From the Cosmos to the Classroom

Back in 1990, the Voyager spacecraft was leaving our solar system when astronomer Carl Sagan had the idea to turn its camera around for one last look at Earth. From billions of miles away, our entire planet was nothing but a tiny blue speck floating in empty space. Looking at that image always hits me hard. Every war, every struggle, every love story, every life — all playing out on this tiny dot. It reminds me to question my own sense of importance, to see past the immediate conflicts that consume so much of our energy.

I wasn't always able to see things this way. Growing up angry and reactive, my default response to confusion was "F**k you." Forgiving my father for leaving, losing friends in the South Canyon Fire, and connecting with students who reminded me of my younger self all contributed to this broader view. Each painful experience forced me to step back and see my life from a different vantage point.

I've learned to hold two visions at once — being fully present while also seeing beyond the immediate moment. This perspective started with trying to understand my parents, my past, and myself. And it's a fundamental part of how I’ve chosen to lead in education.

The Power of Forgiveness

When I was about 20 years old, I was working at an old folks home near my university in Oregon. I was broke, trying to get through college, and needed some financial support. I finally wrote my dad a letter asking for help. His response wasn't what I hoped for: he had no money to give me, though he offered a place to stay and food if I needed it.

At first, I was angry. Why would he marry someone else and take on her kids if he couldn't even help his own son? But then I had this moment of unexpected clarity. I realized that everything that happened in my life shaped who I became. If things had been different, I might be a completely different person. And I liked who I was becoming.

So I wrote him back: "Thank you — and I love you." This wasn't about making him feel better. I was releasing that knot in my stomach. I needed to let go of that anger to move forward.

I tried writing something similar to my mom, but she wasn't ready to hear it. That's the thing about forgiveness — you can't control how other people receive it. You can only control your own journey toward understanding.

What I've learned is that people are more complicated than the ways they've hurt us. My parents weren't perfect — they were doing their best with what they had. This perspective doesn't just help me with my own family — it changed how I saw the students and teachers I’ve worked with. I don't need their complete backstory to know there is one — and I know that whatever brings them to me today is just one chapter in a much longer story.

Thanking the Good and Bad

My mom did a lot of things that hurt me growing up, but she taught me how to say please and thank you. Those simple words have gotten me further in life than anything else. When someone's giving out scholarships, they remember the kid who was polite. When someone's hiring, they remember the person who looked them in the eye, shook their hand, and said thank you.

When my mom died in 2021, I spoke at her funeral. I thanked my mom for what she gave me — those lessons in basic courtesy that opened doors throughout my life. Yes, she struggled with mental health issues, but I stopped looking for perfect parents a long time ago.

I’ve shared with my own kids that my mom did a lot of bad things, but she taught me please and thank you. I explained that I won't always be there for them, so I need the world to care about them. I need the world to give a s**t. And those basic courtesies help make that happen.

I've transferred this same approach to my students. I tell them, "Your loving teachers won't always be there for you. So I need you to know what to do." I’m talking about more than manners — I’m talking about seeing value in what you're given, even when it comes from imperfect sources.

The lessons I need most are often the ones I find myself teaching.

On the Edge of the Cliff

Picture standing near a huge cliff. Some people want to maintain a lot of distance between themselves and the edge. I'm right on that edge. Whatever's coming at me, I respond with what's on my mind because I don't have time to create distance. You may not like what comes out of me. You may love it. But you’ll know it's real.

I don’t mean that I rush to decisions — I stay present enough to respond authentically. I don't have a professional persona that I put on and take off. When I'm with students or teachers, I'm just me — the same person I am with my family or friends.

When I'm coaching educators now, I say, "I'll be transparent with you. I'm going to model how I'd like you to behave." There's no gap between what I say and what I believe. This approach helps me connect with people in ways I couldn't if I was always calculating my responses.

I've found that when I respond from the edge of myself — with authenticity rather than distance — people can tell the difference. They know when someone actually cares. Students in particular can smell out the bulls**t. Standing on that edge is exhausting sometimes, but it's the only way I know to be truly present with the people who need me.

From Cosmic to Personal

On a cosmic timeline, a 14-year-old student and a 30-year-old teacher are practically the same age. We're all just contemporaries trying to find our way on this tiny speck together. What looks like a significant gap between us disappears when viewed from that distance. The roles we play and the hierarchies we subscribe to blur — and we can say to each other, “I’m just a person like you trying to make it through. Won’t you hold my hand?"

This perspective reminds me that whatever someone is going through — good or bad — it will pass. I used to tell my students at the beginning of each year to write down the worst thing going on in their lives. Then I'd tell them about a student who took his own life. I'd say, "I wish I had been able to tell him then that what consumed him would pass, but I’m able to tell you."

From the pale blue dot, our daily struggles look small. But up close, they're everything. The real wisdom comes from holding both perspectives at once — honoring the immediate pain while remembering it's just one moment in a much longer journey. That's what it means to bring the cosmos to the classroom — to be empathetic and fully present while also seeing beyond.

This dual vision is a practical approach that transforms how we educate. When I sit with a struggling teacher or student, I try to address their immediate needs while helping them see the bigger picture. I remind them that the moment that seems all-consuming today will eventually be just one small part of their story. And in doing so, I hope they learn to navigate their own lives with this same perspective — seeing both the urgent present and the larger context of our shared journey.

Let's Find a New Perspective Together

When educators learn to hold both views at once — being fully present while maintaining a big picture perspective — we have a real shot at transforming school culture. We can be less reactive and more purposeful.

Contact me to explore how we can help your team develop this dual vision. Together, we'll create educational spaces where both immediate challenges and long-term growth are honored.