At the beginning of the week, I was driving into work thinking about my long to-do list.

If you work in education and are reading this, you know exactly what I mean.

I was thinking about projects that matter and need to be lifted the right way. Communications that needed to go out so people felt informed before the next step. Logistics for upcoming meetings.

Questions I still needed to answer for a project I’m working on with a team.

At red lights, I occasionally checked my email.

I know what you might be thinking. Not my best move. I agree.

As I drove, I debated where to start my day, knowing I had a short window before my first meeting, the office or a building. As a district leader with seven buildings, if I have to choose, it’s almost always a building, because that’s where the people are.

And then a thought I had briefly pushed aside came rushing back to me.

One of our teachers lost her dad right before the holidays.

A few weeks earlier, I had been standing in her classroom while she talked about how much she loved him. She told me she was worried because he was still commuting into New York City from the suburbs. He was a barber and loved to cut hair. But above everything else, he loved people. He told her his customers needed him. They talked to him about everything.

I smiled thinking about that. I know how much I talk to my hairdresser. There’s something about that chair. To me, it becomes more than a haircut. It’s connection. 

I imagine that’s what her dad did every day.

He listened.

Really listened.

He held space for people in ways they probably didn’t even realize they needed.

Without hesitation, I made a quick decision to stop at her building first.

It was her first day back. She had been working in our district for years, but this day would be different. Her dad wasn’t here anymore.

When I saw her, I hugged her and I didn’t let go until she did.

I had recently heard Simon Sinek on Jay Shetty’s On Purpose podcast talk about what they call the “Disney Rule,” how Disney characters are trained never to let go of a hug until the child does. Sinek then challenges others to do the same for a friend. That’s how I felt in that moment. I wasn’t letting go first.

She cried. She told me stories about her dad as tears streamed down her face.

I listened.

And then I listened some more.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t try to fix it. I didn’t rush her through the moment. I stayed present until she was done sharing her heartbreak and pain with me.

In that moment, I realized that perhaps I was trying to do for her what her dad had done for so many others, simply listen. To be there. To let the space be enough.

Brianna Wiest wrote the following in her book, The Pivot Year,

“The courage with which you entered today will become the faith that you meet tomorrow.”

In that moment, courage meant staying. And faith meant listening.

“Lauren,” she said, “he was so proud of me when I got the job here.”

I smiled at her and gently broke the silence.

“He is still so proud.”

And suddenly, the list disappeared.

The emails could wait.

The logistics would get figured out.

The next move would come later.

Because as leaders, especially leaders who are educators and humans first, we will always have to-dos.

But we already know this:

People come first. Always.

In my book The Leader Inside, I wrote:

“Your actions create a collection of stories that can positively impact others.”

So, I ask you:

What story might someone else tell because of how you showed up today?

Before I left, I hugged her again.

And once more, I didn’t let go until she did.

Three Ideas to Implement Tomorrow

1. Pause the list when someone needs you.
   
   The work will still be there. The moment may not be.
   
2. Listen without trying to fix.
   
   Presence is often more powerful than words.

3. Lead with your humanity first.

Titles matter far less than how people feel when they leave an interaction with you.