I come to this space every week to reflect on my learning.

There are times I wonder what I will write about. Some weeks feel clearer than others, and some take a little more time to unfold. I’ve come to realize that it often has less to do with what is around me and more to do with where my mindset is at the moment.

I am human. My emotions, like everyone else’s, move up and down depending on the context and the day. And over time, I’ve learned not to rush that.

Because somehow, the moment always shows up.

That’s really how my path has unfolded since I was a young girl. Perhaps that’s true for others, and maybe you can relate to being someone who reflects deeply. I often think about the past, I am learning to honor the present, and I find myself imagining the future and what it holds for the people I love, the educators and students I’ve served, the communities I’ve been a part of, and the person I am still becoming. 

This sentiment is woven throughout the fabric of my book, The Leader Inside. I write about where I’ve been, where I am, and who I am still becoming. I write about the journey, the people who have come into my life and lit the way, and the ones I have yet to meet who will one day be part of my team and my story.

Some people are in our lives for minutes. Some for months. Some for years. Some are still here. Some are not. But each of them plays a role in who we are becoming.

The other day, I had the opportunity to reconnect with a teacher I worked with over two decades ago, when I was her teaching assistant.

What made it so special was that we each remembered things the other did not. I shared how her impact has been infinite. She gave me the space to lead, and over time, I came to understand the value of that space as I began to see pieces of her in me. 

She gave me the opportunity to facilitate whole class and small group lessons, build relationships, and connect with students. I began to see myself as a teacher before I officially became one. In doing so, she wasn’t just supporting me, she was impacting every student in that classroom and shaping the kind of educator I would become in the communities I would later serve. That trust gave me the courage to apply for my own classroom. 

It stayed with me.

And it brought me back to an idea Brianna Wiest shares in her book, The Pivot Year: “You’re not supposed to get far on a path that was never yours to walk.”

There have been moments when I’ve questioned the direction I was walking. And maybe, at times, you have too. Moments where you pause and wonder if you’re on the right path.

But when I look back, the moments that mattered most were the ones that aligned with who I was becoming, not who I thought I needed to be. And if you take a moment to reflect, you may find the same is true for you.

And it also brought me back to another idea Brianna Wiest shares in her book The Pivot Year: “There is great power in not knowing. Not knowing what is next, not knowing what to decide, not knowing how you will make it to where you know you want and need to be.”

Not knowing creates space.

Space to notice.
Space to listen.
Space to learn from the students in front of you, the educators beside you, and the communities you are part of.

And maybe that’s where this lives for you too.

Trust your voice inside. That voice tells you what to do, where to go, and how to place your energy.

And it brings me to another reminder Brianna Wiest shares in her book The Pivot Year: “Decide what’s worth your energy, because what you engage with is what you empower.”

When I think about the educators, students, and communities that have shaped my journey, I see people who made that decision with intention. They invested their energy in others. They created space. They noticed. They trusted. They gave someone the opportunity to step forward.

Just like the teacher who gave me that space to lead. 

And when I think about what this looks like in our classrooms and schools, it becomes even more real.

It looks like a teacher pausing and saying, “Why don’t you try leading this part?”
It looks like a student finding their voice during a discussion because someone made space for it.
It looks like educators designing learning experiences where students are not just completing tasks, but making decisions, taking risks, and seeing themselves as capable.

For leaders, it looks like trusting teachers enough to step forward.
It looks like creating the conditions where ideas can be shared, tried, refined, and celebrated.
It looks like listening closely, noticing strengths, and naming them out loud so others begin to see what is already within them.

It is not always something big. Often, it is a small moment.

A shift. A question. An invitation. But those are the moments that stay. Those are the moments that shape identity. Those are the moments that, over time, build confidence in ways that last far beyond a single lesson, a single classroom, or even a single year.

So I keep coming back to this question:

What will you do to let someone lead so they can find the courage and confidence to do something they have not done before?

And maybe that’s why I come back to this space each week.

Not because I have it all figured out.

But because I am paying attention.

To the moments.
To the people.
To the communities we build together.

Because somehow, life shows up for us in ways we could not have imagined.

And just like the beginning, I find myself here again—I come to this space every week to reflect on my learning.

Somehow, it shows up.

And I’m learning to trust that it always will.