A couple of weeks ago, I rushed into a local retail store because I needed an outfit for an event that evening. I glanced at my watch as I walked through the door. It was 6:30 p.m. The store closed at 7:00 p.m.

Plenty of time, I thought.

Within ten minutes, I had found an outfit I liked. I hurried over to the fitting rooms only to discover there wasn’t a sales associate there. I searched the store until I found one and politely asked if she could open a fitting room for me.

She looked at me and said, “The fitting rooms are closed. We close them twenty minutes before the store closes.”

I looked back at my watch. Twenty minutes. “I’ll only need about five,” I replied.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s our policy.”

I smiled, thanked her, and walked out of the store empty-handed.

The entire drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about those twenty minutes. Not because I didn’t get the outfit. Because I couldn’t understand how twenty minutes had already been declared over.

Looking back, maybe this was not really about a fitting room. Maybe it was about what happens when we close the door on possibility before the time is actually gone. 

If you happened to read my previous blog, In Frame, you know I’ve been reflecting on Jim Collins’ conversation with Lainie Rowell and his ideas about discovering our encodings and paying attention to the moments that reveal who we are becoming. If you haven’t had a chance to listen to Part One or Part Two of their conversation on Rowell’s Evolving With Gratitude podcast, I highly recommend you do.

In Part Two, Collins describes carrying what he called a “Bug Book.” Rather than judging himself, he simply observed. He paid attention to what energized him, what frustrated him, and what patterns began to emerge over time. He wasn’t trying to force answers. He was trying to notice.

That idea stayed with me. Perhaps because leaders spend so much of our time trying to solve problems that we sometimes forget to observe them first. Or perhaps because I couldn’t stop thinking about those twenty minutes.

As educators, we often say there isn’t enough time. There isn’t enough time for one more conference with a reader. There isn’t enough time for another small group. There isn’t enough time for independent reading. There isn’t enough time to check in with a colleague. There isn’t enough time to pause and reflect.

The reality is that our days are incredibly full. I understand that deeply. June in education feels like living from one moment to the next. Meetings. Celebrations. Planning. Families. Students. End-of-year responsibilities. Then somehow, in between all of that, we are expected to continue leading, teaching, and showing up fully for people.

Can you relate?

Perhaps the question isn’t whether we have more time. Perhaps it’s whether we notice what is possible within the time we already have. 

As someone who has spent the past year supporting teachers in countless ways including piloting new literacy resources, I have found myself looking differently at instructional time in new ways.

Not because I am trying to squeeze more into the day. Because I have started wondering what is possible within the time we already have. What could happen in five intentional minutes?

A student who needs additional practice with high-frequency words could spend five minutes each morning reviewing them with a partner.

A classroom that packs up efficiently could spend the remaining few minutes immersed in independent reading before dismissal.

A teacher could use a brief transition to confer with one student instead of waiting for the “perfect” block of uninterrupted time that rarely comes.

Five minutes may not seem like much. Until you multiply it by five days. That’s 25 minutes in a week. By the end of a month, it’s about 100 minutes. By the end of a 10-month school year, those five intentional minutes become 1,000 minutes, or more than 16 hours, of additional learning.

I don’t know about you, but when I think about 16 hours with a child over the course of a year, I don’t think about time. I think about possibility.

Those small moments become meaningful opportunities.

As I continued reflecting on Collins’ ideas, I realized this extends far beyond instructional minutes. It made me think about leadership.

Throughout the year, teachers often text, call me, email me, or stop by my office and ask, “Do you have a minute?”

My calendar is usually full. Like every leader, there are meetings to attend, emails to answer, projects to move forward, and operational work that simply has to get done.

Yet I have learned that some of the most important conversations I’ve had never appeared on my calendar. They happened because someone needed a minute.

A teacher wanted to think through a lesson.

A coach needed to process an idea.

A colleague wanted another perspective.

A student wanted to share something exciting.

Those moments rarely arrive at convenient times.

But people rarely do.

In my book,  The Leader Inside, I wrote: “Gifts live within exceptional educators, waiting to be unwrapped at the right place, at the right time, with the right people.”

I’ve been wondering lately if part of our responsibility as leaders is creating those right moments.

Not every meaningful conversation requires an hour. Sometimes it simply requires being willing to leave the fitting room open.

I also found myself thinking about my own writing. Many of these blog posts are not written sitting behind a desk. They’re born on long walks. They’re captured in the notes app on my phone while ideas are still fresh.

They’re shaped in the spaces between meetings, during a drive home, or while waiting for an appointment.

Years ago, I might have dismissed those moments because they weren’t part of my “workday.”

Now I recognize them as part of my work.

Collins talks about observing our lives without judgment. Paying attention to the patterns. Noticing what gives us energy and what reveals something about who we are.

Perhaps leadership asks us to do the same. To notice the possibilities hidden inside ordinary moments. To recognize that meaningful work doesn’t always require large blocks of uninterrupted time.

Sometimes it begins with five intentional minutes.

As I think back to that evening in the store, I still smile. I understand policies can exist for good reasons and some need to be reexamined.

This isn’t really a story about retail. It’s a story about possibility.

Twenty minutes remained and someone had simply decided they no longer mattered.

I wonder how often we do the same thing in education. How often do we assume there isn’t enough time for one more question? One more conference? One more encouraging conversation? One more opportunity to help someone discover what they’re capable of?

The minutes are still there.

The question is whether we believe something meaningful can still happen inside them.

Three Ideas Leaders Can Implement Tomorrow

1. Look for the Five-Minute Opportunity

Instead of focusing on what can’t happen because time is limited, ask yourself, What meaningful work could happen in the next five minutes? Small moments, used intentionally, often create lasting impact.

2. Leave Room for People

Operational work matters. So do the conversations that aren’t scheduled. When someone asks, “Do you have a minute?” consider whether that minute might be exactly what they need today.

3. Notice the Possibilities

Like Collins’ Bug Book, spend a few moments observing your day without judgment. Where did meaningful learning happen? Which moments energized you? Which small interactions made a difference? Often, the clues are hidden inside the ordinary.

Maybe that’s the lesson those twenty minutes were trying to teach me. Sometimes the opportunity is still there. The minutes are still there. The person is still there. The possibility is still there.

We simply have to leave the door open.