As the end of my 20th year in education approaches quickly, I have been reflecting on how extremely grateful I am for all of the moments and people who have contributed to my path and what has led me to this time. When I reflect on the journey, I don’t only think about the big milestones. I think about the small moments. The conversations. The interactions. The people who left pieces of themselves with me that I continue to carry forward into the way I lead, teach, listen, learn, and connect with others each day.

Can you relate to these sentiments? Have you ever thought about memorializing them somewhere so you can look back on them over time?

This blog space is a place I have used for several years now to reflect on my learning. I owe much of that encouragement to my friend George Couros, who challenged me years ago to start writing. I never expected that the reflections I shared here would eventually turn into a book. And if you are wondering what that process can look and feel like, George wrote a wonderful post about how blog posts can evolve into a book: Want to Write a Book? Start a Blog

In my book, The Leader Inside: Stories of Mentorship to Inspire the Leader Within, I shared a story from some of my final days in my own classroom that has stayed with me ever since. 

On one of my last days in the classroom, I read my students Only One You by Linda Kranz. The book inspired me to use all I had learned about my students and write them a personal note of inspiration and gratitude. Along with each note, I left students with a special rock that held the one word I felt embodied who they were and who they would continue to become.

I remember my student Steven picking up his rock that read “Happiness” and studying it carefully. “Mrs. Kaufman, do you really think I can bring happiness to people wherever I go?” he asked.

I replied, “Steven, your happiness is contagious and will bring joy to whomever you meet. Your happiness will change the world.”

At the time, I did not fully realize how much that moment would stay with me.

The following year, as a building leader, I had another interaction that brought me back to Steven and the idea that we carry pieces of our students with us forever.

One day, a student named James excitedly approached me with a piece of writing he wanted to share. In it, he wrote: “When you walk by, say hi to Mrs. Kaufman. Don’t you want to make her day? Mrs. Kaufman is wonderful because she makes sure everyone has a good day.”

As I read James’s words, I immediately thought back to my conversation with Steven the year before about happiness. It made me realize that somewhere along the way, Steven’s contagious happiness had become a part of me too. Without even realizing it, I had been carrying forward the very thing I once encouraged in him.

Moments like this stay with me because it reminds me that education is deeply human work. We influence students, but they also influence us. Their kindness, joy, resilience, humor, and perspectives shape the educators and leaders we are still becoming.

And then this past Friday, another moment reminded me why I never want to lose connection to the heart of this work.

Due to substitute shortages, I was asked to help cover a few elementary classrooms for part of the day. While it completely wiped out most of my calendar and the plans I had for the day, I found myself genuinely excited to step back into classrooms and teach.

And that is exactly what I did.

As district leaders, our days can quickly become filled with meetings, emails, presentations, planning, and logistics. All of those things matter. But standing in front of students again reminded me of something even more important: I never want to forget what it feels like to be a teacher.

That is where the legacy lives on. That is where the impact happens. Inside classrooms. Inside conversations. Inside the ordinary moments that slowly become part of someone’s story.

The experience reminded me that no matter where this journey leads, I always want to remain closely connected to the work happening alongside students and teachers every single day.

And then this past week, another unexpected moment reminded me of that once again. After a Board meeting, I decided to run an errand to take one more thing off my list for the next day. It was meant to be.

At 9:30 p.m., while checking out, I heard, “Mrs. Kaufman, I was in your reading class in elementary school.”

I looked up and immediately recognized a former student who is now in his 20s.

He asked me if I still loved to write because he remembered how much I loved teaching writing and how it helped him begin to love it too.

I told him that I still write regularly. Then he asked, “Have you ever thought about writing a book?” I smiled and replied, “As a matter of fact, I already have.”

Right there at checkout, he looked it up on Amazon and ordered it.

After a long day, this unexpected interaction stayed with me. Not because he ordered the book, but because he remembered. He remembered the feeling. He remembered the passion I had for writing and how it unknowingly influenced him. The experience of being encouraged as a writer years ago in an elementary classroom.

Recently, I came across a quote by Brianna Wiest in The Pivot Year that deeply resonated with me: “You will find purpose in the most subtle moments.” She later writes, “It’s impossible to know the full impact of the moment you are in right now.” 

Those lines have continued to sit with me because so much of education lives inside those subtle moments. The conversations in hallways. The smile. The encouragement. The extra few minutes spent listening. The belief we pour into students before they fully believe in themselves.

As educators, we often wonder if the lessons mattered. If the conversations stayed with students. If the encouragement made a difference. If they will remember us years later.

What I am learning twenty years into this journey is this: sometimes the moments we barely remember become moments students never forget.

And perhaps that is the true gift of education.

Not only that we teach students, but that over time, they become part of the story that continues teaching us too.