I’m writing this newsletter on a Sunday afternoon in a horse barn in Johnstown. It’s hell-hot, with the sun bruisingly bright and air heavy and thick like it gets this time of year. I’m here with my daughter for a horse show. Last night, as we set up, storms rolled in and gathered momentum and rain fell so hard we couldn’t see more than ten feet outside the barn doors. This weather has given us heart-stoppingly beautiful skies, though— clouds like rainbow-hued cotton candy—which serves as some sort of consolation for being so unpredictable and… well, so hot.
I get a lot of work done in barns. Reading, writing, hacking down the email inbox. Today, as I’m melting in the Augustness of today, I am thinking about those memes for educators that surface this time of year— you know the ones—that liken June to Friday, July to Saturday…. and, yep, August to Sunday. And just like Sunday, when you try really hard to hang on to the peace and pace of a weekend, you know what’s coming. We all know what’s coming. A new school year. Like, a whole one. Trying to forget it is like trying to flick away a gnat— you want to eliminate the nuisance, but you absolutely can.not.
My principal aura was always so calm going into August. Where I lost my calm, though, is when the people came. The teachers arrived to set up their rooms. Families came for a walk-through and schedule pickup. Bus drivers, maintenance crews, tech teams, the PTO President, the fire inspector, the head cook, the brand-new-Mom who needs a lactation room, the UPS driver, the FedEx driver, the USPS driver. And the stuff! The eight billion Amazon boxes, the remote controls, the computer carts, the lamination rolls, the Expo markers, the bulletin board border, the pallets of books, the bushels of little cartons of milk. The building goes from quiet to alive. This is a good thing…. but. It’s like when you clean your whole house, top to bottom, and then your family comes home. You’re glad to see them, but couldn’t they be a little less… intrusive?
There are a few things I’ve done to scold myself away from anxiety and back into confidence.
Think about this:
Don’t panic. I always panic. Am I ready? What if I didn’t think of everything? What if one of the things I’ve planned doesn’t work? Have I communicated with everyone? What if teachers are mad? What if parents are upset? What if I get fired? This panic makes no sense. Because, yeah. All those things are going to happen, and I know it. So… duh. There will be misses and mistakes. People will get moody, emotional, frustrated. They’ll come to the principal to fix it. But why flip instantly to panic? When is the last time that panic actually helped a situation? It’s not worth it. It’s just not.
Be a sponge, not a stone. When I work with groups on conflict management, I say this one thing over and over: There are going to be problems. There will be conflict. People gonna be mad; people gonna flip their lids. If I adopt a mindset in which I expect problems rather than fear them, my brain is like a sponge rather than a stone. I can absorb rather than deflect.
Slow your roll. I say this all the time, but it bears repeating: There are very few emergencies in education. There are some, yes. But most things benefit from a moment, an hour, a day, or even a week of pausing. If I feel those familiar twinges of panic rising in my belly, I say— sometimes out loud!— “Slow down. Take a breath. Wait.”
I know this isn’t groundbreaking stuff. We’ve all been told these things. An August reminder, though, is worth it— because August is the time of panic and it should. not. be. a. time. of. panic.
Hang tough, my principal friends. You’ve done the work. As my father used to say— and, actually, still says— the hay’s in the barn. Now you sit back and get that hay where it’s supposed to get.
Let’s stay curious—
Jen
**All content on Principal Problems is 100% human generated. I do not, and will not, use AI as part of this publication.