Who’s Got Next?

Angi Evans draws you in. Even on a zoom call. Her unassuming curiosity elicits serious deeper thought. Her humility levels the playing field. Without ego, she leaves her fingerprints on your mind and your heart.

I met Angi through the Elementary School Heads Association (ESHA). The only national organization of Heads of School focused on PreK-8 independent education. That narrow filter makes for professional connections that I hope will translate into lifelong friendships. We support each other through the ebb and flow of an academic year.

Each fall we gather as a group to discuss the trials and triumphs of school leadership. Dozens of heads of school collaborating in one room. Except this year I wasn’t. As a former head, I am an associate member – a title usually reserved for retired heads. I am not retired. I assume everyone uses that expression for one reason – why would you leave such an incredible position unless you were ready to focus on your golf game?

While she is still the Head at Harbor Day School in Newport Beach, CA, she is the first person who understands why I stepped aside. She was spot on when she said,

“It’s becoming my school rather than the school. And I want it to be the school, not my school.” That’s the essence of my decision to step aside after 15 years as Head of School. 

We are walking near Lady Bird Lake in Austin, TX reflecting on the wisdom bestowed on us by Evan Smith. After decades of interviewing leaders for The Texas Tribune and PBS’ Overheard with Evan Smith, he had a thing or two to say about leadership. Actually, he had a top ten list. 

Number 7 was “You got next.” He encouraged all leaders to build a pipeline for leadership succession from the very day they take the job.

Moving through the first six items on the list, Angi was nodding with that knowing agreement a speaker leans into. Then came 7. Evan encouraged, “From day one think about who comes next.”  Nine out of ten of his points. I was like, nailing it. That’s. I’m so good. And that was the one where I was like, crap.

Angi: Well, I say that to board presidents every time, but it’s not our job., but in the end, it’s not our job. Even if you would say to your board chair, “I think Joe Long, who is here at our school, is the greatest next head, they’re still going to close the door and make the decision.”

As we discuss the polarity between confidentiality and transparency in the search process, we identify the tension that adds to the inherent difficulty of change. The transparent communication found in many PreK-8 schools builds trust. It is the foundation for the family-like atmosphere of our communities. In the absence of communication, the false narratives will write themselves. Trust breaks down. This tension is common. As an industry, we need to name it and further examine this polarity of leadership change.

Angi: Not like we’re identifying the next pope – waiting for the white smoke or something.

That’s Angi. She doesn’t take herself too seriously. Her humor pokes at an illusion of superiority, but we’re talking about the need for continued authentic leadership. 

I ask her what makes her a good leader. She names optimism, and curiosity quickly. I add humility and then we agree on a note of competition.

Angi: When they induced me to have my son, they induced another woman simultaneously in the room next door. I was compelled. I wanted to beat her to having the baby. And the doctor’s saying, ‘It’s too early. There’s nothing you can do.’ Sure there was. I’d ask, ‘How’s she doing?’

I don’t need to tell you that Angi’s son was born first.  That was a given. Would I be hearing the story if she hadn’t? Such a competitive spirit keeps us on our toes and drives us toward greater and greater school improvement. However, head of school leadership has a different lens than other positions. Sure there is the business side – “like a superintendent in the public school district,” but there is also a spiritual side… untouched by competition.

Angi: People will come to us when they are in crisis. They’re wanting us to provide some support or wisdom or assurance that it’s going to be okay that we don’t have. But they’re hoping. We can say, ‘I’m sorry you’re going through this hard time, and we will do all that we can to make sure that when your child is here at school.’ They feel this is an oasis from whatever troubles they have going on elsewhere.

We validate the emotion, not the position nor the experience. 

Angi: I think we all became a little bit of crisis addicts.  Crisis crystallizes your priorities. 

And it is the crises – large and small – that leaves others in our organizations musing that they wouldn’t want our jobs with the variety of responsibilities for culture, curriculum, curiosity, balanced budgets, fundraising, governance …and leading through crisis. 

Still, it’s a position we have both treasured for many reasons.  I encouraged Angi to distill it to the top five.

Angi: 

1. I matter. In a certain segment of the world. I matter. People notice if I’m not there. I think I will miss that. I’ve become very used to mattering out in the world. (“That’s super lame, but that’s one of those.”)
2. I have a story every single day.
3. I’ll just miss all the humans.
4. I have things that make me curious, that are engaging and interesting and not only matter to me, but I think matter to society as a whole. I think education is such a noble profession. So when we’re thinking about education, I think we can be proud of ourselves that we’re thinking about something like that. 
5. Every day I interact with 5 year old, every day I interact with a 72 year old and every day I interact with everything in between. And I think there are few roles where you have this almost 70 year span of ages and generations, you know. So if I could say I went and became a consultant or this or that, you’re never going to again have that wide range. And so I feel like I can tell people what 5 year olds care about. I know I can see what a 70 year old is thinking about. Not all of them but you know.

We are both very pleased we dedicated our leadership to the Pre K- 8 arena. In our schools there is room for learning from failure. Indeed, we encourage it. At WCDS a former student suggested a new tagline for the school, “We fail here.” Not one we publicized, but valid nonetheless.

Angi: There’s room for trial and error in K8. I feel so bad for parents who don’t think that there’s room for trial and error …and faculty too. I’m always saying, we don’t have to get it right every time. We just have to keep trying. And so many people are afraid of what I call these very low stakes failures. And so I really talk to our parents about low stakes failures and trying another way and making space for that to not work because they don’t think that there’s room for error.

The most important learning from failure is learning that failure doesn’t kill you. You go forward. 

For instance,  we have 416 students, and I know all their names – including the twins. And people say, how do you do it? And I say, I’m willing to screw up. I’m willing to say Connor to Tyler and have him say, oh, no, it’s Tyler. And then that shame prevents me from ever doing it again. I will never. And so I try to tell people that you have to be willing to make the mistake. It’s totally low stakes. But people aren’t willing to do that.

Again, a perk and a responsibility of the PreK – 8 head – you need to know every child’s name…and their dog’s… and what they call a grandparent. Every child matters and what matters in their lives matters too – it makes them feel seen. We have the privilege of being the beginning of their educational journey and the gift of their being part of our lives. That was the hard part for me. Waking up on the first day of school and realizing the preschool class wasn’t going to be down the stairs. I wasn’t going to sit in on story time or hula hoop badly or pick apart a buckeye as my daily routine.

Angi: Nobody asked me what I thought, and that was it. And he said, I’m just like a potted plant. I have nothing to do here.

She shares that wisdom from a colleague who just retired.

The position of Head of School requires us to maintain that thread of mentorship from beginning to end.  Your first year feels like a launch and you can benefit so much from the hard-won wisdom of those who have sat at the desk for a while. Angi offered some advice to her younger self beginning the life as Head of School: “You’re probably going to do a pretty good job and you’re going to love this. Do a better job journaling. I can’t believe the number of things I’ve forgotten.” 

I continue to think about the final year of headship and all the polarities that exist in that year. If the first year is a launch, shouldn’t that final year be a landing? A descent slowed by parachutes? And don’t we need mentors through this transition just as much as we need them when we are just getting started? 

Who’s got next, indeed, but in the process let us not forget the value of the potted plant.

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