Yesterday, the Earth completed another quiet trip around the sun, and so did I. There is something grounding about that thought. No matter how busy life feels, the orbit continues. Another year, another layer of growth, another chance to become.

Birthdays are fascinating. Some adults celebrate loudly, some stretch them into weeks, while some quietly pretend they have stopped counting. But for children, birthdays are pure magic.

A month ago, I had the privilege of spending time with Ali and Ramiza Faraz, the leaders of Acton Academy Lahore, during an Acton leadership gathering. I was inspired not only by their school’s remarkable growth and unwavering commitment to learner-driven governance but by their warmth, humility, and deep belief in young people. It was clear that Ali and Ramiza are dreamers, doers, and change-makers who have courageously built something lasting in their community. 

When did you learn to do laundry? Were you a child, a teenager, or a young adult standing nervously in a college basement with a pocket full of quarters? I learned at eighteen. I remember staring at unfamiliar knobs, unsure how much detergent to pour and genuinely worried that everything I owned would turn pink. My mother trusted me to drive a car but for some reason she was not ready to let go of the washing machine. I was, in her words, “ready for folding.”

There is something magical about the beginning of a new Quest. The studio feels different, materials are fresh, questions are bigger than answers, and there is a quiet wonder in the air. What will this become? Will I love it? Will I be good at it? What might I discover? This week, our two studios began two different Quest journeys yet both Quests are journeys of creative and practical exploration. Spark Land began Handwork Quest and Discovery began Fashion Design Quest.

In one of the Tinkerbell stories, something magical happens. The fairy dust, the very thing that powers their world, begins to fade. What once flowed freely slows to a trickle and the fairies panic. Without dust, there is no flight, no sparkle, no magic. Through courage, collaboration, and discovery, the dust begins to flow again. First trickle, then stronger, and finally….a roar! An abundance. When I think about a learner finding a calling, I think about that fairy moment.

When you hear the word school, what comes to mind? Bells, desks in rows, homework, tests, a certain feeling in your stomach, excitement, pressure, all of the above? For us parents, the word school carries a very specific image. We did not grow up at Acton so when our children describe their day and use words like “freedom” or “choice” or “self-governance,” it can feel unfamiliar, even disorienting.

There is a moment most parents know well. Your child is overwhelmed, confused, facing something new, and every instinct in you rises up and says: I’ll handle it, I’ll make this easier, I’ll fix it.

Recently, I spoke with a friend who was navigating a big life transition with her daughter. There were decisions to be made, logistics to figure out, and questions her daughter didn’t fully understand––and some her Mom didn’t know either. My friend was worried and said “I just want to protect her.” As she shared her concerns I asked, “What does your daughter get to decide?” Then there was a long pause and she said “Oh, I’m not sure. I didn’t think about that.”

What is it about being in a room together? Not on a screen, not thinking about what’s next, not multi-tasking. But sitting across someone, sharing a meal, listening, laughing, and pausing long enough to really hear one another. There is something that happens when we gather. This week, as we hosted our second Parent Lunch of the year, I was reminded of something we hold deeply at Acton Academy Oshkosh: community is not extra, it is essential.

Picture this…a large hero board stretches across an entire wall. There are names, faces, and an array of colorful buttons—treasured badges. Beneath each name hangs a different constellation of badges—some many, some few—no grouping the same. Each badge holds a memory: a challenge wrestled with, a moment of doubt, a breakthrough, or a quiet decision to try again. This wall of heroes isn’t a wall of comparison. It is a wall of becoming. At Acton, we don’t give grades—we offer badges. This choice often raises an important question for parents, especially those new to Acton: Why?

Imagine this…you get into your car, turn the key, and pull onto the road. At first, you move slowly, then faster. You choose a direction, find your lane, and feel the ease of forward motion. Then—without warning—the momentum fades, your engine strains, and all of a sudden you stall. In that moment, the questions begin. What changed? Why did this stop working? How do I get moving again?

This moment is much like a child’s motivation. A child can begin something with excitement and confidence—only to slow, struggle, or stop altogether. Not because something is wrong, but because something has shifted.

There are words that strike and there are words that warm. Words have this magical power to transform the energy within us, around us, and between us. One of my favorite heroes, Maya Angelou became one of the most intentional wordsmiths of our time yet when she was a child she chose silence when words felt unsafe. She understood the power of words deeply. To her, words mattered because they shaped safety, they shaped belonging, and they shaped humanity. She once said “Words are things. You must be careful, careful about calling people out of their names…Someday we’ll be able to measure the power of words. I think they are things. They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally into you.”

If you’ve ever watched the Toy Story character’s series Forky Asks a Question, you know the magic of a character who looks at the world with simple wonder: What is love? What is a friend? What is cheese? Forky invites us to look at ordinary things with fresh eyes — child eyes — and suddenly the world feels softer, funnier, and easier to understand. This week, I found myself asking a new Forky question: What is a parent? 

Imagine this…you are far from home. You step into a room where the food is unfamiliar, the voices sound different than your own, and every place setting holds more utensils than you know what to do with. You wonder where to sit, how to begin, how to belong. Then someone meets you at the door with a warm smile, takes your coat, shows you the way, and suddenly—your shoulders soften. You’re welcome.

“Success is never final, failure is never fatal––it’s the courage to continue that counts.” –– Winston Churchill

There is a phrase you hear over and over again in the world of Chess. The match ends, hands extend, and regardless of outcome, two players look one another in the eye and say the same two words: Good game.

The purpose of the game is not about who won or who lost. It’s about honoring the journey that took place between the first move and the last.

“I have to be seen to be believed.” – Queen Elizabeth II

“Power is not given to you. You have to take it.” – Beyoncé

“To lead is to serve.” – Queen Rania of Jordan

The greatest leaders have always understood that true power is not about control — it’s about responsibility. Leadership, in its truest form, is about seeing the people around you, serving them, and using your gifts for something greater than yourself.

In Chess, the Knight moves differently than any other piece on the board. It leaps over obstacles, changes direction with courage, and always seems to find a path that no one else can see. The Knight reminds us that the most powerful moves in life are often the ones that break the pattern — that dare to think differently.

In Chess, the Bishop moves with long-range sight. It glides diagonally across the board, never rushing, always keeping the end in mind. The Bishop’s strength lies not in its speed but in its perspective — the ability to see the full field: what has been, what is, and what might be next.

At this week’s Parent Lunch, we explored a simple but profound question about perspective: Is the glass half full or half empty?

In Chess, the Rook is patient and powerful. It doesn’t leap impulsively like the Knight or move diagonally like the Bishop. The Rook waits, guarding the board with quiet conviction. Its strength is not in constant motion but in knowing when to step in and when to hold its ground. This is one of the great disciplines we practice at Acton and one of the hardest questions Guides and parents face: Do I step back or step forward?

Imagine this…you are standing on a long chessboard with black and white squares forming a quiet rhythm. You look across the board and you see a King standing calm at the back–steady, observant, waiting. Before the King are all his children, the pawns, lined up in a row. The pawns are small, eager, and ready to move. One pawn inches forward a single square. It feels small, almost insignificant–yet that single step begins the entire game.

Imagine this….you are about to walk on stage. The lights are bright, dozens of eyes are watching you. Your heart races, your hands sweat, yet you know you’re ready. You’ve practiced, you’ve made a plan, you have a clear vision of what you want to say and share, and with that confidence, you step forward.