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Joy Is Where You Seek It

Last week, I had the pleasure of listening to insights from the great Giancarlo Esposito, who you might know as Gustavo Fring from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, or as Stan Edgar from The Boys, or as Moff Gideon from The Mandalorian. Or from a host of character roles he’s portrayed. Basically, if you need a brilliant actor, you call Giancarlo Esposito, especially if you need someone to be quietly menacing. And yet, the man behind the characters is anything but scary — engaging, jovial, energetic, opinionated, spontaneous, and full of love. Texas Hall at UTA was full of mostly college students that night, and they absolutely adored the man. He reciprocated and gave them a really interesting night filled with encouragement, wisdom, and humor. The word that crept into my head throughout the evening was: Joy. Esposito has it, and shared it, referring to the “blessed” life he has had, getting to do something he enjoys for a living. (He also referred to everyone in the room as “blessed” in their own way, but that’s an idea for a different post.) And most successful actors, particularly the more famous ones, will offer similar words of encouragement, about following your dreams and making committed choices and immersing yourself in the work. That is certainly part of the beauty of actors and artists committing to their craft even through difficult times, in pursuit of their definition of success. It’s reminiscent of the old sentiment: “Do something you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.” 

But while that’s a lovely sentiment, it’s not always practical for everyone seeking to make a living. The truth is that not all of us can really survive doing a “pay the bills job” while we chase our actual “dream job.” Many of us find ourselves migrating into work that is enjoyable, I hope, or at least tolerable, but not necessarily the work we would love. Meanwhile, there are some who end up in jobs that are miserable. I think the spectrum of work satisfaction breaks down like a classic bell curve, with dream jobs on one side of the bell, miserable jobs on the other, and tolerable/satisfactory/enjoyable jobs making up the fat middle. If you’re in that dream job territory, enjoy it. If you’re in the miserable job area, by all means, seek to escape and step up to at least tolerable. But that middle is actually the tough area where you can often fall into a trap and subject yourself to grass-is-greener syndrome, playing could/woulda/shoulda games in your head about what might have been. “Maybe I could’ve had my dream job if only…”

And this is where we torture ourselves, isn’t it? We imagine a life we think we could’ve had based on a job we could’ve had, whether the possibility was realistic or not. We build our identity around our work (another future blog topic), then we essentially crush that identity because it’s not the wildly successful one in our imagination. And then we wonder why we feel unfulfilled, have doubts, and even suffer from poor mental health. I will admit that I stood with my toes at the edge of this trap early in my teaching career. I knew I had a good voice back in my teens, but I stayed away from majors in Radio/TV or broadcast journalism mainly because I didn’t want to deal with the proverbial pay-your-dues pattern of starting out in a tiny market and working your tail off until something better opened up. That nomadic lifestyle wasn’t for me. And yet, I still looked into possibly working for a radio station here or there basically each of the first five summers of my teaching career. I knew of the voiceover world in the mid-1990s and even did a consult in the early 2000s, but it wasn’t in the cards at the time because of my established (by that time) education career and commitments to raising a family. I needed stability more than I needed to follow my dreams at that time, and education was enjoyable enough to sustain me and offered that stability. Were there bad days? Absolutely. Even dream jobs have bad days. But the good days for me outweighed the bad by a lot. Looking back, I’m glad that I came to embrace my teaching career, and pushed myself to excellence in that profession, in spite of the fact that there were other work paths that I had wondered might make me happier.

Did I love teaching? Sometimes, but not all the time. I was never the teacher who said “I just love kids” and wanted to reach everyone on some deeply personal level. That doesn’t mean I was cold or unfeeling. I got into the profession because I enjoy the learning process, so I wanted to connect with students well enough to unlock their willingness and ability to see the value of the subject. I was never going to be a quasi-surrogate parent. The days when the learning clicked were awesome. The days where there was humor were awesome. But there were definitely days that weren’t awesome, and some days downright sucked. And that’s OK. I tried my best to appreciate the days, weeks, months, and years that were great, and I put the rest behind me. And THAT is OK. I knew some teachers who needed out of the profession ASAP, because they were nothing but miserable throughout, and no amount of improvement or growth would ever move them along the bell curve toward tolerable. I knew other teachers for whom teaching absolutely was their dream job. They loved the kids, the atmosphere, the extracurricular events, the whole school thing. They were on that upper end of the bell curve, and more power to them. I had some really good years in education, and I’ve written about how, when you’re in the middle of an awesome stretch, you have to stop and soak it in. But my career was pretty dynamic in that the job itself slid around along that bell curve through highs and lows. And when it felt like it had slid to the bottom end… miserable territory…I was fortunate to be able to retire and get out. And you know what? That’s OK, too.

The point is that, for the most part, life is generally what we make it. Our works, and our careers, are what we make of them, even if we aren’t living out our dreams right now. Joy is where we find it; we just have to seek it out. Happiness is born of our own choices, strung together, and how we choose to look at our circumstances. I have little doubt that Giancarlo Esposito, being the energetic, ebullient person that he is, would probably be the happiest barista at your local Starbucks, if that’s where life took him. That’s just who he is. Fortunately for those of us who appreciate his acting work, he managed to find that career. And many of us may feel called to a career that better suits us than the one we’re currently in. If that’s you, and you’re currently miserable, then seek it, and find it. But along the way, we all have to realize that how we view our work is very much a function of our own approach, our own perspective. I’ve often said, “If you look hard enough for something to be offended at, I guarantee you’ll find it.” And I’ve come across some desperately miserable people who are constantly looking to be offended. (Although I try avoid them as much as possible. Hey! That should be another post.) But along the same lines, you could say that those who seek out joy in their work will find it, too. And that doesn’t require your work to be some kind of dream-come-true. You just have to appreciate the good things and let the bad things slide. No matter what your work is today, seek out the joy.

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Music Education Really IS That Important

Last weekend was the 2026 edition of the U.T.-Arlington Maverick Marching Band’s annual Alumni Day, where the band invites past MMB members to watch a pre-season performance of the current show. It’s always a great time catching up with old friends and meeting new ones, plus everyone enjoys seeing what the band is up to each year — especially this year, as the band celebrates its 40th anniversary performing without a football team. It’s a fairly momentous occasion with a fascinating backstory, and you can find out more about it in two previous posts of mine. But this year’s gathering, encountering old friends, plus some of the conversations the experience sparked, made me consider my own background with music in a broader sense and reflect on just how critical music education has been, not just for me, but for every person with whom I came into contact this weekend and throughout our lives. We have all been much better off as humans because of our involvement in music. Music education, without a doubt, enriched us in more ways than we can articulate.

Naturally, some of the attendees at the event are music educators themselves. But I actually found that the majority of people there were like myself in that we’re all former MMB members who went on to pursue a profession/career besides music. Some of us still find chances to play our instrument more than others, but all of us cherish our musical influences and our days in band. Music education mattered to us. But it doesn’t always matter to non-musicians. Those without a musical background are often dismissive of musicians for a variety of reasons. We’re thought of as band, choir, or orchestra nerds. There’s also the old trope where musicians are considered to be somehow seedy because they’re always performing at night, sometimes in venues that aren’t in the greatest part of town, and they’re always moving from place-to-place. “They lead lives of sin and debauchery,” don’t you know. Isn’t that what we always hear on documentaries? In schools, music is relegated to “specials” at the elementary level and “extracurriculars” at the secondary level. It’s never considered part of the core curriculum, despite the fact that educational research from a variety of sources suggests that involvement in music can actually improve student performance in the core academic subjects.

I’m not going to spend time delineating any of the studies or the specific ways that music education contributes to stronger academic performance across the board. That information is easily accessible online, and there are many other writers who can present the case more thoroughly than I can. My perspective on the subject comes from a more intuitive viewpoint based on my experience as a teacher and assessment professional for three decades. From that perspective, I always make a clear distinction between “education” and simple “training,” because I think society as a whole, and politicians in particular, have gotten very confused in recent years between the two topics. Here’s the thing: Education isn’t simply training. Training is subject- or task-specific and is designed to elicit a certain response or action. Training is certainly a part of education, but proper education makes training part of a larger whole. As much as people attempt to contend that “back to basics” and “the three Rs” are critical to education, those ideas are simply building blocks to something bigger. Someone who is capable of reading and doing math certainly has academic skills, but “being educated” involves far more than that. In Texas, TEKS stands for “Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills.” These are the basics for a student knowing something, but only the basics. True education requires the student to take that knowledge and those skills and do something with them, preferably while working with other students. True education requires the student to do more than just regurgitate facts, concepts, and principles according to a prescribed checklist. Students should be able to use that information to analyze, to predict, to develop new ideas. Education implies thinking, creativity, and discovery. It implies challenging the boundaries of what was previously thought possible. An educated person does more than just spout information to you; that person can state why certain things are more important, posit new theories, and ask revealing questions of both themselves and others.

Honestly, this distinction is one of the things that really annoys me about how people increasingly interpret the value of college. There’s a mindset growing that college should primarily serve as a training ground in things like science, engineering, and nursing. Those disciplines are certainly worthy, and my own alma mater has world-class programs in them, but that mindset is too often dismissive of many other academic disciplines, among those many subjects in the liberal arts, including music. As a result, the question of “why would anyone study ______?” comes into play, as if there’s no practical reason to study English, history, fine arts, psychology, anthropology, foreign languages, etc., at a higher level. The mindset questions why anyone would continue to participate in band, choir, or orchestra unless that person intends to perform or perhaps teach professionally. But college isn’t simply specialized training for a specific job. Heck, even trade school really isn’t learn-by-rote training for specific repetitive tasks. Any form of post-secondary education builds thinking, creativity, and analytical skills, because the learner has to be prepared to face unseen challenges and work through them, often in tandem with other people. That’s why so many schools, from primary through graduate school, require some type of cooperative learning embedded into assignments. (Although, “cooperative learning” is often itself misunderstood, but that’s fodder for a different post.) It’s why so much post-secondary coursework now requires more creative endeavors, even if they’re just discussion posts in response to a given reading, subject, and/or prompt. Meanwhile, the undergraduate degree has morphed into a bit of a commodity, where the specific program of study is less important than the fact that the person had the wherewithal to enroll, accomplish all the required tasks, complete the coursework, and finish the degree. And the transcript doesn’t need to be filled solely with coursework associated with the major; in fact, quite the opposite, and some diversity in the transcript can be considered a good thing if it is coherent. The employer can train the graduate in the specifics of the job, particularly with the knowledge and trust that this individual has a work ethic and the ability to think and continue to learn.

Therein lies the real value of music education, whether the individual pursued a music degree or not. Music, as you know, has its own language embedded on the page and in the mind. The musician has to learn to read that language and produce the sound properly. To get good at producing any form of music requires a sincere work ethic geared toward mastering the instrument, as well as the ability to adjust tone and tuning as the circumstances require. Performing in an ensemble of any size raises additional demands, as the musician must now be able to listen to other sounds while also producing them, melding with the other parts of the ensemble to produce a collaborative work of art. I’ve also written before about the physical demands of marching band, which adds visual elements to the music as performers work in tandem to create what is essentially outdoor musical theatre in the 21st century. And for that matter, both musical theatre and show choir also add visual elements to musical performance. Being a musician implies constant learning, because there are always new compositions to learn. The composer, songwriter, arranger, or producer takes their skills to an even higher level. The point is that music builds thinking skills, creativity, collaborative abilities, analytical skills, and physical dexterity in service to an artistic medium that also entertains, so not only are members of a music ensemble communicating with each other, they are also communicating with the audience. Participating in this endeavor builds powerful skills, even if you don’t go on to teach or perform music later in life. No matter what career you pursue, if you received music education, it made you smarter. It made you a better student. It made you more productive. It improved your mental skills, whether thinking, analysis, or creativity. It helped you develop in ways that have fed your daily life, because your brain benefited from lessons that go beyond the notes on the page.

Now, is it possible to build these types of skills in other extracurricular activities besides music? Absolutely. Many athletic endeavors, particularly team sports, cheerleading, and drill/dance team, etc., offer similar benefits. Theater productions are terrific experiences for students and can enhance their academic skills. The thing is, I don’t hear many people calling for the football or basketball programs to be cut in their local school district. Cheerleading isn’t likely to hit any chopping block. But we often hear about other programs, including music, becoming casualties of budget cuts, or at least considerations to that end. Parents complain that the fees are too high, that the rehearsals take up too much time, and my favorite bit of idiocy, “high school football halftime is too long.” They often make these complaints with no regard for the value that the program brings to each student. To some extent, there are valid criticisms to be made about cost and time. For instance, I agree that competitive marching band can, at times, become an expensive, unwieldy albatross getting in the way of more effective music education experiences. And along those lines, there’s definitely a case to be made that rehearsals sometimes interfere with students’ ability to complete work in their core classes, particularly if those students take high-level coursework like AP classes.

In the end, though, it comes down to simple cost-benefit analysis. And both the anecdotal and empirical evidence suggest that, in spite of the costs that might be incurred with music education, the benefits are monumental. Your typical music major might graduate college and go into teaching, performance, or production, but there are many who go into fields far different from music. Why? Because they developed many soft skills in the world of music, including adaptability, problem-solving, communication, and teamwork, among others. Your typical college graduate in some other major who still received music education “on the side” throughout life is likely to be a better employee or a better entrepreneur thanks to those same soft skills. It may seem trite to call these individuals “well-rounded,” but that’s essentially the result. Those who have experienced music education have received truly educational experiences on a deeper level. They’re not simply trainees in a given field or toward a specific task. They’re exposed to cultural, historical, creative, and artistic influences that enrich their perspective. They think more deeply and more creatively. They’re not afraid to learn and adapt. They know how to work well with others. They have and may continue to engage in activities that enrich the world in which we live.

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The Defiant One

I’ve always found the term defiant to be mostly negative. Now, I know that the United States of America was essentially founded on principles of defiance against King George III, and that defiance in literature and pop culture is often celebrated, whether we’re talking about the rebels in Star Wars or Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. We like to celebrate “the defiant ones” as noble souls standing tall in the face of injustice, holding firm for what’s right while their opposition defends the indefensible. And as a literary trope or a plot device in a movie where the hero has to fight against all odds with barely a shred of hope against the evil antagonist, it usually works. Truth to Power. David vs. Goliath. It makes for compelling stories. But the trope also breaks down in the real world, because the real world isn’t the black & white, good vs. evil setting that our simpler emotions crave. The world is filled with many shades and iterations of gray. As a result, I have found myself, more often than not, being a rule-follower. Because the rules are there for a reason, not because some tyrant seeks to control everything or destroy our country or our religion or our way of life or something else we hold dear. The rules, the laws, the guidelines, the norms, have all been developed and have evolved over time through careful consideration, through testing and adjustment. Often through scientific trial. Most of all, through learning.

At a certain point, there really is a fine line between defiance and stupidity. People think they’re engaging in some nobly defiant act that is either counterproductive or has no effect at all. I unintentionally learned this first-hand from observing my father’s own behavior as he aged. I’m not calling my father stupid by any means. He was one of the smartest people I knew in my early life, and he was always reading and seeking to learn about the world. That’s a character trait I’ve tried to embrace. Yet despite that willingness of learn, he was always kind of a defiant personality in the face of, shall we say “more modern,” ideas. Some of my earliest memories are of him praying the Tridentine Mass in Latin while we were at church, defiant in his belief that it was somehow superior to the “Novus Ordo,” the Mass celebrated in English. That’s just one example, and it’s related to religion, so I suppose I could understand. But the older I got, the more I noticed he was defiant about other matters in ways that were possibly detrimental to him. He kept a pair of early-1990s cars in the garage literally until the day he died, pouring money into getting them fixed despite the fact that fewer and fewer mechanics were even willing to look at them. He purchased literally the last CRT television that Sears ever sold because he somehow “didn’t trust” flat screens. (My parents only owned a flat-screen television after that one from Sears broke, no one would repair it, and I personally purchased them a new one.) He outright refused to use a computer of any kind at home, despite the fact that it kept him from maintaining closer contact with his grandchildren. Honestly, I suspect he would’ve still used a rotary-dial phone if he could have. His defiance became sort of an arbitrary, individualist mindset that I believe bordered on ridiculous, and it really undermined a lot of what I had seen of him growing up. Here was someone who taught me at a young age that learning new things mattered immensely and that adapting to change was key to thriving. Yet as he aged, he actively resisted accepting new things that might’ve improved the quality of his later life. He even came to resist the advice of doctors — outside of obvious things like blood pressure medication — and that likely damaged his long-term health. It nearly cost him his life after a fall in 1993, and I think his avoidance of medical advice probably led to a stroke in 2019 and ultimately, his passing in 2020.

At the core of my disappointment in what I was seeing wasn’t so much the defiant attitude that I had seen literally my whole life. It was the “arbitrary, individualist” aspect of it, especially in opposition to medicine, to technology, and to common sense. That’s something I see among American society as a whole these days, and I’ve written about it before. More than once. It bothers me deeply. Heck, I remember visiting a friend (now departed, RIP) back during college days and discussing the growing culture of toxic individuality and ignorance. We saw it in the 1990s. Our society has been descending into a valley of victimhood and entitlement for decades now. If you think one man is the cause, think again. He’s only the most visible symptom and emblem of it. Look around you, and you’ll see thousands, even millions, of people who are angry, self-centered, individualist souls who are arbitrarily defiant about, well…everything. You see them on the road, speeding around you because their destination is apparently more important than yours. Often driving a giant vehicle that they cannot park or even keep between the lines. You see them at food and drink establishments, treating the servers and other employees terribly, usually over something minor. You see them (or videos of them) in airports and on airplanes, engaging in fits of rage over minor inconveniences, or just crazed because they’re on (or off their) drugs. You see them at the mall, at sporting events, in movie theaters, at the park, at the grocery store, in schools, and at events of all types, “behaving badly,” for lack of a better phrase. And in every case, at the root of it, is a sense of entitlement. A sense of toxic individuality. A sense that “I am more important than everyone else.” Call it main character syndrome if you wish. It’s often couched in the phrase, “I decide what’s best for myself / my children / my family,” but at the end of the day, it’s born of a notion that this individual somehow knows better than the rules, than the law, than the experts, than civilization itself, despite the learning that has been amassed by all of humanity over the course of time. Despite the fact that each of us occupies a tiny fraction of this planet for a microscopic amount of time in the course of human history. Despite the fact that the only way humanity will continue to survive is together. And despite the fact that the core of every major religion is essentially “stop being an a**hole.” The self-absorption is mind-boggling.

Blame social media, blame the internet in general, but as time progresses in this day and age, this culture of toxic individualism rolls on in service to unfettered ignorance. Google warriors “do their own research” and decide they know what’s best about pregnancy, about governing, about child development, about international diplomacy, about vaccines, about medical care in general, about legal matters, about curriculum and other school-related topics, and even about death itself and its aftermath. Except that when you’re not very smart, and certainly when you’re not trained in a given discipline, Google is not your friend; it’s merely the enabler of your ignorance, giving you just enough information to be a little informed and a lot dangerous. It’s the kind of thing that can convince people that doctors and the FDA are merely stooges for pharmaceutical companies, yet at the same time convince them to consume a wide array “herbal remedies” and other substances that are basically untested and unregulated. Skeptical but gullible, all at once. Now, I know you reading this are probably nodding in agreement, but take a moment to realize that you probably also know someone who absolutely views Google as “research,” as a primary and unimpeachable source of information. For real; I’m not kidding. They walk among us. And this is why we have a measles epidemic. It’s why we have “flat-earthers” somehow making a comeback and actually gaining converts. It’s why there are people who believe schools have litter boxes in classrooms, teach Critical Race Theory, or actually perform gender reassignments without their parents’ knowledge. This Friday, I have very little doubt you will come across some “9/11 Truthers” out there spewing their particular brand of idiocy. Apparently one can find community through stupidity online.

For my own part, I prefer to stand in…defiance…of this pervasive attitude. “In defiance of defiance?” Sure! Seriously, I stand in defiance of the kind of toxic individualism that ultimately leads to stupidity. In defiance of resistance to technologies and medical advances (the kind backed by actual science) that can improve my life and lifespan. In defiance of entitlement. In defiance of rudeness – to other drivers, to the server, to the referee, to the cashier, to the teacher. In defiance of behaving badly. But I stand in support of learning, of cooperation, of helping one another, of realizing that society really can produce win-win outcomes that benefit us all. The world could truly be a better place with a small dose of humility and a large dose of willingness to learn and grow. One of my favorite lines from 2025’s Superman is “Maybe that’s the real punk rock,” Clark’s perspective on his own positive view of humanity. So in that spirit, I hope that my own willingness to avoid the stupidity and seek out something better — learning all I can, trusting my doctor and other experts, taking a realistic view of my own place in the world and within the span of history, and most of all, showing some basic kindness and empathy — maybe I am the defiant one.

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Self-Centered Is Self-Sabotage

Let me begin this week’s post with a mundane activity that often gets overlooked, but that, personally, gives me a great deal of satisfaction: a proper highway merge. They happen every day — a car signals their intent, enters the on-ramp, accelerates to the proper speed for the surrounding traffic, and smoothly moves into the available open space in the lane. Do it correctly, and traffic keeps moving without any problem. Do it poorly, and traffic is disrupted. Now take it one step further: the on-ramp is actually an entry/exit combo, where there’s an extra lane so that entering traffic can merge onto the freeway and exiting traffic can make their way off. It seems simple, but I find it very cool when I’m in such a merge, another driver and I both signal our intentions correctly, then we essentially switch places in the merge lane and head our separate ways. It’s a little thing, but I love it. So satisfying.

Why is it satisfying? Because two complete strangers, each piloting more than a ton of machinery down the highway, manage to 1) follow the rules of the road, 2) pay attention to each other, and 3) complete a cooperative maneuver safely and smoothly. It’s one of those fundamental tasks that serves as evidence of human ability, even without taking into account the technological marvels of the machinery itself or the road we’re driving on. We manage to cooperate without incident at 50 miles per hour or more. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder why people struggle so much when the traffic lights go into flashing-red status for a boulevard stop, or why they can’t deal with a school bus coming to a stop to drop off students and halting traffic, or why drivers sometimes cannot figure out how to “zipper” to merge exiting a parking lot or consolidating into a single lane on the road.. Why is it so hard?

There’s a key term in the paragraph above: Cooperate. A compound word literally meaning “work together.” Cooperation is a concept in short supply in current American culture for a variety of reasons. I’m not here to delineate any of those reasons, to decry anything about the U.S., or to discuss political, economic, or broad cultural issues. Maybe sometime in the future. But today, I’m talking about cooperation, or lack of it, in terms of how it impacts our individual lives and the goals we pursue, through the lenses of both my voiceover career and my education career. One of the fundamental problems in both of these worlds is the logical opposite of cooperation, competition, which, at its core, is rooted in individualism. Individualism and self-reliance have their place, but too much of them often gets in the way because you’re too interested in beating someone rather than working with or helping them. In other words, when you’re self-centered, you focus on competing, not cooperating. This produces conflict, and it can actually hinder your career.

Competition is ultimately a self-centered notion. Yes, it is possible to have cooperation in competitive sports, because the members of one team have to cooperate among themselves to succeed against the opponent. But that’s the beauty of team sports: in order to compete, you have to cooperate first. It’s also one of the things I have always loved about being involved in band. Talk about the “3 Cs” of success: Collaboration, Communication, and Cooperation, all in service to learning to perform with musical excellence, both on the marching field and the concert stage. And yes, band can be a competitive venture, but ensembles that may not score at the top of a given recap sheet can still build success because they >>ta-da<< work and grow together. Ask any band member — or a member of a successful athletic or other team — and their memories usually don’t focus on a particular trophy, but rather the other people with whom they worked and sweated and cried and cheered and busted their tails trying to reach their goals. Sure, championships groups will always hold on to that achievement, but what truly makes it special are the people with whom you achieved.

Along the way, the most infuriating people you encounter are the ones who refuse to cooperate. Who won’t commit to the goals of the group. Who focus more on themselves than the team. Honestly, it’s why the concept of “cooperative learning” gave me proverbial hives as both a student and a teacher — place me in a group of 4-5 people, and I guarantee that I will work hard on the task at hand, even if it’s a little silly (I’m wired that way), but I also guarantee that at least one of the people in the group will NOT work hard, will not pull their own weight, and will be essentially an empty seat. I’ll bet you, dear reader, can remember a time or two when you had a deadbeat group member, which is why you, too, hated “group work” in school. Because there’s always someone who’s self-centered, selfish, or otherwise in conflict with the intended purpose of the given group. Maybe this person is competitive, or maybe they’re just naturally contrary. But they disrupt the collective efforts of everyone else. The concept doesn’t just stay isolated in school environments. Somewhere, there’s a company whose employees are expected to work together on projects, and there’s also that one person who just doesn’t step up and deliver for the group. Somewhere, there’s a professional athletic team with a player who is more concerned with his/her own statistics than with the performance of the team. And yes, somewhere there just might be a voiceover talent who places more emphasis on his/her “artistic concerns” than on the needs of the very people who hired him/her. And yes, somewhere there might be a teacher who isn’t helpful to colleagues, particularly new ones, and creates an unproductive competitive environment between him/herself and the other teachers “on the team.”

You might suspect that I experienced that last one, and you would be correct. I mentioned in a previous post about how the first five years of my education career were rough, and one of the fundamental reasons was my so-called “mentor teacher.” As I mentioned previously, I was initially hired to teach government and economics, and I was handed a class of each consisting 100% of special education students…because, as the established government and economics teachers said, “we just can handle working with them.” This pair of teachers were the only teachers of these classes prior to my hiring, and as they put it, “we consider our classes a rite of passage for seniors.” Obviously, there was a fair amount of arrogance from the outset, and my assigned mentor — the government teacher — carried most of it. He was that teacher who considered his little classroom in the portable building to be his own little fiefdom where he had total control, and his materials and assignments were proprietary to the highest degree. Before the year started, he handed me his “lesson plans” from the previous year (printed on a dot matrix printer — hello, 1994), and that was essentially my guide to, I don’t know…how to teach government? That was the extent of sharing and collegiality from this individual. I quickly came to realize that A) he printed those plans for administration but didn’t actually follow them, and B) I was on my own. And I would eventually hear tales of him discussing the differences between “the two government classes” with his own classes as my students and his compared notes and assignments. It became a sort of competitive environment, perhaps even a little toxic. While I don’t think in hindsight that it hindered or sabotaged my career, I know it didn’t help it. And the conflict that persisted those first three years was eventually why I was moved over to world geography in year 4. Mercifully, after that move, I found other teachers with whom to collaborate and from whom to learn and advance my skills. That feeling of cooperation within the world geography team likely saved my teaching career. Had I been consigned to a lonely world filled with competition and resentment, I probably would’ve left the profession completely.

Fortunately, my voiceover career hasn’t been quite so rough, despite the reputation the industry has for being competitive. Sure, there are thousands of “voiceover talents” out there, but one of the things that I and many others notice is that voice actors are very giving and helpful toward one another. In a world that should be ultra-competitive, there is instead an environment of collaboration, transparency, and cooperation, even from the oldest and most established talents toward brand-new talents seeking their own paths. Not everything is free, but information and advice are abundant, and the atmosphere is more welcoming than you might imagine. But one thing that inspired this post came unexpectedly during a voiceover conference I recently attended. The conference was a great experience overall, and I learned a lot from a variety of people, but during a break between sessions, I overheard a conversation between two people who were lamenting their own difficulties in the industry, and the mindset was rather revealing, and little disconcerting given how helpful everyone at the conference was. One woman was discussing her difficulties at getting any traction with auditions and bookings. She recounted to her friend that growing up, she wanted to be famous “like Dolly Parton.” (Ironic given the events of Tuesday. RIP Dolly.) I didn’t really pay attention to any of the further details, but it seemed like the general point of the conversation was basically all about “me, me, me” and “my voice” and the overall view that she didn’t think anyone was giving her a fair chance in the industry. It really bothered me because the attitude was in serious contrast to just about everything I was hearing in sessions and conversations at this conference. I mean, what do you expect? It’s a welcoming industry, but it can also be a grind, so you have to persist and really work at all of it. No one’s going to get “discovered,” but literally look around you and you’ll find many people willing to help you figure out how to get your own career going.

Even before the events of Tuesday and the tributes to Dolly Parton, my initial reaction to what I heard was a mix of surprise and skepticism, because anyone who was a fan of Dolly knew that she worked incredibly hard establishing herself as a country singer and songwriter, and if things weren’t going her way, she never whined about it and just worked harder. And Dolly’s efforts were never about herself, but about writing music that appealed to her fans, doing things that served her community, and just helping others. The tributes starting Tuesday merely cemented those ideas with tales of how graceful and genuine she was as a person. So looking back, hearing another voiceover talent complaining and being self-centered drove home the notion that this person was really missing the point. You want to be famous like Dolly? Work your tail off. Bring something to the table that no one else can. Find an audience to serve, and serve them. And most of all, work well with others. Cooperate. Collaborate. That’s what leads to success. And that brings me back full circle to the point of this post. Individualism, self-centered behavior, greed…they’re forces that can motivate people in a free society, and certainly in a capitalist economy, but they’re not the point or the goal. Capitalism is supposed to reward you when you provide someone else something better than they can themselves. That’s why they pay you; that’s why they say “Thank You.” And you thank them back for the reward that you should have rightfully earned by providing quality. It’s a Win-Win mentality. Self-centered perspective without regard for someone else leads nowhere. Stop worrying about winning a competition or prevailing in a conflict. Stop adopting a Win-Lose mentality. Focus on how you can work with someone else toward a purpose that is mutual, whether that’s as simple as a safe, smooth transition on a freeway, as complex as planning lessons with teaching colleagues, or as creative as a project or event for which you provide a voiceover. Cooperate toward a greater goal, a collective goal. Play a part in a larger story, and serve. It’s satisfying.

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Day 1: Chaos, Excitement, and Hope

Happy First Day of School. I know some of you already experienced that last week (or even earlier), but for my local school district and many nearby, it’s happening today, or at least this week. I consider the First Day of School a little more personal this year because I have a grand-niece who enters Kindergarten today (at the same school her father attended), and my youngest son will experience what I expect to be his final “first day of school” soon as he gets ready to complete his Bachelor’s degree next spring. I suppose grad school might be a possibility, but for now, it’s his last first day. Honestly, once you get to college, the First Day of School means less and less. Or does it? The bottom line for me is that the First Day of School is filled with a myriad of emotions, and that makes it special, uniquely so for each of us.

When I was a student, the First Day of School each year was actually a time of excitement and anticipation more than anxiety and trepidation. That’s in spite of the fact that, on my very first day of First Grade (my parents didn’t want to send me to Kindergarten), I was pretty scared, and I was also literally attacked from behind by a jerk who rubbed soap all over my face and in my eyes. I think that kid actually ended up in prison later in life, but what I remember more than him are the other kids who stopped him, got the teacher, and helped me rinse off and clean up. I never encountered such drama (or trauma) on subsequent first days, but I do remember enjoying the return to classes, seeing my friends again, and the overall novelty of a new school year. There was something cool about new clothes, new school supplies, new books, and new classes and teachers. It was a hopeful time. As I reached high school, the First Day of School was really offset by the first day of Band Camp. By the time we started the school year, I had already spent two or more weeks working in marching band rehearsals. Still, I do recall the First Day each year in high school being somewhere between chaos and outright anarchy. The band hall became a place of refuge, where the people and the routines were more familiar. I suspect the chaos arose from the fact that high school involved changing classes every 55 minutes, to go with schedule changes and, of course, multiple lunch periods (and off-campus lunch for everyone).

Once I got to college, the First Day of School still came after a week of Band Camp (the time for true excitement), but the chaos ramped up a bit thanks to traffic and parking challenges. I was fortunate to be one of those students whose schedule remained stable, and I managed to craft a workable plan to seek out parking every semester. My favorite part of First Day in college was short classes. Why? We would typically only go over the syllabus on the first day, so it was usually a brief overview of what to expect, then send you on your way. No readings, no assignments, nothing special or pressure-packed yet. Not sure it works that way now, in the era of LMS-based content where you can see everything you’ve got to do for the entire semester on one screen and often have at least some discussion post required within a few days. But in those days, the First Day shortened class was glorious. I remember certain professors being very relaxed and straight-forward on that first day, basically laying out how it is and how it’s going to be, and most of all, communicating “how to succeed in this class.” I found that kind of honesty and candor to be hopeful and uplifting, because there was never anything more infuriating to me in education than “guess what’s in my head” games on the part of the teacher.

The glory, honesty, and candor more or less continued during my years running my own classroom. I thoroughly enjoyed the First Day of School from the perspective of a high school teacher. Because I enjoyed the beauty of no assignments on Day 1, I had that approach in my own classroom. “This will be the easiest and toughest day of this class,” I would tell my students. It’s easy because they won’t have anything due at the end of class or the next day, but it’s tough because there’s a lot of information to absorb while only scratching the surface, so they may not know exactly what to expect yet and have many, many questions. I also enjoyed being able to establish at least the beginnings of the classroom culture. My classes were almost exclusively populated with seniors, so I told them “I will treat you like adults, and I expect you to act like adults.” I never wanted to be the teacher who laid out way too many ground rules for the class. My goal was always that we achieved the day’s learning objective(s) in the most efficient, effective way possible. We would have fun at times, but I couldn’t guarantee that every class would be laugh-a-minute or entertaining. I mean, it’s economics, so manage your expectations. I would be as easy-going about the course as I was allowed to be by circumstances. So if it’s tougher content, expect a more serious approach. If there’s something outside this classroom disrupting what we do, we may need to work a little harder to achieve our goals. But above all, as long as students remained focused on getting done what I ask them to do, I could be as laid-back and humorous as I desired, which was generally quite a bit. I will never forget the kid named John who came into my class on the First Day of School ever at Summit High School in Mansfield ISD and told me, “I go by ‘Reggie.’” He was actually making a joke, but let me tell you, he was Reggie in my class from then on, because A) I loved the joke, and B) it was a little humor that was reserved for this course and this class period in my room. It was our thing in that class, and I think anytime we could establish some kind of rapport like that on the First Day, or even during the first week or month, it made the day-to-day grind of school much more interesting. It was an unexpected setting of tone for that particular class, and I was all for it.

Once I moved into administration, the First Day of School took on far less meaning. Technically, the “school year” for administrators goes from July 1 to June 30. Most districts now close during the week of July 4, so the first day of a given school year occurs right after that, in early July, when admin are working on preparations for the new academic year — planning professional development, building the master schedule, hiring new teachers and staff, managing cleanup and improvements of the building, etc. When I worked in central office, the month of July was all about reports based on available test results and other data from the previous school year. We also planned out the specific testing-related events for the coming school year. Once August arrived, we were more focused on impending accountability results than the First Day of School. We essentially stayed out of the campuses’ way since they had enough happening already. Classes still started, but we were largely Under the radar. In a way, I relished that situation, because the First Day belongs to teachers and students more than anyone else. If you’ve read any of my previous posts about teaching, you know that I consider teacher-student interaction to be a nearly sacred part of education. The First Day of School is the first step each year toward establishing that interaction. It never bothered me while I was in central administration that I didn’t get to experience Day 1 anymore, because Day 1 wasn’t about anything I did for the district.

After I moved into campus administration, I wanted to maintain that same level of deference. My goal as a campus administrator on the First Day was simply to help students find their way throughout the building, so I would station myself in one of the common areas and seek out students to assist. “What room are you looking for?” “Can I help you find your next class?” If the teacher-student interaction is so important, then the best service I could provide was to help students find the physical locations of their teachers. What’re more, once students learned that I was the campus testing coordinator, I figured it might be helpful that they associated me more with “that nice man who helped me find my class” than “that jerk who runs all the big tests.” So I did just that; be helpful from Day 1. And the plan worked great until the specter of overzealous local assessment reared its ugly head. Enter MAP Testing. Now, the Measures of Academic Progress assessment (“MAP Growth,” as it’s called in the K-12 education world), provided by NWEA is, itself, an actual quality assessment born of years of experience and development. And the NWEA officials that I’ve worked with in the past were very nice people who were responsive to the concerns of administrators. The problem, as it generally was in my final ISD, was that district assessment decision-makers sought to implement MAP in a manner that was detrimental to the students at my campus. MAP Growth could’ve been administered anytime between August 15 through November 30. Over 3 months to give the test! Yet our district insisted on attempting to test everyone at the absolute beginning of that window, as early as possible. “Welcome to the First Day of School, kids. Now take this multiple choice test!” What are we even doing?!? This approach flies directly in the face of everything I’ve just talked about regarding the First Day of School. Establish culture? Heck No, take this test. Outline expectations? Heck No, take this test. Develop relationships and rapport? Heck No, take this test. As I’ve indicated before, local assessment obsession definitely belongs on the list of reasons why I decided to retire from the profession.

Either way, I still maintain that the First Day of School has the potential to be a positive experience that sets the tone and establishes the foundation for a successful school year. Yes, there will be chaos and confusion. Yes, there may be anxiety. But those emotions should be outweighed by the productive, by the helpful, by the hope and anticipation that Day 1 of this new experience should bring. The old adage says that you only get one chance to make a first impression. Use it wisely. Spend the day engaging in something constructive, something that creates the proper setting, even if it isn’t for a grade, even if it isn’t “rigorous academic work,” even if it’s not specifically tied to the curriculum. Those things come soon enough. Students, I hope you’re just as excited about new things, returning friends, and new teachers and learning as I was in my youth. Teachers, I hope you approach this First Day of School with the same excitement and anticipation for your subject and your new students that I had once upon a time. There is nothing like the impact of a quality teacher-student relationship on the lives of so many. Here’s to building multitudes of them this year. Happy First Day of School, everyone. And may this school year and all those in the future feed your mind and your soul.

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Go Ahead, Waste My Time

The term “convocation” comes from the Latin convocare, which means “to call together.” It’s an assembly, usually of an academic or ecclesiastical nature. Typically, an ecclesiastical convocation might involve church leaders — ordained, lay, sometimes a mix of both. An academic convocation might occur for a many reasons. Technically, all graduations are also convocations, since the school community meets to confer academic diplomas or degrees, but most schools don’t mix the terms. Instead, they refer to graduation as “graduation” or sometimes “commencement.” Today, “convocation” in the academic world is celebrated more as beginning than end. My own alma mater, U.T.-Arlington, hosts an assembly at the beginning of each fall semester that they call “MavsMeet Convocation.” It’s a kickoff to the academic year designed to bring together people from all colleges within the University. It’s basically a pep rally focused on the coming school year, geared toward generating energy, focus, and inspiration for the students. Most local school districts in my area also host convocations, although these gatherings are designed for the staff. We’re talking everyone — administrators, teachers, counselors, nutrition staff, bus drivers, maintenance, security — the whole crew. And I have little doubt that anyone reading this who is or has been in education has already rolled their eyes, rubbed their temples, or placed a palm to the face. Because academic convocation is often a tiresome experience.

During my 31 years in K-12 public education, I attended exactly 30 convocations, all of them in August. (The one I missed was in 2017 when my wife and I visited New York City for my birthday. Ironically, on the day of convocation we attended a taping of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, which was a sharp contrast to your average school district convocation. I’ll offer specifics later.) Honestly, I can only remember about ten of those thirty convocations, and only six of those are for the right reasons. I almost feel bad for the organizers at times, because I know your typical district communications team works very hard to put together a convocation program. They have to work out the transportation logistics of getting everyone to the venue, plan a “pre-activity” to allow for people to enter the space, then figure out how to fill 90-120 minutes with entertainment and information that will be appealing and engaging for that wide audience. It’s definitely a monumental task. And it’s probably gutting to know that A) at least half the audience doesn’t really want to be there, and B) as a result, there’s around a 60-75% chance that the post-convocation sentiment will be negative. And I feel for the organizers; I really do. It’s kind of a thankless annual task, and I’m sure they do their best in spite of the overwhelming chance that it’ll still be a beating. Remember, I worked in testing for almost two decades; “thankless annual tasks” are my specialty.

Despite my sympathy, I still have to say it: School convocations are a waste of time, and money. And we all know it. Yet for some reason, school districts still host them in the name of tradition, or camaraderie, or some imagined district-wide spirit of unity they’re trying to foster. And I get that, too. There’s perhaps a certain anti-climactic quality to a school year that simply begins at your own campus, with only campus meetings and trainings to attend — at least, in the mind of upper administration and the board of trustees, who see the district from a broader perspective and want all parties to feel like they are part of a greater whole. And in all honesty, there is some value in having every single staff member convene in a single venue to send the message that “we value you,” “you’re an important part of a larger team,” and “we wish you a successful school year.” Teachers often lament feeling unimportant, and delivering such a message via e-mail or a Zoom meeting is…well…lame. So yeah, in spite of the time it takes to get everyone to a single place, then seated and settled, it can be nice to have the Superintendent and the School Board President offer some heartfelt messages. That assumes that the Superintendent and School Board President are decent speakers delivering concise, coherent thoughts. I’ve heard some great ones, like Dr. Jim Vaszauskas in Mansfield (who never got enough credit for being funny, direct, and engaging), and I’ve heard some who take themselves way too seriously. I’ve also heard some who perhaps aspire to a career in public speaking after education, but aren’t quite there yet, ifyouknowwhatImean. It can also be nice to have fellow staff members and even students or former students take the stage to offer thanks and encouragement. Depending on your level of experience and connection with others in the district, I think it can also be nice to see people from other campuses and departments, chat about your respective summers, and visit before and after the convocation ceremony. 

Teachers often lament feeling isolated in their specific classroom on their specific campus, and convocation gives them a chance to escape for a couple of hours and connect with others they may not see again until this time next year. Those are good things. Connection, community, and a sense of belonging. You can definitely separate the extroverts from the introverts at convocation, as the extroverts are dancing around and whooping it up while the introverts just want to find their seats and wakemewhenitsover. Districts often pull out the local stops with a variety of students: a marching band, cheerleaders, spirit groups, choirs and other performers on the stage. Sometimes there are staff members who help provide the entertainment, like the great Josh Roberts of Four Day Weekend, but often, we find out why this or that staff member made their way into education instead of entertainment. That’s not a criticism of the staff who don’t quite “have it,” though. We know we’re wasting time today, so let’s at least have fun with it. Give the extroverts a chance to unleash their energy. Give the wannabe performers a chance to perform. And please, at least give everyone a genuine message (not necessarily “this year’s motto”) about how important we consider their contributions to the students about whom this whole upcoming year is supposed to be.

Yet there’s always an apparent expectation of more. More entertainment. More inspiration. More speeches. And that’s where most convocations eventually fly off the rails and lead everyone from “This is fun!” back to “Can I go back to the campus and work in my room now?” Because time starts crawling by, wasting away. I refer, of course, to the “convocation speaker.” Usually an individual, occasionally a group, whose purpose is to offer roughly 45-90 minutes of inspirational stories and words of encouragement that will send everyone off in a fantastic mood ready to conquer their classroom, their curriculum, and everything else this school year. I can say that I’ve heard from excellent convocation speakers in my career. Ron Clark (twice). Kim Bearden (from the Ron Clark Academy). Dr. Adolph Brown (also twice). Riney Jordan. Those are the six convocation speeches that really resonated with me in a memorable way, and if you’ve ever heard any of them speak, you know why. The others? Some speakers were probably good, too, but not in a unique or memorable way. I do remember some of the bad ones. My first convocation in August 1994 was memorable because the speaker kept leaning into the microphone and yelling. Trouble is, her amplified yells actually hurt my right ear. I went to the doctor literally that afternoon and learned I had fluid build-up like I had been too close to a gunshot. No permanent damage, but I did have to protect my ear for a few days. I remember one speaker who was doing a backwoods/country persona, telling nonsensical stories that went nowhere. I think it was comedic, but I’m not sure if it was genuinely funny or just absurd. I do know it was not really topical for this audience, and a colossal waste of time. And I will never forget the overall reaction (or lack of it) to the group that “performed” at my last convocation in August 2024. Each of us were handed a pair of drumsticks on the way into the auditorium, branded with the Grand Prairie ISD logo and that year’s motto, “Elevate.” There were moments where everyone was supposed to tap the sticks together as part of the presentation, but truth be told, I never perceived any point to what we were supposed to be doing, and it was possibly the flattest I’ve ever seen a convocation audience in my career. No one really knew what was happening. I’m not sure the performers really knew their audience; their schtick seemed to be very generic and not properly targeted for this group. This convocation total waste, including any money spent. For a district that was facing shrinking budgets, using money on this was unacceptable. But I kept those drumsticks as a reminder — like administrators will encourage teachers to “Remember Your ‘Why,’” those drumsticks allow me to “Remember My ‘Why I Retired.’” With apologies to the organizers of that convocation, it was, in a word, boring.

The point is really this: If we’re going to waste everyone’s time on a given day prior to the first day of school, then at least bring it. 100% Don’t bore us. I referenced earlier that the one convocation I missed was because I was in New York attending a taping of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. I can assert that it was far more memorable than any convocation I ever attended. Why? One word: Energy. It was definitely not a ”big” show for them. Robert Pattinson and Niecy Nash were the guests. Nice enough, but clearly just a Wednesday in August. Yet the energy and professionalism of everyone on the Late Show staff was top-tier. Warm-up comic Paul Mecurio was hilarious. Jon Batiste was a veritable freak of nature and a world-class musician leading a band that was insanely good, especially considering the tickets were free. Colbert himself exuded so much enthusiasm in the pre-show banter, and his rapport with Batiste was amazing. All of this activity was designed to raise the level of energy among the audience so that, when the cameras actually rolled, the Ed Sullivan Theater seemed like the greatest place on the planet.

Granted, that’s the point of any late night TV talk show, because that aura helps keep the viewer at home engaged. It goes with the territory. We shouldn’t have high expectations of our convocations, though, should we? I’m saying here and now, absolutely we should. I know that The Late Show catered to a live audience of around 400+, and many school districts have at least 10 times that number of employees. I know that district communications staff have a multitude of tasks beyond simply the annual convocation. But here’s the thing: Even though a convocation is technically about 2-3 hours, it actually burns half a day, morning or afternoon. That’s a morning or afternoon during which teachers could be preparing for the year, working in their rooms, planning lessons, collaborating with each other. There is stuff to do to get ready for the school year, by every staff member, and this exercise interferes with that. Yet that’s fine, keep up the tradition of convocation. Waste everyone’s time. Spend some money on a speaker. But if you’re going to insist on holding this event, please do it right. Plan some entertainment, plan some speeches, but don’t allow them to be boring. Make the extra phone call and put in the extra work to ensure that the entertainment actually entertains and that the speeches actually inspire. And for goodness’ sake, if you’re hiring a contract speaker/presenter, vet them properly. Just because the superintendent saw them at a conference and thought they were pretty good isn’t enough, especially when spending taxpayer dollars within a tight budget. Check reviews, check references, and work with the presenter to ensure they understand who the audience is and what the point of this presentation is. It’s one thing for district officials to gather staff to tell them how important they are, but the event itself, and the work that goes into it, shows them. So sure, go ahead and waste my time. Just don’t bore me.

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In Fact, It IS That Difficult…

“It can’t be THAT difficult to…” We hear the sentiment time and again, how easy it must be to accomplish the things we observe on TV, in a movie, on a show, while we sit at a restaurant or stand in a store, when we’re at the game. It can’t be that difficult, right? How difficult is it for your server to get the drinks and bring them back to the table? How difficult is it for that batter to see the ball going WAY outside, and not swing? How difficult is it to teach simple 8th grade math concepts? How difficult is it for the quarterback to hit the open receiver? How difficult is it for the barista to make your coffee? How difficult is it for the goalkeeper to clear the ball from his side of the field? How difficult is it for the store manager to see that they need to open another checkout lane? How difficult is it for the team’s general manager to put together a competitive roster? How difficult is it for that news anchor or radio host to read the teleprompter, or pronounce that word, or just express a coherent thought? How difficult is it to give us exactly what we want, when we want it? Because you know, it’s JUST [fill in blank here].

You might read the questions above and realize there’s difficulty in literally every activity addresseded above, and so many more. And if you do, you would be in the minority. We live in a time of extraordinary entitlement, filled with people demanding everything, all the time, right now, and if you can’t deliver it, then you must be some kind of moron. Because it’s easy. It’s just water or soft drinks. It’s obvious on the TV. It’s only basic algebraic concepts. It’s a simple throw. It’s only coffee. It’s just kicking a ball. It’s obvious to everyone in the store. This or that team manages to acquire great players all the time. It’s just reading or talking. Why are you so dense that you can’t get it done?

Last post, I wrote about “confident idiocy,” which is essentially born of an appalling lack of self-awareness and introspection, thinking you know better than experts despite lack of knowledge, or perhaps because of a tiny bit of knowledge that you decide is enough. But this post is more about a growing lack of empathy, a lack of respect for the efforts of others, a judgmental arrogance that assumes someone else is an idiot because they’re not delivering what we literally take for granted. Maybe call this person a churlish egomaniac; I don’t know. But where the confident idiot refuses help or expertise because he/she assumes he/she knows enough, the churlish egomaniac assumes someone else is an idiot because they’re not meeting some kind of preconceived expectation and are therefore devoid of any claim to respect or dignity.

Several years ago, I knew someone who thought her son was basically a genius. Granted, he was smart and hard-working, but not some type of prodigy who could skip grade levels or create art, math equations, or science experiments that were extraordinarily advanced for his age. And in Grade 8, this student struggled a little with math. He wasn’t failing, but he was making some Bs and perhaps even Cs on some assignments. And that was apparently unacceptable for this person’s precious angel. So of course, it was the teacher’s fault. “She’s terrible. They need to fire her.” And then came the kicker, “…how hard could it be for the school to find a better math teacher?!?” Naturally, the educator in me had to speak up and point out that A) lots of students struggle here and there with Grade 8 math (it’s a very common tale); B) that teacher had been at that school for several years, so there’s inadequate evidence to declare this teacher “terrible” just because your kid made some grades below an A; and C) math teachers are simply not easy to find, especially good ones, especially at the junior high level. So how hard could it be? INCREDIBLY hard. Incredibly hard to convince a capable individual to get a degree in a math-related field, pursue a teaching certificate in math, learn to manage school classrooms, AND accept a job teaching at a public junior high school. Oh, and do so in a way that resonates perfectly with your son, who might be challenging to instruct at the ripe old age of 13 despite how brilliant you think he is. These people are not plentiful, and the people who do devote themselves to teaching this subject at this grade level deserve some level of respect. And to conclude otherwise is probably a little egotistical, and even more churlish.

But this is often how people respond, isn’t it? We forget that the batter who just struck out isn’t seeing the ball in slow-motion replay; he’s watching it in real time at around 90 miles-per-hour and has a split second to react before it curves that far outside. We don’t consider that he was the best player on every team he played for until he was 18, or that he has immersed himself physically and mentally in this game, possibly to his own long-term detriment, to fulfill the dream of playing at this level. Same goes for that goalkeeper who whiffs a kick in a huge match. Or perhaps the quarterback who throws an interception while trying to lead his team on a critical drive. These athletes trained for this their entire lives. They make a critical mistake at the worst possible time, and they might be haunted by it for the rest of their lives. Do you really think berating and booing them over it has any productive effect at all? I know that many of them makes obscene amounts of money, but that’s only because the entertainment industry that promotes the sport in which they participate compensates them for all the talent and work they’ve put into their own performance. Anyone who ascends to a “world-class” level is going to be paid well, especially when there’s TV money involved. But that doesn’t mean they’re always going to get the hit, make the throw or catch successfully, get the save, make the shot, or kick the winning goal. That’s “how it goes,” as they say, and we don’t have to respond with churlishness. If it’s that bad, turn off the TV, or stop buying tickets, and stop supporting the player or the team. It’s the lovely thing about living in a society based on free choice — you’re not being forced to go, or watch, or pay any attention at all to these athletes you think are terrible, or these movies you don’t care for, or those TV shows you think are bad.

What’s even worse is when the object of our churlish egomania isn’t making obscene money. We lament how long it takes to get our glass of water or our plate of food, ignoring the fact that the server is working 3 additional tables besides our 12-top, for below minimum wages plus tips. We don’t know if there are issues in the kitchen that are slowing the servers down or other factors influencing the circumstances. We look down our noses at the barista who’s working on five different orders at once, trying to get everyone taken care of quickly and accurately, and we ignore that this person might have several other things going on in their life that might just slow them down or otherwise interfere with our own expectations. So what if they make a mistake? You just ask, and they’ll make it right. So what if they take an extra minute or two? If you’re in that much of a hurry, maybe you should’ve left earlier or skipped this trip to the coffee house. Show some grace. They’re definitely not making pro-athlete money here. We crab about the store manager who’s not doing enough, in our minds, to get extra cashiers at the front lanes on our trip to big box retailer. How do we know they haven’t had people call in sick? How do we know they aren’t just short-staffed this day, this week, or this month? Patience costs nothing. Grace costs nothing. And if you don’t have the time to wait, perhaps come back another time when you’ll have more time. Or heck, shop somewhere else if this place always has long wait times.

But that would involve seeking to solve the problem for ourselves, wouldn’t it? And that’s too much trouble. So instead, far too many people adopt their own churlish, egomaniacal stance and decide “it can’t be THAT difficult.” Because complaints are consequence-free when you dismiss the difficulty of a given job out-of-hand. And that paves the way for dehumanizing the server, the barista, the cashier, the actor, or the athlete, even when those people may simply be having a bad day. But what if we put ourselves in their shoes? Not figuratively, but literally. I am or have been a part of two separate industries where people do just that, because they assumed going in that “it couldn’t be that difficult.” Lots of people assume that because they were once a student for 12+ years, they should be able to gain certification, and become teachers, with ease. And yet, the landscape is riddled with people who, quite possibly, spent several years and a fair amount of money getting teaching certification, only to discover in the actual classroom that it really IS that difficult, and this profession isn’t for them. Similarly, lots of people assume that voiceover is a really easy career path, because “it’s only talking.” So they buy a $140 Blue Yeti microphone from Best Buy (or if they’re beholden to trends, a $440 Shure SM7B) and declare themselves “voice artists.” And they don’t realize the coaching, practice, recording and production work, marketing, and more coaching that voiceover demands for someone to become a true professional, and to maintain their skills to meet the changing needs of buyers in a dynamic industry literally built on the latest trends. And so, the landscape is riddled with people who claim to “work in voiceover” but have never booked a job, ever. And voiceover “pay-to-play” casting sites have thousands of unused subscriptions, along with thousands of weak auditions with terrible audio and a read that sounds exactly like someone reading awkwardly from a script. And eBay has lots of lightly used Blue Yetis and Shure SM7Bs available very cheaply. And there are hundreds of podcasts with poor production quality and not much to say, that are heard by no one. Because it IS that difficult, to learn true voiceover skill, to develop recording and production knowledge, to establish a client base, and to deliver quality work for which buyers pay good money. Not Fiverr money, good money. The truth is that anyone wanting to make decent money in teaching, voiceover, sports, acting, waiting tables, or any other skilled profession, has to work at it. A lot. For a long time. They might not need to love it, but they at least need to like it enough to put in the amount and type of work that is rewarded on a higher level.

And there’s the trick, right? “Churlish egomania,” much like “confident idiocy,” is born of a pervasive laziness underlying our sense of entitlement and superiority. The person with access to quality higher education, who never finishes a degree and bounces randomly from job-to-job without ever settling into an actual career often does so because this person doesn’t have the wherewithal to engage in the work it takes to establish a career, let alone thrive in one. That’s why they never finished a degree in the first place. That’s why they dabble but never commit. But you’d better believe this person has something to say when their meal is slow to arrive or appears below expectations. Avoiding such behavior requires a conscious choice. That means avoiding the laziness that fosters entitlement in an effort to abandon that sense of entitlement altogether. It means realizing that, yes, that job probably IS that difficult, even if we consider it menial, and especially if it looks easy. That person doing the job makes it look easy most of the time, because they took the time and made effort to master the skills involved. While it may seem inviting to suggest that everyone should be required to teach for a semester, or work in retail for a quarter, or wait tables for a month, it’s not a realistic solution. But everyone can at least admit that they might not be capable of handling those jobs, then adopt a more gracious, empathetic perspective toward them. Honestly, if we were all so talented and knowledgeable about running a baseball team, we’d probably all be working as professional baseball general managers. If we knew how to prepare extravagant meals quickly, we would be doing it instead of relying on someone else. If we were that great hitting a baseball, we’d be getting paid handsomely to swing a bat. If we could do it ourselves, we would. And since we can’t, and don’t, maybe we can treat the people doing any of these jobs better. Because the job really IS that difficult. But treating another person with dignity shouldn’t be.

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The Dangers of Confident Idiocy

We are idiots. Every single one of us. Not all the time, but enough of the time. Most of us don’t intend to be idiots; we just are. Because humans are prone to make mistakes. Humans are prone to make poor choices. Humans are prone to indecision that leads to negative consequences. Even if you’re smart, well-educated, mature, and wise, you have and/or will come across a moment that you will look back on someday and declare, “Boy, I sure was an idiot when _______.” Possibly more than one. It’s really part of the human condition. Idiocy can be the very thing that leads us to wisdom, IF we’re willing to learn, to grow, to accept our own limitations and either work to overcome them or accept help. But that can be a tough thing, “willing to…” In a country like the United States, where so many in the populace pride themselves on a myth of self-reliance and individualism, a “by my own bootstraps” mindset that often ignores and avoids admitting mistakes and seeking help, it’s no wonder that wisdom and maturity end up in short supply. What replaces them is often unwarranted confidence mixed with a large dose of ignorance, or worse, just a tiny bit of knowledge. It becomes an almost poisonous mix that isn’t likely to lead to anything good. And the confident idiot that decides to forge ahead armed only with their own self-assurance and misconceptions tends to wreak havoc on themselves and possibly others.

We have all met these people. My own life has been littered with them, among family, co-workers, acquaintances, and even, occasionally, people I call friends. Although to be fair, I try to be a good friend who gently challenges my friends’ notions when they’re confident in their own idiocy. Because friends don’t let friends be idiots. Friends don’t let friends embark alone on some project for which they are massively unqualified. A friend honestly asks, “Do you have the background and experience to make that work?” Friends don’t watch each other looking pale and worn out, stopping to catch their breath while simply walking, and say nothing, especially if it’s something unusual. Friends don’t let friends ignore the pain in their side, or in their knees, or especially in their head. A friend notices the change in behavior and says, “Maybe you should see a doctor.” Better to be safe than sorry, to be prepared than overmatched, to seek help when it’s appropriate.

Health issues are commonly where we all experience, and possibly engage in, confident idiocy. When’s the last time you had a physical exam complete with tests of at least your blood and urine? I know that might be a sensitive question, but the answer often reveals this behavior pattern. I will admit that I had been resistant to the annual physical exam prior to entering my 50s, but I am happy to say I got over my trepidation, found a doctor who I believed would give me the kind of direct, no-nonsense advice I need, and committed to regular checkups. More importantly, I follow his advice and make the adjustments to diet, exercise, lifestyle, etc., that he recommends. I’m not going to be the guy who assumes “when you go to the doctor, it’s guaranteed they’ll find something wrong.” I’m not going to be the guy who hears the doctor but only listens selectively because “I was a pre-med major during my freshman year in college.” (Who-knows-how many years ago…) I’m not going to be the guy who arbitrarily decides that all doctors are just stooges of big pharma, looking to prescribe unnecessary medications. Sure, if you think your doctor is over-medicating you, then seek out someone new. But drawing conclusions about all doctors, especially if you have no medical training, is irresponsible and irrational. And no, watching stuff about medical professionals on YouTube doesn’t qualify as medical training. Consulting a doctor only when you’re sick, ignoring regular exams, and especially ignoring standard medical advice isn’t a smart path to a healthy and productive life. Why ignore or even actively defy the opinion(s) of experts who have spent years training and practicing their craft, which is designed to help you?

Therein lies a key to the confident idiot. Expertise. Or rather, lack of expertise. The confident idiot doesn’t subscribe to needing experts. They don’t think they need assistance. They don’t want your fancy “book learning.” “They’ve done just fine with their finances, or their health, or their emotions, or their vehicles, or their home, or, or, or…” And therefore, they believe they have no need of “so-called experts.” Anytime you hear someone use that phrase, you can expect to encounter confident idiocy, because the phrase “so-called” intentionally attempts to belittle the experts, thereby elevating the apparent knowledge of the confident idiot, at least in his/her mind. “So-called” is nothing more than an attempt to dismiss expertise — of the doctor, the nurse, the physician’s assistant, the attorney, the legal assistant, the teacher, the principal, counselor, the therapist, the auto mechanic, the industrial engineer, the architect, the urban planner, the government worker, the realtor, the HVAC technician, the plumber, the roofer, the musician, the videographer, the photographer, the sound engineer, the contractor, the electrician, the construction worker…heck, even the server at a restaurant. Think of any profession that requires a measurable amount of training and experience, wherein the individual develops any level of expertise on a subject over time, and there is a confident idiot out there who will refer to that person as a “so-called expert.” That’s the mental game that’s played. And in this era of social media and YouTube, too often the mental game leads to content creation designed to belittle expertise on a global scale. And confident idiocy spreads like a virus.

That virus does damage, and plenty of it. Sometimes the damage seems minor, like when an obstinate husband insists that he knows where he’s going, so he refuses to ask anyone for directions or consult GPS and ultimately gets lost, or at least arrives late to the destination. Sometimes the damage is major, like the parent who rejects routine vaccinations on behalf of her children for eradicated diseases like measles, only to spark an outbreak of measles later on. “But I saw a video on YouTube explaining the dangers of childhood vaccines.” What did your doctor say? “I don’t trust doctors.” Uh-huh. Sometimes the damage is downright catastrophic, like the lifelong smoker who refuses to quit, who eats unhealthy much of the time, and who doesn’t heed tiny warning signs until it’s too late. “If only we knew.” You could’ve known, except for the confident idiocy that assumed everything would just be fine and avoided routines scans and checkups. Sometimes the damage has a ripple effect, like the parent who insists on “home-schooling” her child despite being wholly unqualified to do so, then attempts to enroll that child as a high school freshman only to learn the student is several years behind academically. “Can you still help her get into a good college?” Let’s try to ensure she can pass high school classes first, let alone graduate. College is the least of her worries right now. Or perhaps it’s the person who died without any kind of will, or a will that hasn’t been properly prepared and/or vetted by a licensed attorney, so the estate goes through more hassles and legal fees than necessary. All because a confident idiot just decided that attorneys’ fees are merely attempts to siphon off cash with no benefit. Uh-huh. Instead, that person passes more expensive burdens onto the survivors in the name of self-reliance. “I can do it just fine.” Can you?

And therein lies the real question: How well can you, the person in the mirror, succeed without help, and in what ventures? Maybe you are the kind of person who can learn with incredible ease, and a few trustworthy videos online and perhaps a book or two are all you need to learn what you need. Or maybe you’re not. Or maybe you have no idea what you really need. I’ve observed both types of people many times, both in the education world and in the voiceover world. And the truth is, even the people who can figure it out easily on their own usually shouldn’t because they don’t have to. There’s always someone available to help, and they’re not always cost-prohibitive, especially when you consider the greater cost of insisting on individuality, failing spectacularly, and being forced to seek help, sometimes in desperation. For every person who is adept at using YouTube to figure out how to complete a complex project, there are many more that mess it up and spend more money calling in an expert to clean up the mess. The education world is riddled with teachers who struggled or failed unnecessarily because they refused help. The voiceover world is riddled with talents who were forced to work harder because they refused to seek quality coaching and/or sent out a terrible DIY demo. But seeking out help when you don’t even know you might need it requires a significant amount of introspection. It requires you to take a truly honest look in the mirror, at your own skills, at your own experience, and at your own goals, and admitting that maybe, just maybe…you, too, are an idiot in the context at hand. But at the very least, you don’t have to project false confidence about yourself in spite of it.

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Get Busy Living

What matters to you? I don’t mean abstract philosophical concepts like peace, love, and happiness. This isn’t a pageant interview. But I’ll ask again: What matters to you? More specifically, what aspects of your life matter to you? What are your personal and professional priorities? Who do you care about? Whose company do you enjoy? Whose presence do you value? Who and what make you better, as a professional, as a family member, as a parent or child, as a human being? What people, thoughts, items, attitudes, habits, foods, routines, and experiences help you live a better life?

Yes, that is a lot of introspection heading into a holiday weekend in the middle of summer. But don’t forget, the second half of 2026 just began, so it’s a great time to re-evaluate the year’s progress, and these questions serve a deeper purpose tied to a simple concept: Life Is Short. If you prefer, “life moves pretty fast,” as Ferris Bueller famously quipped. Or pick another favorite maxim — Live Life to the Fullest. Make Every Moment Count. Dance Like No One’s Watching. Time Waits for No One. Carpe Diem. These are all actually uplifting sentiments, geared toward personal progress. For me, they’ve been incredibly comforting of late, because I’ve recently been cataloging the losses I’ve experienced, either personally or vicariously, over the past few years.

Out of nowhere (not really, but it felt like it), I received the news recently that my high school graduating class is having its 40-year reunion this fall. Yes, I graduated high school in 1986; I’m old. I never attended my 10-, 20-, 25-, 30-, or 35-year reunions (most likely because I was involved in some kind of PA announcing gig or something similar), but I’ll actually be free to attend this year, and I really want to go. One of the requests made by an organizer was an update on all the members of our class that we know have passed away. They want to have a tribute featuring photos of those who are no longer around to join us, and I love the idea. Trouble is, researching for those kinds of projects is tough, not because the information is difficult to find, but because you have to learn or relive news about all the people who have died with whom you literally grew up. It’s a bit of a gut-punching exercise. Sometimes I’ve run across old stories about people who passed away tragically in an accident. More often, I’ve learned that several people in my class suffered with disease before passing away. I learned during this search that one of my friends whom I first met back in junior high had died suddenly in 2013 due to complications from the flu. I came to learn she had devoted her adult life to nonprofit service benefiting impoverished youth and homeless adults, and that her unexpected passing impacted many beyond her family. Empirically, I understand that tragedies like this are a statistical likelihood, but still, when it’s someone whose face, voice, and demeanor you remember perfectly, it hits you. When you learn about the things they accomplished in life before dying, and read tributes offered by those who knew them as adults, it can be heartbreaking.

The process became even more difficult as the layers I peeled back during this exercise revealed or reminded me of losses that weren’t in my graduating class. You come across news like this, and you fall down the proverbial rabbit hole, recalling loss after loss. I had a friend who graduated in 1985, who I had even encountered at a 5k race in 2019. I learned that he passed from cancer two years later. I remembered two different former teaching colleagues I knew from working summer drum major camps who had passed away in 2020 and 2022. I recalled another teaching colleague who had battled cancer tenaciously since 2019 but finally succumbed in the fall of 2025. A man I knew from my church died suddenly of a heart attack last August, literally days after I had spoken with him. I also learned recently that my supervising teacher from my student teaching experience had passed away in October 2024. Of course, there have been losses in my family in recent years, including my father in 2020 and my mother just this past February. Sure, death is a part of life, but it can be really sobering to explore it consistently.

But while it can be an easy trap to lament the fragility of life and offer a morose monologue like Billy Crystal at the beginning of City Slickers, what I realize more deeply after exploring these passings is that each day we have on this planet really IS a gift. We’re therefore called to do something with each day, aren’t we? I believe we are, regardless of whether one believes in God or not. But what we are specifically called to do isn’t necessarily some grand gesture, some massive project that revolutionizes things, or some miraculous achievement that will live in the proverbial record books for years to come. Sure, those are great, but there’s real beauty in life to be found from day-to-day activities, even if they might seem mundane. Beauty in being genuinely nice to others, not for any type of appearance or advantage, but just because we should. Beauty in doing certain things because they’re necessary, or helpful, or just the right thing to do. Beauty in being a decent human being. There’s beauty in just about everything around us, too, including nature and man-made things. I consider incumbent upon us to have at least marginal appreciation for the beauty of each day, and of this world, and to show it at some level.

Does this mean we all need to spin around every day like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music and sing? Of course not, although if that’s your thing, you do you. My point is that daily life is all about priorities. Just as we are called to certain things, we are NOT called to other things. We’re NOT called to drive angry, and gripe at other drivers. For that matter, we are NOT called to drive cluelessly, without regard for the rules of the road, mindlessly focused on ourselves, our phones or some other distraction. We are NOT called to obsess over every negative person at our work, or every menial task, or every annoying element. We are NOT called to negative emotions about things we see on the internet, annoying or offensive as they may be. We are NOT called to jealousy or judgment over things we see on social media. We are NOT called to obsess over political matters, nor are we called to wrap our own identities in affiliation with a political party or any politician. We are NOT called to wrap ourselves in isolation, constantly viewing the world only through the lens of video games, or YouTube, or other video sites, or social media, or even simply broadcast or cable television. Granted, some of the things I’ve just described can be unavoidable. Everyone has “one of those days” at work or at home. Everyone enjoys a little time in front of a TV or a computer. Everyone has encounters on the road, or at work, or at a store, that are challenging due to a disagreement, a misunderstanding, or just plain stupidity. These things will happen. But if your day is consumed or “ruined” by these things, you are missing an opportunity.

Every day is an opportunity for each one of us. We can notice the beauty of nature — blue skies, cool cloud formations, healthy vegetation, birds in the air, ducks on a pond, even dogs on walks with their owners. We can marvel at the intricacy of the network of roads we’ve managed to develop, even if we’re stuck in traffic or have to avoid bumps and potholes. Most importantly, we should acknowledge how fortunate each of us is to live and breathe in an era where life expectancy is as long as its ever been, and where so many of our “problems” are issues of inconvenience. Is it a perfect world? Far from it, but even as we work to resolve real problems like food insecurity, homelessness, and healthcare inequity, we can acknowledge good fortune, good works, and most importantly, good people.

At the end of the day (literally), the question becomes, on-balance, are we fulfilled? In other words, did the positives of our day outweigh the negatives? We know we’ll encounter negatives; it’s inevitable. Sometimes we have to seek out the positives to outweigh the negatives and achieve fulfillment. Daily fulfillment slowly adds up. At the end of our lives, we can look back not in anger, but in peace. This is why people say no one ever laid on their death bed wishing they could spend more time at work, or in traffic, or watching the news. Instead, they wish they could watch a sunset or sunrise, pet their dog, walk in the park, or have more time with their loved ones. It’s at the heart of “Get Busy Living, or Get Busy Dying,” from The Shawshank Redemption. I’ve written about this mindset before. In fact, I reposted those thoughts on the brevity of life with an audio version just last week. Knowing we will encounter negative stimuli in this world, knowing that fulfillment will ultimately come from the positives outweighing the negatives, it’s imperative every day for us to seek out that which enriches us and avoid that which strains us. To take the Shawshank metaphor a step further, we have to leave behind the prisons (often of our own making) that confine us, and seek something better. For many of those friends and colleagues that are gone too soon, I take comfort in the knowledge that they served others, that they didn’t die easy or angry, that they were surrounded by love and support, not jealousy, politics, bitterness, sloth, cowardice, or entitlement.

When I was in the classroom teaching economics, I always approached the concept of scarcity — unlimited needs and wants juxtaposed against limited resources — with a personal exercise for students: everyone has their time, talent, and energy, and the economics of an individual’s life hinged upon the choices they made with those resources. Students had to answer A) what they sought from their economic lives and B) how they might intend to achieve it within the confines of their time, talent, and energy. And the lesson always came back to this: Talent and energy can be manipulated, grown, and developed, but the only truly fixed quantity in our lives is time. And we waste way too much of it on things that don’t take us where we wish to go. (Talent and energy, too.) Given that reality, that frame of reference, why would we spend another minute thinking about people who do nothing but bring us down? Why would we care at all about what someone says about us online, or in a text, or even in a conversation behind our backs? Why would we engage with anyone who is fundamentally dishonest, or self-absorbed, or perpetually angry? Why would we worry about what someone else thinks about what we’re wearing, or watching, or doing with our time? Why would we remain working at jobs we hate that offer no redeeming qualities, moments, or co-workers? Granted, as I mentioned earlier, some things are unavoidable — all but a select few of us will have to work to earn money, we all have to clean and maintain our living quarters, we all have to complete menial tasks. But outside of what’s necessary, we are not obligated to immerse ourselves in the negative. And it really doesn’t matter if you’ve worked at this place for 10 years, or you’ve known this person forever, or your parents did things this way, or even if that person is a family member. If the day-to-day balance is negative, then sometimes habits, things, places, and even people need to become part of the past. Too often, we are overcome by the negatives and fail to immerse ourselves in the positives of life. We don’t make time for those things, people, and experiences that will fulfill us. Mohandas Gandhi famously said, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” But before you can do that, you might have to facilitate the change you need to see in yourself. Feed the parts of yourself that need to grow. Spend your time doings the things, cultivating the habits, being around the people who make you, and your life, better. So I ask again: What matters to you?

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When It’s Not About You

It’s been a fascinating two weeks since my last blog post, with several happenings that might seem disparate at first, but which have elicited some thoughts for me when juxtaposed against each other. I’m still basking in the glow of graduation, one of my favorite live-announce jobs of the year. Father’s Day is approaching, so I take heart in having helped raise two wonderful young men, and I know that one of the favorite annual traditions of my earlier years is also near: drum major camp. (More on that further down the post.) Against the backdrop of those very positive things lie some decidedly difficult observations. First, I came across a fellow PA announcer who posted video of himself introducing the visiting team in a comical, derogatory manner, which is 100% disrespectful, not just to the visiting team, but to the game on the field. I came across another fellow PA announcer who recently booked a high-profile job and posted a photo of an actor on-stage while referencing “my biggest stage yet.” And just this week, I learned of someone who passed away suddenly in his sleep, and now a family member of his is trying to upstage everyone’s shock and grief apparently to hog the proverbial spotlight. What do all of these more troublesome events have in common? Call it what you wish: Egomania. Narcissism. Solipsism. Conceit. Self-Infatuation. Vanity. Characteristics that sit in stark contrast to what makes both voiceover and education fulfilling.

This post was originally intended to discuss my thoughts on and memories of drum major camp, so let’s begin there. Forty years ago (!!!), I auditioned for and captured a position as Drum Major with the University of Texas at Arlington Marching Band. It was the spring following the cancellation of football at UTA, in preparation for the band’s first season as “Ambassadors of the University” later in the fall. I’ve written about it before in two parts, so I won’t spend any time in this space providing background. But I can say that this achievement literally changed my life. I had initially planned on leaving Arlington to attend college, but seizing this honor meant I would stay in-town and attend college while living at home. Over time, my involvement with the band would eventually take me toward the world of voiceover. But before that, my role as drum major would lead me to teach the UTA Drum Major & Leadership Camp, eventually inspiring me to enter the world of education. The UTA Drum Major Camp began then, and still begins, on the Sunday coinciding with Father’s Day. It’s a week filled with hard work on a variety of topics pertaining to the role of the high school drum major: conducting, marching instruction, leadership & group dynamics, and showmanship. Mornings outside in the heat working on physical activities, afternoons inside for conducting and discussion, evenings featuring light work and usually something more fun. I taught exclusively at the UTA camp for 3 years before expanding my involvement to include East Texas State University’s (now East Texas A&M) camp. I eventually stopped working the ETSU camp, but I remained with the UTA camp for a total of 16 years, including serving as the Principal Instructor for 8 years. For those final 8 years, I was in-charge of developing a revised curriculum that brought the camp into the 21st century. You might be surprised how much the typical high school marching band evolved from 1986 to 2001, and the nature of a band’s leadership had to evolve with it.

I learned at drum major camp that I love teaching. I love inspiring students to find skills and strength deep within themselves. I love breaking down complex ideas for students to assist them in accessing and mastering those concepts. I love helping students tap into and hone physical abilities they didn’t previously have. I love exploring both philosophical and practical approaches to leadership, and assisting students as they determine what will work for their personality and/or the personalities within their ensemble. I love the camaraderie of working with an elite team of instructors, collaborating in ways that enhance the learning of an entire group. Many of the cool buzzwords and ideals that you hear from educational administrators when they discuss teaching and learning were right there in action for me at, of all places, drum major camp. It made sense, really. High school bands sent us their best leaders, we hired people who were excellent leaders and teachers in their own right, and everyone gathered together for an unforgettable week growing together. Students didn’t just learn; they bonded with leaders from other schools, with so-called “competitors.” It probably sounds too-good-to-be-true, but it actually wasn’t. It was 100% a fulfilling week, every year. Even after I started teaching in a “normal” classroom, where I wasn’t always working with the best and brightest, I looked forward to drum major camp because it showed me just how cool and productive the education process can be when bright, committed individuals come together and cooperate in service to something bigger.

One underlying idea during every camp was the drum major’s true role in the ensemble. Sure, the average observer of a band sees the drum major as the public leader. The student(s) wear a different uniform, they salute the judges, they stand on the podium and conduct, they show all the visible signs of leadership and showmanship. But the real value of a drum major to a band is established behind the scenes, in how the drum major carries him/herself off the podium, in rehearsal, during warmup, on the bus, at school. Some of the most critical leadership a drum major can exhibit might happen on a random Tuesday in September, when the band is struggling through an afternoon rehearsal on a day that’s hotter than it should be. The public never sees that. But the drum major sets the tone for how everyone in the band is expected to act. When I led the UTA camp, we even had an oath: “I am the band. What I do, the band will do. What I say, the band will say. What I am the band will be.” And even though the oath literally says, “I am the band,” the irony is that if you’re the drum major, it is never about you. It’s about the band. Sure, the drum major gets to be out-front, salute the judges, acknowledge the crowd, etc. But a drum major who looks phenomenal doing the showy things in front of a poorly-performing ensemble doesn’t garner nearly as much respect as a drum major who might be less proficient as a showman leading an ensemble that performs impeccably. In the end, the drum major cares most about the show on the field, and the performers creating it. That’s what it’s about.

You know who else should care most about the show on the field? The PA Announcer. I’ve written about this before. The person announcing a contest, or a halftime, or any other event has one job: Make the ensemble on the field look good. Speak at the right time. Pronounce any names correctly. Show same enthusiasm for this group as you have for every other group. It doesn’t matter if it’s the defending champions of this festival, or even of the state marching band contest, or simply a small school performing its first contest show in five years; the ensemble on the field deserves your professionalism in this moment. Those students deserve your best work. And yet, no one actually came to hear you speak; they came to see and hear those students perform. Now, let’s take those same principles and apply them to a sporting event…High school softball. College baseball. Pro basketball. International football. There may be 70 people in the stands, or 70,000. They came for the event, not you. To your credit, you booked the job and are in the booth, but make no mistake: you are decidedly not “on-stage.” People actually pay to see the stage actor. For this event, they paid for an experience. You were hired by the organizers and ultimately can contribute to the fan experience IF you take the right approach. Are you exposed? Absolutely. Just an open mic and perhaps a script. So don’t suck. Say the names correctly. Do your best work. But realize this: Only a chosen few in the crowd will make note of how good the PA announcer was. Most attendees or viewers will only remember you if you’re bad, or if you do something disrespectful, like intentionally trying to make fun of the visiting team by playing cartoon music under their introductions, using some silly voice, or saying their names in a mocking style. They might notice you if you deliberately call attention to yourself, but that won’t be a good thing. It’s not about you unless you make it about you. And if you make it about you, the memories made will be unpleasant.

You know when else memories become unpleasant if you make it about you? Milestones of living. Often times, those are graduations, weddings, holidays, or other big occasions. Sometimes, it’s death, and funerals. And I get it: everyone grieves differently, and sometimes irrationally. In the case of the death I mentioned at the outset of this post, the primary emotion of the family is basically shock. This death was unexpected; the cause of death has been revealed by medical professionals, but no one knew beforehand about any impending risks or problems. Everyone in that family is simply trying to process the event more than anything right now. … It simply happened. Right now, the concern is about the untimely death itself, and the immediate family working through the aftermath. Read the room, respect the situation, and above all, don’t make it about you.

Now, this post isn’t meant to suggest it is never about you. There’s certainly plenty of room for things like self-care. Take time off from work, get that message, have that dinner with friends, go on that vacation. Do something for you, especially if you’re working a daily grind for a long time. And there are definitely days, and events, and situations, where each of us, as individuals, truly do “take the stage.” We may literally star in a show. We get married. We receive awards and achieve other milestones. We celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. And on those occasions, yes, it is entirely about you. And of course, we live in a capitalist economy, where self-interest is the driving force behind our economic choices. But capitalism has always been about “win-win,” where both parties in a transaction receive benefit. Mutual self-interest generally means cooperation and collective growth. In the past half-century, the system appears to have evolved to a point where self-interest comes at the expense of others; a “win-lose” mentality. And too often, we seem to be living in an era where people seek the spotlight in a gratuitous or performative manner. They misinterpret circumstances or ignore them outright in an attempt to gain notoriety. For attention. For social media likes. To “build the brand.” Or perhaps because the individual is simply selfish and entitled. Perhaps All of the Above. Either way, I am not here for it, at all. Individualism isn’t absolute. Branding has its place, but sometimes that place is elsewhere. Sometimes self-interest and self-advocacy interfere with what’s necessary. That’s the hallmark of both of the careers which I have pursued. In education, it’s obvious, because the teacher, administrator, counselor, or other individual involved in the profession does their work to serve the students. An educator on a power trip or a journey for recognition is typically bad at the job, because the job is about the students. Similarly, a voice actor who is primarily interested in the limelight is looking in the wrong place. Voiceover is about the message, the story, the event…in other words, anything but the VO talent. The voice actor serves the project and brings life to it without ever overshadowing it. I think that’s a major reason I gravitated toward VO as I wrapped up three decades in education. I’d rather play a part in service to something bigger, because it provides a great outlook on life. When the point is the overall group, or someone else, or something bigger than yourself, taking a step back and simply serving offers far more satisfaction than looking for a way to seize any spotlight.