The title of the third installment in this series, Managing Setbacks, is equal parts self-explanatory and mindset statement about what it means not just to get by, but to create a successful environment for yourself and others. We’re all going to be challenged and struggle along the way. How we stay strong will go a long way towards determining our outcomes. Enjoy!

“Great difficulties may be surmounted by patience and perseverance.” -Abigail Adams

One of the four noble truths of Buddhism has been paraphrased as “Life is suffering.” That sounds like a terribly negative statement, but in full context of its relevance to the power of acceptance, it is quite the opposite. 

That view can be harnessed for great positive effect when we move forward with the premise that life, and the work it demands, is hard. Once we accept that things are going to go wrong, that we are going to struggle, that there will be challenges to our existence, our perspective is shaped by how we respond productively. 

In short, what challenge we will face is hard to predict. That we’ll face some turmoil, however, is a safe bet.

Consider why we as educators place so much emphasis on assessments, and we can better understand the value of being tested. When situations demand your patience and perseverance, they also give you a chance to demonstrate your strength to yourself and others. 

Regardless of our position, there will be those “this is going to be really hard” situations. Instead of responding with fear or stasis, maybe our next thought should be “got it — let’s go.” 

Just as we want our students to recognize how struggle builds strength, we also can embrace that. Think about what weightlifters do when they want to get stronger. They gradually build up the amount they can lift, and don’t shy away from moving towards heavier weights. Great teachers do that with and for their students, and leaders should do that in their practice. When something goes sideways, we can distinguish ourselves by staying calm and focusing on what needs to be done to achieve results.

Leading through adversity requires that we balance urgency and deliberate actions, and demands that we conduct ourselves with an intentionality that embraces focused calm and a steady vision. Check out Churchill’s speech to the House of Commons on June 4, 1940 for an example of the power of unwavering belief. 

At that point in the war, Britain was taking a beating, and Churchill chose to channel the best of what his people were doing to help build their resolve. His calm emphasis on courage and the steadfast refusal to back down helped to inspire his people. Over 80 years later, his words still resonate.

In a conversation about struggle, it is also important to acknowledge that engaging in competitive suffering is a pointless enterprise. This social phenomenon occurs when people engage in one-upping each other about whose problems are worse. For those practitioners, kudos on your pointlessness. 

As I addressed in Invisible Backpack, the truth is that each of us feel and manage our suffering according to our own realities and experiences. If there is something that doesn’t bother me but adds considerable weight to the invisible backpack of someone else, that doesn’t make me any better or worse. Just different. And that awareness demands of me that I exercise empathy and support, and serve in my role as a leader to help others soldier through their burdens.

Leaders need to accept that they are tasked with making decisions, and that outside of the children’s show “Barney,” decisions are virtually never a clear choice between a good option and a bad one, and the outcomes are rarely unilaterally adored. To wit, when I first had to make calls on weather-related closures or delays, I entered with the assumption that everyone loves a delayed opening. 

Nope. 

Cursed with that awareness now, making those calls has become brutal as it involves incorporating the predictions of people who are not renowned for their accuracy (weather forecasters), and balancing the needs of a wide range of stakeholders (police, DPW, teachers, coaches, morning care providers, working parents, students, student drivers and more). 

On a positive note, I operate with the knowledge of an ironclad guarantee that some people will hate my decision and possibly hate me for making it. In time I’ve learned that in the absence of a right call, the key is to make the best call and run with it. 

Consider that the Chinese character for crisis is the same character used for opportunity.  One word is terribly negative, while the other smacks of optimism, yet they can represent the same overarching concept. 

Leadership in school during the COVID pandemic response certainly involved ongoing crisis management, but provided leaders the opportunity to model their ability to maintain calm in the face of an intense storm. In finding solutions to problems that popped up daily (think high-stakes Whac-a-Mole), we all needed to discover opportunities to make education possible for our students and survivable attainable for our staff. 

Many of those solutions, borne out of desperation and unprecedented events, have some applicability now, thus supporting that our response to the crisis was an opportunity to develop better practice. It does not negate the suffering, but honors the experience if we can channel the setbacks into productive growth.
Vision Statement: Stuff happens. Leaders help people manage it productively.

The second of sixteen vision statements, Invisible Backpack is in the Mindset thread and focuses on acting with the awareness that everyone is carrying a burden. Though we can’t see it, they can feel it. Furthermore, it does not matter that someone else’s struggles might seem really easy manage to you or me; effective leaders recognize that practicing genuine empathy honors the individual. In short, Bill and Ted got it right with their mantra: “Be excellent to each other.” Enjoy!

“Take a load off” -Unattributed

Each of us carries a burden. Some are obvious to the naked eye or freely revealed. Most, however, are not. Whatever weighs you down is personal, and you can choose if to share the details with others. But just as you are not obligated to do so, so too are those with whom we interact.

That person who cut you off on Route 23, or worse yet failed to wave when you let them merge onto the highway, is likely not doing so simply for the sake of being a jerk. Yes, it is possible, but it’s more likely that the offending party was otherwise distracted or preoccupied. Whatever might be consuming their attention or psychic energy is not your business. How you choose to respond, however, certainly is.

Moving to a school environment, how are your students or colleagues burdened when they enter the building? Many of our students are saddled with life issues that would incapacitate most adults, but they are experts at masking it. With varying degrees of intensity, we expect them to focus and produce in the face of personal adversity. The truth is that even if it looks like they’re with us, they might be at best halfway there.

I do not make this point to excuse students from participating actively in their learning; quite to the contrary, that engagement in educational experiences might be exactly what keeps our at-risk kids grounded and provides a safe refuge from the world outside. Here, our most effective educators are those who engage students. They read their students, whether by greeting them at the door, reading their body language, or routinely checking in.

School leaders are, of course, educators as well, and need to be able to read their staff. Just as the teachers who are present and engaged can best ascertain the weight of their students’ invisible backpacks, so too can visible and genuine administrators get a sense of their staff members’ daily status. A simple “Good morning” or “How are you?” coupled with eye contact lays the foundation for a meaningful interaction that helps people feel valued, and opens the door to other conversations that might emerge as a consequence.

As an early career teacher, I was advised that kids fundamentally want two things: to know that things will be fair and that you care about them. As a parent, I realized the same applied to my kids. As a principal and now superintendent, I’ve grown to appreciate that the same applies to the staff and families we support. 

Ask any educator what motivated them to want to join this incredibly important and fulfilling profession, and most will talk about wanting to make a difference and the inspiration of someone who made a difference for them. Ask what made those inspiring individuals special and invariably the main detail is that they cared. So simple, yet so important: they cared. How can we emulate those educators who inspired us? How can we show that we care?

A powerful starting point is to demonstrate both genuine empathy and the strength to absorb some hits without taking it personally. That parent who unloaded on you for 22 minutes? Maybe their anger isn’t entirely about you, at least one would hope. You don’t need to know what else they’re carrying, but do need to be aware that there’s likely more going on than what you know. The same applies to students, staff members, colleagues, and, quite frankly, ourselves. 

We are all saddled with something. Honoring allows us to accept that every person we encounter feels the weight of their burdens individually. Life’s pretty hard, but we can make it easier for one another. We may not be able to lighten the load, but at least we can help by not making it worse.

Vision Statement: Everybody is struggling with something; set the tone with kindness,  compassion and empathy.

A couple of years ago, I took on the challenge of writing sixteen vision statements to help guide the leadership in my district. These sixteen brief writings are essentially a handbook to convey what is needed to instill a culture that guides our stakeholders to support our vision. The writing itself is meant to be anecdotal, conversational and supportive without being self-serving or preachy. I don’t pretend to have all the answers nor the most brilliant insight, but do feel like my experiences and observations can help to shape the vision that will help us provide world-class experiences to our students, staff, families, selves, and community. This first entry is from the Mindset thread. Enjoy!

“I got this.” -Bill Belichik, Super Bowl XLIX

The clock was ticking down in Super Bowl XLIX and the Patriots had just fallen victim to the most improbable catch in Super Bowl history, or at least since the last two most improbable Super Bowl catches ever made against New England. The Seahawks had proceeded to run the ball to the Patriots one yard line, and had the most lethal short yardage running back in the NFL ready to score the seemingly inevitable touchdown to put Seattle back in the lead with less than a minute to go in the game, and the season. 

If the Patriots were to have any hope to mount a drive after the touchdown that Marshawn Lynch was about to score, they would need time, which was ticking away. Everyone in the building knew the Patriots head coach was going to call timeout, including his assistants who were desperately imploring him to do so, and the Seahawks head coach, Pete Carroll, who was waiting for it. 

As the noise rose both around him and in his headset, Belichick stared impassively across the field at Carroll. He knew Carroll had expected the timeout, He also detected that Carroll had not prepared with a play yet. Belichick saw panic, and conveyed calm. His three words were a clear expression of leadership:

“I got this.”

Whether he believed his own words, or if anyone else did for that matter, is immaterial. He set the tone, and when Carroll sent in his offensive personnel for the play he eventually called, Belichick’s defensive assistants sent in a package to match it. 

That the Patriots had never employed this defensive alignment in any game that year did not matter. They were ready. As the defensive players lined up, veteran cornerback Brandon Browner said to rookie Malcolm Butler, “You know what to do here, right?” Butler nodded his assent. After having been beaten badly by this formation in practice earlier in the week, Butler had learned from his mistakes and was now prepared to perform.

That’s a long preamble for a pretty simple point, but it conveys the importance of certainty in leadership and why it is critical to radiate calm. On any given day, a school building and district can feel like controlled chaos. It is really easy to get pulled into the swirling vortex of panic. My advice? Don’t.

Preparation for difficult situations begins long before those moments or events arise. The calm and effective leader applies an understanding that it’s not necessarily what you do to prepare, but how you do it. For example, the early spring  lockdown drill you run in an elementary school lunchroom will likely not go well. Interestingly, the greater issue is often with the older kids, who are feeling bigger than they actually are later in the year (yes, they’re ten). Some might succumb to chatter or silliness while they are supposed to remain silent in the safe area. 

Knowing the significance of the drill, and perhaps having a member of the police department present to observe the drill, your inclination could be to respond with a fury unseen in previous human existence. Again, my advice? Don’t.

There are myriad reasons not to lose your cool, the first of which is that you don’t ever want your students or staff, or anyone for that matter, to feel like they can control your emotional tenor. You’re in charge of you. While the raging lunatic response has its merits,  its attributes tend to diminish in time. 

As with anything, it is important to consider the desired outcomes and to focus on achieving them. The point of a drill is to ensure that everyone involved can learn from the experience and get better. Beyond that, it is also important to convey to the students that they did not live up to your expectations. 

A blanket harangue directed at all of them is counterproductive as it is unlikely that every student there misbehaved; however, a measured explanation of how they have disappointed you, and how you expect them to work together to be nearly flawless should help produce the desired outcome in the next drill, which should be conducted within the next few minutes. If they run the drill correctly on take 2, they will have provided evidence of learning how to run a drill and respect for your presence. They will have also learned, whether they realize it, that you are unflappable when things go wrong.

That last clause, “when things go wrong,” is important to an educational leader’s mindset. Most educators will tell you that things only get messed up on days ending in -y. Furthermore, Robert Burns was right that your plans will always go awry; how you respond will dictate your long-term success. And if you are a true leader, you must by definition have followers, and they will follow your lead in a culture of calm.

If you are human, you will feel the turmoil and distress when the controlled chaos gets unhinged. It stinks and it’s hard to manage. But consider who is depending on you to radiate certainty and act like you’re confident. Even if you’re stretching the limits of credibility, tell yourself “I’ve got this.” Let your words and body language convey that message of calm. I’ve got this.

To complete the story of Super Bowl XLIX, the Seahawks ran the exact play for which the Patriots had prepared. Butler did not panic; instead, he applied the lessons from practice. The undrafted rookie from Alabama State jumped the route and intercepted the pass, thus sealing a Patriots Super Bowl win. Do the Patriots win if their coach panicked? Probably not. They were prepared and poised, and therefore performed to the best of their potential.

Vision Statement: People read us and depend on us to keep it together.

James Overton joined the ranks of school administrators yesterday. He’s an inspiring guy who inspired me to reflect on my eight years in administration; I expressed my thoughts in a blog post yesterday, and his response was really cool. And so, I write again.

Email is relentless. It’s certainly a useful medium but I look at it like water. In manageable portions, it’s great. In near-biblical deluges, it’s soul crushing. There are of course many levels in between.

Much as one of the first steps towards achieving enlightenment is the acceptance that life is suffering, administrators need to resign themselves to the inevitability of excess in email. There is hope, however, if you can stay on top of things. I keep in mind three tenets to help accomplish that goal; my success rate isn’t perfect, but I’m working on it:

1. The No Scroll Rule

In journalism you learn about white space, and how the human eye (the brain, really) finds a page more inviting to read if there is an abundance of white space. Not everyone who corresponds with you has taken a journalism class, however.

That solid wall of text of an email screed sucks the life out of you. I probably could have ended that sentence five words earlier, but our focus here is on managing the message. I find it best to share with stakeholders that I practice the No Scroll Rule; if I have to scroll down, chances are your email is a phone conversation disguised as the written word and I really shouldn’t read on. When I receive an unholy scroller, I typically respond with a quick sentence or two followed by, “Let’s catch up later this morning,” which helps to prevent immediate escalation of the issue.

The odds are strong that in the ensuing phone call, you will speak 8-10 words in the first ten minutes — take copious notes — but that time invested will help prevent a situation from getting out of control.

On a related note, do your staff and yourself a favor and keep your emails short. Limit yourself to 1-3 short paragraphs of objectively phrased, precise language and you are infinitely more likely to convey your intended message.

2. Keyboard Muscles

The digital world has enabled us to speak with greater bombast than we would ever dream of doing in person. There is that tendency, human nature really, to get very angry and say all the things we really want to say, and then realize after hitting send that perhaps some things are better left unsaid. You will receive those messages and your blood will boil. My recommendation? Call the sender out on it. Literally. I find a terse “We need to talk,” followed by the actual conversation as soon as possible to be most effective.

If it’s a parent, get on the phone ASAP and get to the core of the issue. I have found most people to be more reasonable on the phone or in person, but have also had people tell me that I have ruined their child’s life, and that certainly doesn’t feel particularly good, but it’s still better to get it out than let it fester.

Worst thing you can do? Let your fingers do the talking and respond in a way that is either defensive or hostile. Assume your every email is going to show up on social media or otherwise be disseminated to the public, and type accordingly.

3. The 24-Hour Rule

This one should be a staff-wide commitment. Respond to every email within 24 hours, excluding the time from dismissal on Friday through the start of the day on Monday (teachers should have a reprieve from work email for the weekend). Even if it’s a scrolling-required email or the 17th email of the week from that parent, at the very least, acknowledge receipt. That courtesy goes a long way towards engendering support, and also lets your audience know that you do care.

Sometimes you need to wait before responding, as well. I’ve received messages that challenged the limits of comprehension, and then kicked around the content on an evening run and realized “Oh, that’s what they meant!” I try to limit the amount of time I spend on emails at home, but will come back from running with a much greater degree of clarity that encourages a post-shower response.

A greater rule to consider is that everyone in your building wants to know they are being treated fairly and that you care. When you ignore an email, whether intentionally dismissive or with the best intention of crafting the most brilliant response ever, the implied message of your silence is “I don’t care.” It’s no fun digging out of that.

How to survive then? Maybe the key to enlightenment is appreciating that life is surfing, and we just need to ride the waves that come at us. Regardless, stay afloat and have fun!

James Overton joined the ranks of school administrators today. Through the power of EdCamps, Twitter, and professional training days, I have gotten to know Coach O much better than 4-5 in-person interactions would typically allow. He’s an inspiring guy who is destined to accomplish great things with his staff, students and their families. Today he inspired me to think about what I would have told a younger version of me on November 1, 2011.

One of my friends was told in a grad class that an administrator should never sit at his/her desk to do work while school is in session. I asked if this course was taught in a parallel universe in which days are 32 hours long, administrators have neither families nor the need to sleep, and email does not exist.

I keep my door open because I want to convey the message that I am here to help; to borrow from a Pearl Jam song, “I’m open.” I am also mildly claustrophobic, but let’s focus on this idea of being open. Your people need to know that you are there for them. There might be a concern about a student who has begun to deteriorate emotionally. There might a shortage of copies of Bud, Not Buddy in the bookroom. Someone might have taken their drink from the faculty fridge. A teacher’s husband might need to go back for additional medical testing. There are sometimes answers, such RTI with a referral to the guidance counselor, Amazon, take a soda from my fridge, if you need me to cover your class while you make a call.

Frequently, there aren’t answers. To let you in on a trade secret: that’s ok. Sometimes your job is to listen, nod your head, and mean it when you say “let me know whatever I can do to help.” Maybe jot a quick note to self to be sure to follow up. But the greater point is that you need to be there as a non-judgmental support.

I will be honest when people ask “Do you have a minute?” I realize that “no, but what can I do to help?” might come across as rudely generous or generously rude, but I’m sincere in wanting to be of assistance. If it was important enough for someone to enter my office, whatever they came for is at least important enough to them, which means it matters to me.

With all that said, you do need to close your door sometimes. I apply the burning or bleeding rule for entry past the closed door: either something is burning or someone is bleeding. After I sit for an observation, I carve out 60-90 minutes to proofread my notes, categorize the evidence, complete recommendations & commendations (do these while you’re fresh), and then begin to score. I have found that the failure to do so results in highly stressful weekends in which I fear becoming for my boys, in the words of a young writer from my first year of teaching high school English, “some guy I’m supposed to call Dad.”

I also close my door for the time I spend each day to eat lunch and read the Boston Herald Sports online. True it’s typically 10 minutes, but those minutes belong to me and the Patriots/Red Sox/Celtics.

Take care of others, take care of yourself, and have fun!

My name is Michael Portas and my third son is also named Michael Portas, which strikes people as odd until I tell them that I taught high school for years and my wife had been in early child education, at which point they realize that we had simply run out out of names that did not conjure  associations.

As part of his job description as a third boy, Michael was taken to his brothers’ practices and games for baseball, football, soccer, and basketball. Generally I was out there coaching but I made it a point to look over at him periodically, and was rewarded because I could see that he was usually following the action closely. Given that he was in the 10% percentile for size, had a perfectly round head, and was pretty unassuming, the older boys and fathers were always nice to him and made him feel included.

As he got involved in sports himself, I kept up my mission of overextending myself and volunteered, or in some cases was volunteered, to coach his teams. No one was going to confuse my little boy for a superstar. At that point in his life, physically he presented what I called the unholy trinity of athleticism: short, skinny, and slow. Quiet by nature, he called no attention to himself, and just went about his business purposefully.

Michael played some soccer and even football for a season, but he gravitated most to baseball and basketball. The same kid who at age three once garnered an audience in the mall as he impersonated the entire Yankees lineup in order, nailing every stance and mannerism with remarkable precision, showed a great love for baseball but did not enjoy much success. At one point his travel teams lost over thirty games in a row, a string of futility made all the more remarkable by the fact that Michael never complained or pouted about it. Not once. Michael Portas the elder would have carried on like an angry baby, but the younger just rolled with it.

I realized that I envied his ability to maintain perspective. He was competitive but did not live or die with the outcomes. When I asked him after every game “Did you have fun?” the answer was always “Yes.” Without fail. I can only wish that I could have said the same.

Travel basketball provided its own narrative. His 3rd grade team was not particularly strong, but played hard and listened. Michael was the last guy on the bench and got his minutes more because the league required it than because his coach/father decreed it. He struggled, and I struggled with that reality. He just wasn’t strong enough to compete, yet so I asked him at the end of the season if he wanted to keep playing. His response was to look at me as if I’d asked him if he still wanted to get birthday presents.

He worked with one of his older brothers on his game and came back a little better in 4th grade, and then stronger still in 5th. His playing time was still among the least on the team, but his attitude never wavered. My wife and I realized that this experience, being a part of the team and around this group of boys, was the most important thing in his world. Everything in his body language and approach to the game suggested that he would not want to be anywhere else or doing anything else.

For 6th grade his team became much more competitive and as a consequence of playing considerable Nerf basketball with his brothers, his footwork and floor vision improved. Another strange thing happened: his playing time increased and I stumbled into finding out that the smallest kid on my team could play excellent low-post offense, a role typically reserved for your bigger players. While his brothers contended I was an idiot for playing Michael there, he developed a passing touch that got his teammates involved and a shot fake, likely borne out of being pummeled by two older brothers, that would deke much larger opponents and let him drop a feathery short corner jumper that rarely missed.

He established himself as a regular for the 7th grade season and his team ended up having a magical season that resulted in winning championships in both the leagues in which they participated. The boys were not the most talented and could not run a half-court offense with any degree of precision, but played hard and together. I ascribed their success to love and defense as they took care of each other and hustled like madmen. Never once was their finger pointing or blame; instead, the boys demonstrated a mindset of unity and persistence. When they won their first championship, coincidentally on Michael’s birthday, I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier. I hugged him, told him I loved him, and thanked him for all his hard work.

Now, we just wrapped up a disappointing final season and today is his 14th birthday so I’m trying to put into perspective what a kid 32 years my junior taught me. I realize that I should have thanked him for the conversations in the car– as a rule, neither of us is very chatty in the car — when we would share about 150 joy-infused words in 30 minutes on the way to a game, or on the way home when he would afford me space to make sense of what I invariably thought was a poorly played game that I could have coached better. I should have thanked him for never complaining about playing time. I should have thanked him for demonstrating a competitive maturity that I never grasped. I should have thanked him for reinforcing that success is measured by growth and development.

I had thought for years that competitive sports were a zero-sum game. That may hold true for game results, but is most definitely not the case for the purpose of youth sports. Growth, toughness, grit, joy, collaborative skills — these are greater measures of success.

I am a much better coach for the perspective and depth of understanding gained from my experiences with Michael and his friends.

I am a much better parent for having had that moment of stomach-dropping recognition and disgust for myself upon realizing how terrible my conduct had once been to my own child, as well as that elation of having had him thank me repeatedly for helping his team.

I am a much better person, I hope, for being permitted to see the grander scheme through the eyes of a kid who had to work harder at sports just to get a small share of playing time, who loved his team because he belonged with them, whose attitude never wavered during the inevitable roller coaster that life presents us, and whose appreciation for the time, energy and effort we expanded kept me charged up for the past six years.

Thank you, Michael.

The word excellence has become the educational word du jour of late. That’s a good thing. Not only does it replace the unwieldy optics and the clunky turnkey, but it also puts an enormously important concept at the foreground of people’s thinking.

To borrow from Potter Stewart, I can’t define excellence, but I know it when I see it. When I watch baseball and see Chris Sale pitch, or shudder when I watch LeBron James taking over a basketball game against my Celtics, I know I am witnessing excellence. But there are so many other places to observe excellence. A beautifully manicured lawn. Perfectly hemmed pants. Spellbinding storytelling. Brilliantly prepared food. It’s not everywhere (if it were, excellence would no longer be special), but it’s out there, and we are fortunate to be able to appreciate it.

We see it in classrooms during the school year. You know a special classroom when you set foot in it. There’s an aura, an energy, a palpable sense of purpose and joy in the learning. That excellence is certainly special and we need to help make it as close to universal as we can. The two things that contribute to educational excellence are, simply enough, people and stuff. I firmly believe that the former trumps the latter in creating and sustaining excellence.

Anyone involved in education, and this applies to all fields, really, can, to borrow from Gandhi, be the excellence you want to see in the world. There’s no easy-to-repeat set of guidelines to ensure excellence, but we can borrow/steal from outstanding educators. Here are five helpful pointers I’ve observed:

1. Nurture curiosity and creative thinking  (“I like what you’re saying, but what about […]?”)
2. Confront mediocrity and challenge everyone to achieve their highest personal level of success (“This is a workable starting point; now, how do we make this better?”)
3. Use people’s names and connect them, particularly with inclusive language (“Rich makes a great point here, but it looks like Alicia wants to make an argument about it.”)
4. Demonstrate an awareness of each individual’s personal universe (“How are things going with […]?”)
5. Radiate joy for the material and how you’re engaging in it together, particularly if there is an opportunity for people to exercise some level of choice (“Listen to this sentence from Marquez and let’s see if we can explain its brilliance.”)

We can celebrate excellence, articulate an appreciation for it, and demand it of ourselves and others. Just as one of my friends once challenged me to make my day memorable (much harder than it sounds), we can challenge one another to demonstrate excellence in at least one facet of life today. Maybe it involves preparing the world’s greatest cup of coffee. Or modeling near-perfect distraction-free, merge-friendly, swearing-averse driving. Or inspiring a peer to greater levels of accomplishment. No matter, we can follow the sage words of Bill and Ted, “Be excellent to each other,” and expect greater outcomes.