As I prepare to celebrate my 60th birthday, Joe asked me a simple question over dinner.”So…what have you actually done this past year?”

I laughed.

At first, I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer. Like so many of us, I tend to think more about what I haven’t accomplished than what I have.

So we started making a list.

Over the past twelve months, I completed the Honor Foundation Navy SEAL Swim in Coronado. I made a commitment to my health and became stronger, healthier, and more at peace than I had been in years. Together, Joe and I wrote and published six children’s books for our grandchildren. I co-authored The Virtue Code and published The Quiet Crisis and the Future Worth Building. I launched FutureWorth, an AI-powered operational intelligence platform designed to help schools uncover hidden efficiencies and reinvest those savings into teachers, students, and long-term sustainability. I coached leaders, advised schools, spoke with educators across the country, met extraordinary people who challenged my thinking, and even had the unforgettable experience of hunting elk on a spectacular Montana ranch—an adventure that taught me as much about patience, perseverance, and gratitude as it did about the hunt itself.

By the time we finished, we looked at each other and smiled.

Not because of the list itself.

But because we realized that the biggest accomplishment wasn’t on it.

The biggest change happened inside me.

One year ago, after more than three decades in educational leadership, I stepped away from a role I genuinely loved. I wasn’t running away from education. I was running toward a question I could no longer ignore.

What if we stopped trying to perfect a model designed for another century and started creating one worthy of the children who will inherit the next?

That question has become my life’s work.

I don’t believe our educators are broken. Quite the opposite. They are among the most dedicated, compassionate, and resilient people I know.

But I do believe many are working within systems designed for a world that no longer exists. Artificial intelligence, changing workforce demands, declining student well-being, and unprecedented technological change invite us to rethink not just what we teach, but how we lead, how we learn, and what we ultimately believe education is for.

This past year reminded me where I create my greatest value.

Not by maintaining systems that already exist.

But by imagining what could be.

By bringing people together around a shared vision.

By building solutions that help children, educators, and families flourish.

Ironically, I’ve probably worked harder this past year than at any other point in my career.

The difference is that every hour has been invested in creating the future instead of maintaining the past.

As Joe and I reflected on the year together, another realization quietly emerged.

None of these accomplishments were really mine alone.

The children’s books were born from countless conversations. FutureWorth was refined over long walks, late-night brainstorming sessions, and a shared belief that schools deserve better tools so they can invest more deeply in teachers and students. Every challenge I accepted, every book I wrote, every new idea I pursued was strengthened by having someone beside me who continually asked better questions, believed in possibilities, and encouraged me to keep building.

It reminded me of something I’ve come to believe with all my heart.

Our greatest achievements are rarely solo endeavors.

The quality of our lives is built on the quality of our relationships.

The right people don’t simply celebrate what you’ve accomplished.

They help you become the person you are capable of becoming.

So thank you, Joe.

For asking one simple question that became a meaningful reflection.

For believing in me long before I could fully see this next chapter myself.

For reminding me that imagination is one of the greatest gifts we can give each other—and that when it’s paired with purpose and hard work, extraordinary things can happen.

And for proving, every single day, that life’s greatest adventures are almost always shared.

As I step into my seventh decade, I don’t feel like I’m slowing down.

I feel like I’m finally doing the work I was uniquely created to do.

If the first sixty years have taught me anything, it’s this:

Success isn’t measured by the positions we hold. It’s measured by the lives we help shape, the relationships we nurture, and the future we have the courage to build together.

Here’s to the next chapter.

I have a feeling the best is yet to come.