The Stumble, the Stretch, the Safety

My two dearest friends came to stay with us, having just completed ten weeks of total immersion learning te reo Māori.

They knew my whare is a place of inclusion. A place where you can bring your whole self, and feel safe to do so. I had sat alongside them on the marae many times, through joyous times and sad ones. Although not blood, we are sisters of another kind.

We greeted each other in te reo at the door. The kōrero started flowing, fluent and easy, weaving me in as they went. I followed the shape of it, picking out words and phrases and the little gestures they used to keep me included. I loved listening to them like that.

They told me what made those ten weeks work. How the environment held them. How it was safe to speak, safe to get it wrong, safe to be gently corrected and try again.

Something in me sat up. Do I? Don't I?

I knew if there was ever a room where trying wouldn't cost me anything, this was it. So I tried. A few words. A timid phrase or two.

I got things wrong. I felt the old urge to retreat, to go quiet and let them carry the conversation without me. But they didn't let me disappear. They just kept going, responded to what I said, guided me without making it a lesson. It was a conversation, not a correction.

Three things were happening at once that night, and I think they're the same three things behind every real bit of growth.

There was the safety. Ako and whanaungatanga, two words I've long carried close. The relationship where teacher and learner take turns holding the knowledge. The bonds between people that carry it. It wasn't a lesson at my table. It was just us, the same as we've always been together, and the learning slipped in alongside everything else.

There was the stretch. The words and phrases I tried sat just slightly beyond what felt easy, never so far beyond that I froze completely. That's the exact edge where real growth happens, not so easy we're bored, not so hard we shut down.

And there was the stumble. Getting it wrong, out loud, in front of people who mattered to me. That's the uncomfortable bit, the bit most of us spend our whole lives avoiding. But it's also the only way in. You can't get the safety or the stretch without risking the stumble too.

Hold all three at once, safety, stretch, stumble, and that's exactly what real growth looks like. Not just for learning a language. For the hard conversation, the new skill, the creative risk, the leadership moment you haven't stepped into yet.

That's the room I want to build for the people I work with too. Not a lesson. A relationship where it's safe to stumble, safe to stretch, and safe to try again anyway.

Who's holding that kind of space for you? Or who could you be holding it for?

Arohanui
Mary-Anne 😊

Are You Planning the Trip, or Just Booking the Flight?

Are You Planning the Trip, or Just Booking the Flight?

I'm heading back to Vietnam this year. It's been ten years since I was last there.

Ten years is long enough for a country to change. It's long enough for a person to change too.

So last week I sat down at the kitchen table with a map spread out in front of me, and I realised straight away this wasn't going to be a simple case of booking a flight and winging it.

There were decisions to make. Real ones.

Where do we actually go? Vietnam is long and narrow and packed with more good options than any three week trip could ever hold.

What do we see, and what do we let go of? Because you can't do it all. Not even close. And trying to do it all is usually how you end up doing none of it well.

How do we move through the country? Fast and light, ticking off cities? Or slow, staying longer in fewer places, letting the road do some of the talking?

And when do we rest? Where do we build in the days where nothing is booked, nothing is planned, and we just are wherever we are?

I found myself circling towns on the map, crossing others out, circling them back in again. And it struck me. This is exactly what good strategic planning looks like.

Except it's not a three week trip you're planning. It's a three year one.

You're not just mapping this year. You're mapping the road all the way through to 2029. And that changes things. You can't just pick the nearest towns and call it a route. You need to know roughly where you're headed over the whole journey, even if the day to day detail gets filled in as you go.

That's actually how I've built our Strategic Planning Day. It's not a single day where you rock up cold and hope a three year route falls out of the sky by 3:30pm.

There's a scouting session first. A 60 minute webinar in early August where we look at the terrain together. What data do you need before you travel? What's the landscape you're actually planning for, not just this year, but over the next three? It's the bit where you spread the map on the table before you've committed to a single road.

Then, at the end of October, we take the actual trip. A full day at Lake Karapiro, away from the daily noise, alongside other educational leadership teams doing the same journey. You turn everything you've gathered into a real route through to 2029. Initiatives with measurable outcomes. A timeline that actually gets you there. An annual plan for this year, built as the first leg of the longer journey.

You get clear on the destination. Not every destination. The one or two that actually matter, this year and over the next three, for your school, your team, this season.

You make the hard calls on what you're not doing. Every "no" to a good option is what makes room for the great one. Ten priorities isn't a plan. It's a wish list wearing a plan's clothes, and it definitely won't survive three years of road.

You decide how you're going to travel. Fast and reactive? Or steady, with room to actually take in where you are, knowing there's ground still to cover next year and the year after?

And you build in the rest. Morning tea, lunch, an uninterrupted environment, a room full of educational leadership teams doing the same trip. Because a plan built at pace, with no room to breathe, rarely survives contact with term one, let alone three years of them.

My last trip to Vietnam happened at a completely different stage of life. This one will look different, because I'm different. And that's exactly as it should be. Your plan should look different this time too, because you're not just planning for where you'll be in December. You're planning for who you'll be in 2029.

So before you book the flight. Before you say yes to another goal, another initiative, another thing on the list.

Sit with the map for a while first. The whole map. Not just the next town.

Where are you actually going, not just this year, but by 2029? And have you built in the rest to get there well?

Strategic Planning Day is built for educational leaders, their teams and Board members. It's a two part journey: a scouting webinar on 5th or 6th August, then the full planning day on Friday 30th October at Lake Karapiro, where you'll leave with a route mapped through to 2029. Numbers are strictly limited. If you'd love a hand planning your strategic plan, I'd love to hear from you.

momentumlearning.ac.nz/strategic-planning-day-2026

The Conversation
Where are you actually trying to get to, not just this year, but by 2029?
And have you planned the rest stops, or just the destination?

Have a fantastic week
Mary-Anne

Busy or Productive?

Busy or Productive?

Someone asked me the other day how my week was going, and before I could even think about it, the classic answer popped out: "Busy!" It’s an answer most of us have on autopilot. It rolls off the tongue so easily because, let’s face it, our days are full. But this time, I caught myself. It made me pause and think about the kind of energy I want to invite into my life and share with others.

There is a beautiful difference between a day that is simply full of activity and a day that is full of purpose. Somewhere along the way, we’ve been conditioned to wear "busy" as a badge of honour, as if rushing around is the ultimate proof that we are valuable and working hard.

But I’ve realised that the real magic happens when we shift our focus from being busy to being truly productive.

"Success isn't measured by the hours we log or the number of emails we send, but by the meaningful outcomes we create."

I love Digby Scott’s concept of Unhurried Productivity. It’s the wonderful sweet spot where we trade constant firefighting for clear, deliberate focus. It's about protecting our time for the things that actually count, allowing us to dive deep into our work and then, just as importantly, switch off and enjoy proper, guilt-free rest.

So, I’ve been experimenting with a new habit.

Now, when someone asks how I am, I lead with, "I’m doing really well!" And if they ask if things have been hectic, I love to share that I’ve been productive.

Admittedly, it felt a little different saying it out loud at first! But that tiny shift has been incredibly rewarding. It gives me a mindful half-second to check in with myself and celebrate what I've actually achieved.

Most days are a beautiful mix of both, but focusing on productivity has changed the game. I’m realising that looking permanently rushed isn't the goal. Instead, feeling accomplished, present, and intentional is what matters. I’d much rather be known for making a real impact than just moving fast.

The Conversation

Next time someone checks in on you, try focusing on your achievements rather than your task list and see how it feels!

What did your week look like? Did you find that sweet spot of joyful productivity, or are you still practising the pivot? I’d love to hear how you’re making space for what matters!

Go with unhurried productivity this week
Mary-Anne 😊

The Ute, The Party, and The Art of Quiet Resistance

The Ute, The Party, and The Art of Quiet Resistance

I was about seventeen when I “borrowed” my parents' ute to go to a party they'd said no to.

I want to be clear. I didn't have permission. What I had was a plan.

I waited until the house was quiet. Roll-started it down the hill so nobody would hear the engine. Made it to the party. Made it back in the early hours. Quietly drove it back up the hill. Parked it exactly where it had been.

And the next morning, over breakfast, asked casually how everyone had slept that night.

I was fairly certain I'd gotten away with it. Looking back now, I'm fairly certain I hadn't. My parents knew. Nothing was ever officially said. And life carried on.

But here's what that seventeen year old didn't realise she was doing. She wasn't just going to a party. She was demonstrating one of the most human responses to a decision we don't agree with.

Finding a workaround.

I see it in teams all the time. Someone sits in a meeting and nods along. Yes, agreed, absolutely, let's do that. And then quietly, almost imperceptibly, doesn't do it. Or does a version of it. Or does it once and then stops. Not with drama. Not with confrontation. Just with a kind of steady, unspoken resistance.

It's not quite quitting. It's not outright refusal. It's something quieter than that. A slow drift away from the kaupapa while technically still showing up.

And the leader is left with the same feeling my parents probably had. Knowing something is off. Not quite sure how to name it without making it a bigger deal than it needs to be.

So how do you navigate it?

First, get curious before you get frustrated. Because passive resistance is almost always information. It's telling you something about the agreement, the decision, or the relationship. Maybe the person never really agreed in the first place and just said yes to end the conversation. Maybe they agreed but then hit a barrier nobody knew about. Maybe they have a genuine concern that was never properly heard.

The behaviour on the surface is the same. The reason underneath varies enormously. And the conversation you need to have is different depending on which one it is.

Second, name what you're seeing without making it an accusation. Something like, I've noticed we agreed on this but it doesn't seem to be happening. Help me understand what's getting in the way. That's not a confrontation. It's an opening. It gives the person somewhere to go other than defensive.

Third, revisit the original agreement. Because sometimes passive resistance is a signal that the agreement itself wasn't solid. That the yes was given under pressure, or without enough information, or without the person feeling genuinely heard. Going back to the agreement and rebuilding it properly is not weakness. It's leadership.

And if you've done all of that and the resistance continues? Then you're into accountability territory. And that's a different conversation. But you can only get there honestly if you've done the work first.

As for my parents. They never said a word. But I have a feeling the ute mysteriously needed to go in for a service the following weekend.

The Conversation

Where in your team right now is someone doing the equivalent of roll-starting the ute down the hill?

And have you had the conversation that actually needs to happen?

Get curious this week
Mary-Anne :)

The Yes That Changed Everything

I said yes before I'd thought it through.

A colleague, a friend, asked me to MC the Waikato Secondary Schools event. And before the sensible part of my brain could catch up, I'd already agreed.

Then the panic set in.

What had I done? I was the person who sat quietly in staff meetings. The one who chose her words carefully and said as little as possible. Standing up in front of a room full of people and holding the whole thing together was not something I did. It wasn't who I was.

Except apparently I'd just said I would.

I don't think she knew how terrified I was. She just asked. Straightforwardly, like it was obvious. Like she could already see me doing it. And something in that - the way she asked without hesitation, without wondering if I could handle it - made me say yes before I could talk myself out of it.

So I did it. Terrified. Probably not perfectly. But I did it.

And something shifted. Not overnight. Not dramatically. But that yes opened a door I didn't know was there. It started me on a path of public speaking that I couldn't have predicted and wouldn't have chosen on my own. Not then.

Here's what I've been thinking about since. She didn't give me confidence. She couldn't. Confidence isn't something someone else can hand you. But she gave me something just as important. She gave me an opportunity I wouldn't have given myself. And she believed I could do it before I did.

That's a kind of leadership that doesn't get talked about enough.

Because we spend a lot of time thinking about the big calls. The strategy. The decisions. The hard conversations. And they matter. But sometimes the most significant thing a leader does is notice something in someone that they can't yet see in themselves. And then ask. Simply. Without making a big deal of it. Just — I think you could do this. Will you?

Most people are waiting for permission they'd never give themselves.

And you might be the person who gives it.

Look around your team right now. Who are you not asking? Who's sitting quietly, saying little, choosing their words carefully - and capable of so much more than they're showing you?

Ask them. Don't overthink it. Just ask.

Because you might not know how terrified they are. And that's ok. Neither did she.

The Conversation

Who in your world needs someone to believe in them before they believe in themselves?

And what's stopping you from being that person for them?

Arohanui
Mary-Anne 😊