The Grand Provider

I was speeding to work not because I was late, only later than I wanted to be. Rounding the corner I spied the school parking lot… totally EMPTY! This was great! Not only had I earned a bit of quiet work time, but I’d also beaten Clare. Clare is the early bird and today I was earlier! That made me happy. Nothing wrong with being happy.

I merrily grabbed my bag from the back seat, locked the car, and strode to the front door hoping to get inside before Clare pulled up. She’d think I’d arrived even earlier! Desperately patting all pockets I realized I’d left my school keys at home. That would cost me another 12 minutes at the least. I was sorely disappointed. Crestfallen, I drove home for the keys.

My disappointment seemed too big for the 12-minute loss of work time. As I drove, I wondered why I had such a sense of failure. Yes, I had much to do, and initially that’s what I railed about. But 12 minutes wouldn’t set me back that far. And besides, I had actually thought of leaving my bag at the front door so Clare would know I’d been there already.

Ouch, the truth began to dawn. And I wasn’t just wanting to beat Clare, I was mostly wanting to look like the early bird and the night owl—always working to provide for the school’s people. I wanted to be—or even worse, to look like—the grand provider of all, one whom no one could fault for slacking off. That led me to realize how vulnerable I was feeling in my work, and how needy I was for recognition. Wanting to be seen as the Grand Provider, is getting too close to blasphemy. When I recognized that, I was able to let it go. I could tell I had let go when I quit praying that Clare would be slow this morning so I could still beat her!

As it turns out, I did beat her, but the desire had been released. Whether she was there or not upon my second arrival was totally irrelevant to what I needed to do, and I had quit needing to fuel a false image.

Needless navel gazing? Don't think so. The day before, a fellow principal had dropped into my office weary with the burden of the sudden death of a faculty member. He needed a good nap. I recognized that, but jabbered on about two interesting challenges I was facing (and, of course, skillfully managing). He didn’t need either story. He wandered in looking exhausted and needed a listening ear not an entertaining mouth. If I had known then what I know now, he would have been better served.

Minding the Gap can be painful, but if I want better outcomes, I have to go in there and take an honest look around.