Kara Schwindt

When people hear the word leader, they often picture someone standing on a stage, leading a meeting, making big decisions, or carrying an impressive title. But after spending more than twenty years in education, from being a kindergarten teacher to serving as a superintendent, I've learned something that has completely changed the way I look at leadership.

The biggest moments aren't what define us.

It's the small ones.

It's the conversation you have in the hallway when someone is having a rough day. It's stopping what you're doing because someone just needs to be heard. It's writing a quick note of encouragement, celebrating someone's success, or believing in a person before they believe in themselves.

Those moments don't make headlines. Most people never even see them. But those are the moments that build trust, strengthen relationships, and ultimately create the culture every organization hopes to have.

I didn't always understand that.

When I became an instructional coach, I was excited. I had worked hard for the opportunity, and I walked into the role believing my job was to help teachers implement the district's initiatives and improve instruction.

One day, I walked into the classroom of a veteran teacher. During our conversation, I shared one of the instructional practices the district expected to see in every classroom, and I asked her if she was doing it.

She looked at me and simply said,

"No."

I was speechless. I remember standing there thinking, Did that really just happen? I didn't know what to say, so I left.

Later, during her walkthrough conference, I tried again. I explained the district's expectations, why this initiative was important, and that I would like to see her doing this the next time I came in.

Once again, she looked at me and said,

"No. I am NOT doing that!"

Again, I was shocked, and at the time, I didn't know how to respond. I walked away frustrated.

At first, I thought the challenge was that she simply wasn't willing to change. But after spending time reflecting, I realized something that would forever change the way I lead. The problem wasn't that she refused to listen. It was that I hadn't taken the time to listen to her. I had walked into her classroom focused on an initiative instead of building a relationship. So I changed my approach. Instead of leading with expectations, I started leading with curiosity.

I spent more time in her classroom - not to evaluate, but simply to be present. I asked about her students. I learned about her teaching style. We started eating lunch together. We laughed. We talked about life. We built a relationship. Something changed. When trust began to grow, our conversations changed too. Instead of me telling her what she needed to do, we started asking questions together.

"How could we make this fit your classroom?"

"What parts of this initiative make sense for your students?"

"How can I support you?"

The conversations became collaborative instead of corrective.

Looking back, I smile because she taught me one of the greatest leadership lessons of my career. People rarely resist change because they don't understand the initiative. They resist when they don't yet trust the person asking them to change. That teacher didn't just shape me as an instructional coach. She shaped me as a leader. She reminded me that before people will hear what you have to say, they first need to know that you've taken the time to hear them.

That experience became one of the inspirations behind a keynote I've been developing called The Five Choices That Change Lives.

While I won't give away all five choices just yet, I'd love to leave you with one that I believe has the power to transform every workplace, every school, every organization, and every relationship.

Choose to Listen

Listening is one of the greatest gifts we can give another person. Not listening so we can respond. Not listening just long enough to solve the problem. Simply listening so people know they matter.

As leaders, we often feel like we need to have all the answers. We think every conversation requires a solution. I've learned that's not always true. Sometimes people don't need advice. They don't need someone to fix everything. Sometimes they simply need someone who genuinely hears them.

People may not remember every meeting you led. They may not remember every presentation you gave. But they'll always remember how you made them feel.

Did they feel valued?

Did they feel respected?

Did they feel like they mattered?

That's the kind of leadership people never forget.

Every single day, we have opportunities to make small choices that create a lasting impact - a smile, a handwritten note, a conversation in the hallway, a moment of encouragement, or choosing to believe in someone who may not yet believe in themselves.

Those moments may seem ordinary, but they're often the moments that change someone's day - or even their life. Leadership isn't about having the loudest voice in the room or the biggest title on a business card.

It's about choosing, every day, to leave people a little better than you found them.

Because at the end of the day, leadership isn't built during the moments everyone is watching.

It's built in the small choices no one sees.

The Only One in the Room—and Every Room

What Leading a Small-Town School Without a Net Taught Me About What Matters

It's 7:42 in the morning. Before the first bell rings, an upset parent is already waiting in the office. The phone is ringing—again—and I can hear it from the hallway. Two students have just been called in for tardiness. The cafeteria is humming with the controlled chaos of kids who haven't fully woken up yet, and there's a behavior situation brewing at the corner table that I can see from where I'm standing. My board clerk catches my eye across the office and gives me the look—the one that means, I've got the phones. Go.

So I go.

This is Tuesday. It's also Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.

I am the Superintendent of USD 369 in Burrton, Kansas. I am also the elementary principal, the curriculum director, the person who plans and leads all professional development, the one who calls our service center when we need backup, the first stop when the nurse is unavailable, and, occasionally, the person helping sort out a transportation problem before the buses roll. In a small rural district, you don't get to choose just one hat. You wear all of them—sometimes before your coffee gets cold.

I'll be honest—I wouldn't have it any other way.

When "Wearing Many Hats" Isn't a Metaphor

There's a romanticized version of the small-town school leader: the beloved figure who knows every kid by name, walks the halls with quiet authority, and always has the answers. The reality is messier, more human, and—I'd argue—far more meaningful.

In a small district, there is no layer of bureaucracy between you and the problem. A student in crisis doesn't wait for you to finish a superintendent's meeting. A teacher who needs support doesn't get an appointment two weeks out. You are either present or absent—and presence is the whole job.

I've made a deliberate choice to stay at school most of the time instead of attending regional superintendent gatherings. That might raise some eyebrows in certain circles. But when a student needs me or a teacher needs help, a networking lunch will still be there next month. That student's moment won't be.

Prioritization Is a Myth—Flexibility Is the Skill

People love to ask how I prioritize. The honest answer is that sometimes I make a list, and sometimes a student behavior issue takes up my entire day, making the list irrelevant.

Real leadership in a small school isn't about time-blocking your calendar into pristine 30-minute chunks. It's about being genuinely flexible—with your staff, your expectations for the day, and yourself. A meeting I planned to attend has waited while I sat with a struggling student. A professional development plan I created has been shelved temporarily while I helped a teacher work through something more immediate. That's not disorganization. That's discernment.

We model flexibility for one another here. My staff and I have created a culture where we move as a team, adapt when we need to, and never let anyone face a difficult moment alone. That's not an accident—we've built it intentionally, conversation by conversation, hard day by hard day.

The People Who Make It Possible

I would be doing a profound disservice if I let anyone read this and think I'm doing it alone. I'm not.

The culture we've built at our school is one of the things I'm proudest of, and it belongs to every member of our staff. But there is one person I have to recognize specifically: my board clerk and HR support, who keeps this operation running and consistently has my back in ways that are impossible to fully quantify. When everything is happening at once, she is steady. She is the reason I can walk into that cafeteria instead of being tethered to the phone.

Great leadership isn't about being the person who does everything. It's about building a team where everyone understands the mission, trusts one another, and steps into the gap without being asked. We have that here. I don't take a single day of it for granted.

What I Want Other Women in Leadership to Know

Small doesn't mean less. A small district, a small team, or a small budget—none of that makes your impact small. Some of the most complex, demanding, and deeply human leadership I've ever witnessed happens in places most people drive through without stopping.

If you're the only one in the room—and also every room—that means something. It means you're trusted. It means you're capable. It means you have the opportunity to model something powerful for every student and staff member who watches you figure it out in real time.

You won't always get it right. Some days the parent leaves frustrated, the behavior doesn't improve, and the list you made that morning is still untouched at 4 p.m. But if you showed up, stayed present, and moved through it alongside your people, you did the job.

That's always been enough for me.

Kara Schwindt is the Superintendent of USD 369 in Burrton, Kansas, where she also serves as elementary principal, curriculum director, and—on most mornings—whatever else the day requires.