Last weekend, I spent a couple of days in Bend, Oregon, co-leading an annual conference for rural school leaders. The model was a hybrid of part traditional conference, part EdCamp. Every hour was packed with either specific professional development or choice-based learning. Besides the gorgeous location beside the Deschutes River, I also got to enjoy a room full of enthusiastic principals.
Eager, enthusiastic, and tired. They were tired.
As school leaders, we all have problems. If you’re a rural principal in Oregon, you have big problems layered on top of big problems— issues with staff recruitment, staff retention, staff housing, finding subs, and getting special education support. They struggle to be seen and heard by their state departments. They worry about CTE programs and certifications; they worry about their testing data; they worry about getting technology, transportation, mental health services, and related arts. And funding. They are really, really worried about money.
And they often do this alone, living and working in remote communities. One attendee has less than 30 students in his entire K-12 school. In addition to being the principal, he is also a teacher and the superintendent. He’s the maintenance guy, the custodian, the visionary, and the source of morale. He is, like, the guy.
Why would anyone want to be a principal in such a remote area? I wondered.
Well, for the same reason any of us do.
I remember the moment I was first offered a job as a school administrator. It was an assistant principal position. I was grateful and proud, and also completely overwhelmed—Could I really do this job? Was I ready?
I knew I was a good teacher. I had no idea if I would be a good leader.
Like many people, I suffered from a classic case of imposter syndrome. But I was chosen for the job, and I thought that must count for something. So I went in and started doing the work. What carried me through the hard days was that belief that someone thought I could do it— that I was chosen because I had the skills.
That sense of honor has never left me, and I have never stopped thinking that being a principal is a privilege. Here are some of the things we get to do that most people don’t:
Shape a Vision: You set the educational tone and direction for the entire school community.
Create Wider Impact: You can positively influence the lives of every student and staff member, not just those in one classroom.
Elevate Teachers: You get to mentor, develop, and empower the educators you lead.
Embrace a Dynamic Environment: No two days are ever the same. There is not a boring day. Ever.
Lead a Community: You serve as a central figure in your school. Some days, you even feel like a superhero.
Sense of Accomplishment: There's immense satisfaction in seeing your school's culture improve and watching students and staff succeed.
And finally, there's the unique knowledge we gain. You go from being a master of one thing to a versatilist—someone who knows a bit about everything. You become the Swiss Army Knife of your school. You are useful! You can do anything! You have solutions! You can guide a teacher struggling with implementing AI and you can troubleshoot a water main break. You can vet curricular vendors and you can calm a parent raging about their child’s suspension.
It’s October, which means things are getting real. You’re likely feeling taxed. You’re not beaten down yet, but you can feel it coming. You’ve got your eye on Thanksgiving. This is the perfect time to remember that you have a job many people admire, respect, and even fear. It’s a job many people couldn’t do.
So keep going. Pull out your Swiss Army knife and use it to be versatile, durable, and unflappable.
Let’s stay curious—
Jen
P.S. No AI is used when writing this newsletter. It’s just me and my ideas and my keyboard.
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