Oh, what a six-month season it has been. In December, I received a gift from a student: a scarf and a hat. She said, “You always wear such great scarves and hats, and I thought it’d be a great gift for you for the holidays.” It was such a thoughtful gesture. I remember what it’s like to be a college student; giving your professor a gift is rarely top of mind. I accepted it—and I’ve treasured it.
Turned out the scarf and hat were more than a gift—they were an invitation. I’d taught this student for the past three years in my leadership minor. In that moment, I realized she was offering me a way to see myself through my students’ eyes: that who I am is just as much of what they experience as what I instruct. I began to understand that it’s as important to consider how I show up in the world as it is to consider what I teach. That realization sent me on a journey that has been hard, arduous, and deeply rewarding. For the first time, I had to ask myself: Is the person I bring to the world each day the person my students believe me to be?
I learned some hard truths. I saw that some of the company I kept would leave my students mortified. I noticed how I used silence to keep people comfortable—and how that same silence would leave my students horrified. And I recognized how often I chose being “sweet” instead of being kind: avoiding hard truths out of fear, those actions would leave my students proufoundly disappointed. So, I began a journey like no other. I started weekly therapy and went on a social media diet. I read Iyanla Vanzant’s In the Meantime, Gary Zukav’s The Seat of the Soul, Brené Brown’s work on Strong Ground, Mel Robbins’ Let Them theory, and Laura Lynne Jackson’s Signs. I physically trained with greater intensity and became even more mindful about how I eat.
I invited some people in, and I let some people go. I also began the daunting process of submitting book proposals to literary agents for my third book. Along the way, I honored an uncomfortable truth: my voice was confusing some people because they didn’t know who my teachers and guides were—or the new dimensions of self-worth and understanding I was learning to live from.
I took that inner voice—“Maybe your students aren’t only asking what you’re teaching, but who you are”—with the utmost seriousness, trusting how life works and how God communicates. Last week, I received a letter from a student graduating in May. She wrote, “I never write letters. I’ve sent letters via email or something like that, but I was watching TikTok, and it talked about the art of using a pen to write a letter on paper. I decided to write you a letter on paper.”
In the letter, she said, “While I’ve appreciated each of your classes—and all the books and articles you’ve given us to read—where I learned leadership the most was by watching you.” Later that day, I saw her and told her I was going to frame it. She didn’t know then what I’m sharing now: I need to frame that letter because it affirms what my spirit sensed back when I received that scarf and hat. The letter was both a reminder and an invitation to stay on the path of alignment.
As I move forward, my spirit knows this: people are watching us more than they’re listening to us. Timuel Black once said, “I can’t hear what you are saying because I’m too busy watching what you do.” I honor—and surrender to—the truth that we are shaped by what we consume and by the company we keep. When we align ourselves with both, we begin to master what we preach.
This six-month adventure culminates in a twenty-day experience: crossing the Atlantic, spending time in Lisbon, a few days in Barcelona, and some time in Dublin. When I return, I’ll do something I’ve never done before—I’m going to both graduations at the University of Maryland, College Park: the large commencement ceremony and the College of Engineering ceremony. I need to say thank you to Terp Nation, Terpville, USA. I know this has been my best, most memorable semester of teaching because I finally came to the classroom 100% ready to teach and 100% ready to learn.
We’re in a spring-like season—full of new opportunities, new birth, and new beginnings. The next six months won’t look like this one. But like a gardener who prunes in one season so things can grow in the next, I know this: who I am in the world will be bigger, stronger, and healthier because of the pruning I did here. And I’m grateful to my metaphorical gardeners— my students—my tribe, my core beliefs—for leading me into an invitation unlike any other season. Whether the season you’re coming out of held metaphorical rain, snow, sleet, or sun (and, in some cases, all four), what I know now is this: it’s all beneficial for the betterment of our greater good. Ahh—it’s all necessary.