here.” I’ve learned that empathy isn’t about having the right words. Sometimes, it’s just about being willing to stand quietly beside someone in their moment and let them feel your support.

Whether you’re leading a school, supporting a team, or just navigating the people around you, always remember that you don’t have to live someone else’s story to recognize their pain. Empathy begins when we meet people in their emotions, not their experiences.

And sometimes, a cold machine and a quiet room will remind you just how much a gentle voice or thoughtful presence can matter.

Late-Lee, I read something on Facebook that stopped me in my scroll. It said, “When I ask for directions, please don’t tell me east.” I had to laugh out loud, because that is 100% me. I am that person—the one who loses her car in a parking lot. I park. I go inside. I come back out and wander like a lost child at a carnival, scanning the rows for something that looks remotely familiar.

It’s not just parking lots either. I once tried to merge onto the interstate by going the wrong direction. (Gasp) Luckily, I figured it out really fast! A friend and co-worker who was with me still laughs about it. She even teases me about my questionable “sense of direction,” which, honestly, feels generous. I finally bought her a T-shirt that reads, “But did you die?”—because sometimes, laughter is the only way to navigate a situation (especially if you’re the one driving the wrong way).

All of this has me thinking about leadership and communication.

Directions are a funny thing. In schools, we give professional learning, roll out new initiatives, and spell out expectations with slide decks, handouts, and walkthrough tools. But how often do we pause to ask: “Do the people we’re leading actually understand what we’re saying?”

Sometimes we say “increase rigor” or “analyze data” or “follow the protocol,” but we don’t give the kind of direction people can actually use. We don’t show them the on-ramp.

When we give directions, are we speaking their language—or are we telling them to go east when they needed “turn left at the Dollar General and pass the Sonic”?

Because when we’re unclear, vague, or overly technical, our teams are left to guess. And when we leave folks to interpret things on their own, it’s like handing them a set of keys and yelling “GO!”—without checking if they know where they’re headed. Or worse, watching them drive confidently the wrong way down a one-way street, wondering why no one else is following.

Leaders don’t need to have all the answers. But we do need to be clear.We need to check in, clarify the signs, and ride shotgun every now and then. That might look like modeling for them, coaching beside them, showing examples and non-examples, or just slowing down and reading the signs to see if they have a clear understanding.

Because at the end of the day, building capacity isn’t about sounding smart and using “buzzwords”—it’s about clarity.

And if you see me walking through a parking lot looking lost, don’t worry. I’ll find my car… eventually.

Late-Lee, I’ve been thinking…Support is one of those things folks love to talk about, but rarely slow down enough to figure out what it actually looks like or better yet, feels like. And let me tell you—what feels like help to one person can feel like smothering to another.

One teacher or employee might want step-by-step directions, laminated and color-coded. Another just wants you to say, “You’ve got this,” and get out of their way. That’s the puzzle of leadership—you’re leading a team, but every single person on that team is wired differently and has their own ideas of what support is. 

Over the years, I’ve learned to coach from all kinds of angles: from the front, beside, and behind. 

• From the front when they need a path to follow.

• From beside when the work is heavy and they need a steady hand.

• And from behind when it’s their turn to lead and your job is to cheer, not steer.

But here’s the kicker, you can’t lead people well if you haven’t taken the time to get to know them.

You’ve got to figure out:

• What gets them fired up?

• What drains them dry?

• How do they take feedback?

• What kind of support do they think they need—and what kind do they actually need?

You can’t just apply a blanket solution on everyone and call it leadership. Let’s face it…support doesn’t always wear the same boots. 

Brené Brown tells this story (pretty sure it was her) about how she and her husband will look at each other and say, “I’ve only got 10% (20%, 30%, etc) to give today.” When one of them is running on fumes, the other steps in and carries a little more. When they’re both worn slap out, they get honest and adjust the plan.

Imagine if our teams worked like that. Think about the trust it takes to say, “I’m running low,” and know someone will pick up the slack without judgment. That kind of support doesn’t come from a job description. It comes from relationships.

So if you’re leading a team, whether it’s teachers, coaches, staff, students —here’s what I’d challenge you to do:

• Get to know your people. Not just their titles, but also know their rhythms and their stories too. 

• Don’t assume what helped one will help the next person. 

• Be willing to adjust your plan. Ask questions and pay attention to what is said (not said).

• When you get it wrong (because bless it, we all do), own it and try again.

Support isn’t about doing everything. It’s about doing the right thing—for the person in front of you, at that moment, in that season.

Leadership isn’t loud. Sometimes it’s just noticing. And sometimes it’s saying, “I’ve got 90 today—lean on me.”

Late-Lee, I’ve been paying closer attention to the weather. This time of year it’s not unusual to get your fair share of sunshine followed by surprise summer storms. We’ve already had a tropical storm roll up the eastern seaboard, and hurricane season has barely stretched its legs.

The forecast helps us plan our day, figure out what to wear, whether to cancel that boat ride, or if it’s safe to hit the water on the ski. I don’t mind getting wet, but I’m not about to head out if the radar is screaming “take cover.”

That got me thinking—as it often does—about leadership.

Mel Robbins said something that hit home for me: “Leaders bring the weather.”

She’s right. Your energy sets the tone. Whether you realize it or not, the way you show up – your attitude, body language, words you use, even your silence—can shift the whole climate of your team. 

If you’re rushing around, short on patience, or carrying stress like a backpack, folks can feel it. That pressure doesn’t stay with you—it spreads like a building storm does across the sky. But if you show up grounded, focused, and hopeful? Well, that spreads much like the rainbow you find stretching across the sky.

Think about it like this…it’s like walking into a room and immediately sensing what kind of day the leader is having. The temperature changes. People adjust their tone, their pace, and even their posture. They begin to mentally storm prep. 

So here’s a good gut-check for leaders:

What kind of weather are you bringing today?

Is it calm and steady? Stormy and unpredictable? Foggy and unclear?

Now, none of us can be sunshine every day. That’s not real life. But what is real is taking a beat to check your own forecast before you step into that meeting, classroom, or coaching session. Because whether we like it or not, our presence changes the atmosphere. And the best leaders know how to carry an umbrella and still bring the light to help those they lead feel safe so they can thrive.

Sometimes just showing up with a little sunshine makes all the difference. Be that light for others!

Late-lee I’ve been thinking about how powerful our thoughts are—and how often we train our minds without even realizing it.

I heard someone say, “If you ask your mind a negative question, you’ll get a negative answer.” And I’ve seen that play out in leadership, in coaching, and honestly, in my own life.

Think about something most of us have wrestled with at some point: trying to lose weight or get healthier. You start eating better, moving more, and yet the question that pops into your head is, “Why is this so hard?” And just like that, your brain starts building a list: You’re tired. Your schedule’s packed. Your knees ache. The scale’s not moving.

But ask a different question—“What is my body letting me do today that it couldn’t do last week?”—and everything changes. You notice your stamina, your strength, your progress. Same situation, but a completely different mindset.

It’s no different in leadership. I’ve worked with school leaders who walk into every room scanning for what’s wrong. They’re laser-focused on what needs fixing—and because of that, they miss what’s improving. They overlook the teacher who finally tried something new, or the student who stayed focused for a full 20 minutes for the first time all year.

When you train your mind to only see what’s broken, you miss what’s blooming. That doesn’t mean we ignore gaps.  Good leaders face them head-on. We know there are areas we must improve. Get a solid plan and address them. But great leaders also train their minds to ask better questions:

Instead of, “Why aren’t they getting this?” try, “Where are they starting to grow?”

Instead of, “What’s wrong with this lesson?” ask, “What worked, and how can we build on it?”

Your mind listens to your questions. Your leadership reflects your focus. And your team feels both.

So today, I challenge you to ask better questions—of yourself and of others.

See what’s working. Catch someone doing it right. Say it out loud.

Because what you look for, you’ll find.

And what you find is what you’ll multiply.

Late-Lee, I’ve been thinking about this old house I drive by every now and again. You can’t miss it. It’s tall, white, wrapped in gingerbread trim and exudes pure Southern charm. It’s one of those houses that looks like it has a story or two to tell. And late-Lee, it’s been making me think of the stories of schools.

I studied vernacular architecture back in college, so I probably notice things other folks don’t — the roofline, the hand-turned spindles on the porch, the way the layout fits the climate and the land. But even if I’d never taken a class, I think I’d still slow down when I pass this place. It’s the kind of house that makes you wonder who lived there, what kind of life unfolded behind those black shutters. I wonder about the woman who might have stood upon that balcony waiting for someone to come home. It’s also the kind of house that reminds me how important it is to build things that last.

The paint is faded in places. The shutters lean a little. But after all these years, it still stands. And the reason it still stands? It’s due to the strong foundation. I know for a fact that house has weathered many hurricanes and other storms.

And that my friends — that — is where my mind goes when I think about leadership. A strong leader that leads from the ground up can be the anchor in times of change.

We often focus on the “visible” parts of school improvement: new programs, big PD days, data walls, walk-through tools. But all of that sits on top of something deeper. Leadership is the foundation. And if that foundation isn’t strong — if it’s shaky or inconsistent or reactive — no matter how beautiful the structure is, it won’t hold up over time.

Leadership is what anchors the work. It’s what keeps a school standing when test scores dip, when staff turns over, and when initiatives come and go. A strong leader sets the tone, builds the systems, and holds the line on what matters. They don’t just respond — they lead with purpose, process, and passion keeping people at the center.

Leadership is what makes school improvement stick — not just spark.

You can paint the walls and polish the floors, but if the foundation’s cracked, none of it will last. On the other hand, when leadership is solid, schools can withstand pressure, change, and even failure — because they’re grounded in something steady.

Late-lee, I’ve been thinking about how aging shifts what you notice and what you hold on to.

There was a time when an afternoon at the pond was all about catching some sun, laying out just right, maybe sipping on something cold and flipping through a magazine. I cared more about my tan lines than the timeline.

But these days? I care more about the memories than the melanin.

The other day I was just floating—literally—watching two of my grandbabies splash and play like the world was theirs for the taking. One was trying to work up the nerve to jump off the old drainage pipe like it was the high dive at the Olympics. The other was half fish, half wild child, doing cannonballs and belly flops like he had something to prove.

They were barefoot, sticky with popsicle juice, and just plain full of joy. And me? I wasn’t worried about the heat, or the time, or what was next. I was just out there, bobbing along like a cork in sweet tea—happy to be still, quiet, and right there in it.

It wasn’t some fancy trip. No bags packed and no plans made. Just a backyard pond, some sunshine, and two little ones making a memory without even knowing it. I can’t wait until my 3rd grandchild is old enough to join in the fun of these sweet summertime moments.

Years ago, I might’ve missed it—too busy doing, planning, perfecting. But age has a way of tugging your heart toward the little things. And Lord willing, I’ve got enough sense now to soak them up while I can.

Turns out, life’s not stitched together by the big, loud moments. It’s sewn up in afternoons just like this one—slow, simple, and full of the kind of love that lingers. And somehow, that quiet little afternoon stitched itself into the fabric of a life well-loved.