Why I Still Believe in People: Lessons From 40 Years in Education

Sunday Morning Coffee | Past the Edges Consulting

2026 marks my 40th year as an educator. Forty years is a long time to stay hopeful.

It’s long enough to have seen reforms come and go, acronyms change, initiatives rebrand, and pendulums swing hard in every direction. Long enough to have watched bright ideas fail because no one planned for people. Long enough to have felt the wear-and-tear that comes from caring deeply in systems that don’t always care back.

And yet…here I am. Still believing in people. Not in a naïve, everything-will-work-out way. In a grounded, evidence-informed, seen-too-much-to-be-delusional way.

Lesson One: People Are More Than Their Worst Day

Early in my career, I learned this lesson the hard way…by being wrong about someone. I remember as an assistant principal in a public school really, really, disliking a kid. He was a bully. I mean, he was mean. And then one day, because I had to call parents every time a kid received some sort of sanction, I called home and his stepdad answered instead of his mom. And then stepdad came to school. And I witnessed how this kid was bullied by a seriously mean adult. Stepdad and I had a few words, I gave the kid my home phone number and told him to call me any time he needed me, and after that, I never judged a kid again by their behavior. Instead of wondering what was wrong with a kid (or a teacher or a parent or a colleague or a service worker, etc), I wondered, “What happened to you?” (If you’ve never read any of Bruce Perry’s work on this question, you need to!)

I’ve seen students who arrived labeled “unmotivated” become relentless learners once safety showed up. I’ve seen young people written off as “behavior problems” become leaders when structure finally made sense. I’ve watched adults with long records sit quietly in the back of a classroom, convinced they were done learning until someone treated them like they belonged there.

People are not their paperwork. They are not their diagnosis. They are not their charge, their score, or their worst decision.

Believing in people means holding space for who they can be, even when the system insists on freezing them in who they were.

Lesson Two: Environment Shapes Behavior—Every Time

If I could tattoo one sentence on every policy manual I’ve ever read, it would be this:

Behavior is data about environment.

I’ve worked in beautifully resourced schools and in places where resources were a rumor. I’ve watched the same person thrive in one setting and struggle mightily in another. That wasn’t about character. It was about conditions.

When environments are predictable, humane, and clear, people rise. When they’re chaotic, punitive, and opaque, people protect themselves.

Believing in people means refusing to confuse survival strategies with moral failure.

Lesson Three: Most People Want to Do Well. They Just Don’t Always Know How

I figured this one out in January 1986 during my first semester of teaching (which was really, really, rough, by the way). As a young teacher who never struggled with schoolwork as a student, motivation was the missing ingredient. I thought that if we could just get people to want it badly enough, things would change. What I’ve learned over the years instead is that desire without skills leads to frustration, and frustration looks a lot like resistance.

Executive function. Emotional regulation. Communication. Planning. Repairing mistakes. These are learned skills, not innate traits. And too many people were never taught them.

Believing in people means teaching the skills we keep assuming they already have (even adult learners).

Lesson Four: Shame Never Builds Capacity

If shame worked, it would have worked by now. I’ve seen shame silence classrooms. I’ve seen it harden people. I’ve seen it masquerade as accountability while quietly eroding growth.

What actually builds capacity is dignity paired with expectation. Clear boundaries paired with belief. The message that says, “I won’t lower the bar, and I won’t give up on you.”

Believing in people means rejecting humiliation as a tool and choosing growth instead.

Lesson Five: Change Is Rarely Loud

Some of the most meaningful transformations I’ve witnessed didn’t come with applause.

They came quietly:

• a student staying five minutes longer

• someone asking a question instead of walking out

• a teacher trying a new approach

• a leader listening instead of reacting

Progress doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it whispers.

Believing in people means noticing the small wins and knowing they matter.

Lesson Six: Educators Carry More Than Curriculum

After four decades, I know this to be true: educators aren’t just teaching content. They’re modeling adulthood and emotional regulation and problem-solving and compassion and empathy and a love for learning and

how we handle stress,
how we speak when we’re frustrated,
how we respond to mistakes, and
how we treat people with less power.

Students (of all ages) are watching all of it.

Believing in people means believing that what we model, day after day, shapes futures we may never get to see.

Why I Still Believe

I believe because I’ve watched people rise when someone finally stood steady beside them.

I believe because I’ve seen learning unlock dignity and dignity unlock possibility.

I believe because even in the most constrained environments, I’ve witnessed curiosity, kindness, humor, and growth break through concrete and razor wire.

I believe because cynicism is easy and hope practiced daily is a discipline.

And I believe because education, at its best, is an act of faith in human potential.

Final Sip

Forty years in education doesn’t make you soft, and it shouldn’t make you hard either. It makes you precise about what actually works, and what works, again and again, is believing in people enough to design systems, classrooms, and policies that help them succeed.

I still believe.

I hope you’re all thriving in today’s Snowmageddon. There’s something so lovely about a snowfall. It feels like a pause on life’s everyday stressors and a small whisper of a promise of renewal. Curl up with a hot cup of coffee, tea, or cocoa, maybe a good book, a furry friend if you have one, a loved one if one’s handy, a cozy blanket, and a little quiet for your soul today.

Cheers! ☕