Learning to ride a bike was pretty much a right of passage when I was growing up. In a time before there were SUVs transporting kids to school or sports events on Saturday, your bike was essential for getting you from A to B on a daily basis, so learning to ride well and safely at an early age was extremely important.
I can recall my mother spending time holding on to the carrier on the rear of my bike as I gradually got the ‘feel’ of holding my balance and then using the pedals. I can remember also the jubilation (for both of us) when, finally, I was able to pedal down our drive without her holding on, running to keep up!
The real turning point for me in becoming a more competent rider occurred just a few months after that, when a traffic officer visited our school and we were instructed to collect our bikes from the stands behind the school and bring them to the netball courts. Our whole class lined up, bikes of many different colours and types, some even had saddle bags strapped to the carriers which were the envy of the rest of us.
The traffic officer explained that he was going to see how well we could ride, and give us some tips on how we could become better riders. This started with the whole class mounting up and riding around the perimeter of the netball court. This provided some level of consternation for some and hilarity for others as 30 kids all jostled for position in the paloton (I didn’t know the meaning of that word then 🙂 and endeavoured to make their way around the perimeter without bumping into others or falling off at the turn.
On arriving back where the officer stood were were asked how we felt about that. Some felt OK, others said they felt ‘wobbly’ while yet others said it was difficult to avoid bumping into others and so on.
The officer then said he had his next challenge for us. He lined us up at one end of the court, and one-by-one, invited us to cycle to the other end of the court, following one of the lines painted on the court as a guide. He then emphasised that he’d be judging our performance by how well we kept our cycle on the line throughout the journey to the other end.
One-by-one we completed the task, with very few being able to keep their cycle on the line all the way – most of us simply veered from one side to the other for the whole journey – travelling so very slowly as we concentrated on the line in front of our wheel.
Assembled back again after that challenge we were again asked how we’d felt doing it. No-one felt confident, many argued it was too difficult.
This is when the office shared his ‘secret’ for doing it well. He told us we’d be doing the same thing again – but this time, instead of looking down at our front wheel as we tried to keep on the line, we were to fix our eyes on a spot in the distance beyond where the line stopped, and to keep cycling with our eyes on that spot. As each class member took their turn, the rest of us were asked to keep a close watch on the bike tyres to see how closely they stayed on the line (or not).
To begin we were clearly skeptical, with some of the class complaining that made it difficult for them to actually get started and know where the line ways. As each class member took their turn, however, the mood changed and we were amazed at how close to the line pretty much everyone was now able to travel.
The memory of that lesson has remained with me ever since – and I’ve used that strategy when teaching my own kids how to ride – and then my grand-kids. I’ve also used it as a metaphor in much of my work with school leaders to help explain the importance of having a vision and mission to guide you – the vision being the point beyond the end of the line, and the mission being to get there by staying on the line the whole way in the example of the cycling lesson.
Applying this to leadership
The key point to note in this story is that the office wasn’t trying to teach us how to ride a bike. Most of us know how to do that already. He was teaching us how to ride with direction and purpose.
There are some clear parallels in this story for how we approach leadership.
The line represents the pathway or mission that keeps us moving towards our destination, and the rider is the person or organisation making continual adjustments along the way. When we remain focused on the front wheel and the line we are concentrating on immediate performance. When we look to the horizon while riding we are more likely to maintain direction and purpose.
The important lesson we all learned that day, and the lesson for us as educators was looking at the line actually made it harder to stay on the line.
When organisations become so focused on what is immediately in front of them that they lose sight of where they’re actually going, and can so easily veer off course in terms of their vision and mission – just like we did as young riders. The ‘line’ we are being challenged to follow currently can be identified by listening to conversations we are having in staff-rooms and professional meetings – things like What do we need to implement? What does the Ministry require? Have we completed the documentation? Have our teachers been trained? Are we meeting the deadline? Have we ticked the box?
These are all legitimate concerns – but are all ‘front wheel’ questions. The more important question is; Is what we’re doing taking us towards the kind of learners – and the kind of society – we say we are preparing for?
Compliance with Direction
The problem isn’t about compliance – it’s about compliance without direction. In my cycling lesson metaphor above we were all asked to comply with a simple instruction – to follow the line, which we did, but without really focusing also on the direction we were headed. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with the instruction – in fact, it is very helpful to be able to cycle in a straight line and avoid appearing unsteady on the road as it provides confidence for the other road users who we may pass or who may pass us!
My point here is that externally mandated change mustn’t be thought of as inherently bad. Some mandated changes may be worthwhile and necessary. The danger comes from when we blindly implement the change. An organisation can become very good at responding to whatever appears immediately in front of it while gradually drifting away from its own purpose.
This is something that is concerning me a lot at the current time when schools are faced with so much mandated change, and I see a lot of ‘front wheel’ thinking and acting taking place in response.
The purpose of vision
This is where a school’s vision becomes so important. Even more important when it has been co-constructed with the community and is owned by staff and embraced within the culture of the school.
It’s important to emphasise here that a vision shouldn’t simply describe a desirable future. It should orient decisions in the present. So when something new comes along – new policy, curriculum requirements, assessment expectations, technology, accountability measures, initiatives etc. – the question isn’t simply “How do we implement this?” It is: “How does this help us get closer to where we say we’re going?” That changes the role of vision from something purely aspirational to something that connects genuinely with the operational life of the school.
Which brings me to the role of leadership. Leadership is about keeping eyes on the horizon – and helping others do the same. A leader can’t continually steer an organisation by making every decision personally. The organisation needs a culture in which people at every level understand the destination well enough to make good decisions about the next step. That means that everyone in the school community needs to know where are we going? Why are we going there? What matters most along the way? How will we know whether we’re still on course? What should we do when something pulls us away from that direction?
The leader’s job isn’t to keep everyone’s front wheel perfectly aligned. It’s to make sure everyone knows what they’re riding towards.
On reflecting on my cycling lesson I need to acknowledge, however, that the line painted on the netball court was unusually simple. Real organisational journeys aren’t. There will be obstacles. Detours. Unexpected events. Changing circumstances. Sometimes the path itself needs to change. And that’s precisely why you need the horizon. If circumstances require you to leave the original line, you can still make intelligent decisions because you know where you’re trying to go. This is particularly relevant to education leaders operating in uncertainty as we appear to be currently.
Back to purpose
If schools say their purpose is to prepare young people for a future that is uncertain, complex and changing, what happens when the adults in those schools become entirely preoccupied with responding to today’s requirements? There is an inherent irony here – we can become so busy preparing students for the future that we lose sight of the future we’re preparing them for.
The danger isn’t that we fail to keep up with change. The danger is that we become so focused on keeping up with change that we forget what we’re changing for.
When I think of my cycle lesson experience, the traffic officer didn’t tell us to stop looking at the road. He taught us to look beyond the road while still attending to it. This applies to the work we do in schools. We can’t ignore the front wheel. Leaders still have to deal with the policies, requirements, deadlines, resources and practicalities immediately in front of them. But we shouldn’t confuse paying attention to the front wheel with knowing where we’re going.
As school leaders it is important to keep your eyes on the horizon. Make the adjustments you need to make. Stay attentive to the road beneath you. But never let the demands of the journey cause you to forget the destination. Otherwise you’ll end up like so many of my classmates on that day, wobbling all over the place, some falling off and very few reaching the other end having stayed on the line at all.
What can you do?
The challenge I’ve outlined above isn’t new, and is something that I’ve worked with many schools, school leaders and boards of trustees to address. Here are some practical ideas you might consider to ensure you are focused on the horizon, and not simply the front wheel:
- Revisit your vision – not just your wording.
When was the last time your leadership team, staff, board and wider community genuinely talked about what your vision means for the decisions you are making today? Is it still the destination you are collectively heading towards, or has it become something displayed on walls and websites rather than used to guide action? - Put every major change through the “horizon test”.
When a new mandate, policy or initiative arrives, don’t begin only with “What do we have to do?” Ask also: “How does this take us towards our vision?”
And, importantly, “What might we need to stop, adapt or challenge if it doesn’t?” - Turn your vision into an operational tool.
Use it in staff meetings, professional learning, strategic planning, appraisal, board discussions and conversations about resourcing. Make the vision part of the questions you routinely ask rather than something you refer to occasionally. - Talk with your people about the horizon.
Ask staff, students, whānau and trustees:
What are we trying to achieve for our learners?
What does our vision ask of us in the way we teach and lead?
Are the changes currently occupying our attention helping us get there?
Where might we be in danger of losing sight of the destination? - Give people permission to keep looking up.
Perhaps this is the most important leadership task of all. In times of rapid change, people can become so absorbed in implementing what is immediately required that there is little time or permission to step back and ask whether it is taking the organisation in the right direction.
So, perhaps the challenge for school leaders right now isn’t simply to manage the changes coming at us. It is to keep our eyes on the horizon while doing so. Know what you’re being asked to do. Understand why it matters. Make the necessary adjustments. But continually ask: Is this taking us where we say we want to go? Because the purpose of leadership isn’t to keep everyone’s front wheel perfectly aligned. It’s to ensure that, together, we know where we’re heading.
