Joy is an important foundation from which to live and to work. Its presence or absence shows up in how we interact, decide, speak, and act. And yet, for those of us in schools, joy can be difficult to keep as the foundation of our practice.
The challenges in public education are many, and when professional pressures combine with personal ones, joy is often overtaken, replaced by whatever mindset seems most practical or easiest to access.
Reintroducing joy
Recently, I joined a group of educators from around North Carolina on a Zoom call to explore why joy should be central to our work. I sought out this meeting after receiving the this perspective from a colleague with simply, “this is it” as the subject.
The meeting was as fulfilling as I expected and at the end, I was asked how I lead from a foundation of joy. My first reaction was not an answer, but a question: Would my colleagues think of joy when they think of me? Do I project what I claim to value? Is there a gap between what I believe is essential and what people experience in their daily interactions with me?
I also wondered how often students experience joyful educators. Who benefits from joyless schools? Conversely, who or what is served when educators support one another and prioritize joy? These questions led me to think about where joy comes from, and what threatens it.
The answers are too complex for one reflection, but a few ideas stand out. But first, it’s important to define joy.
Joy, as I understand it, is grounded in clarity, delight, and purpose. It is the conviction that, regardless of circumstances, our work matters and joy is the decision to take genuine satisfaction in that purpose.
I’m not talking about naivety, silliness, or a refusal to take things seriously. It is constant positioning or repositioning ourselves to our work — our often messy work — with people. Furthermore, joy is deep and steady. It doesn’t ignore hard truths; it holds onto the light that remains even when conditions are difficult. It values connection over control and people over processes.
After 19 years in schools, I still feel there is real joy in this work for me.
The role of joy in schools
Thinking about joy in my daily practice is sobering, especially now that I’ve moved from the classroom into administration.
As a teacher, I was known for being energetic, passionate, and — according to one particularly serious student — a bit of a “goofball.” Each semester, I asked students to complete a feedback questionnaire. Over 12 years, only one student disagreed with the statements: “My teacher likes who they teach” and “My teacher likes what they teach.”
That matters to me. It tells me that even when my style felt unconventional to some, students could still sense genuine enjoyment in the classroom. My work as an administrator requires a different tone, but centering joy is no less important.
When I asked myself who benefits from an absence of joy in schools, the answer wasn’t obvious. Most people would see a joyful teacher as a net positive for their child. It’s hard to imagine a campaign against joy being well received. Yet we clearly need to promote it, because many systems and habits gradually wear it down. No one benefits from joyless schools — but many things thrive when joy disappears.
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Joy is closely linked to creativity, imagination, and play. These qualities threaten systems built on control, rote memorization, and compliance. When rigor is mistaken for struggle or suffering, joy becomes suspect. Compliance feels orderly and efficient, so it’s easy to prioritize control over connection. But that tradeoff comes at a cost.
Joy also weakens cultures of fear, shame, and scarcity. Fear-based motivation loses its power in joyful environments. Instead of control, joy encourages shared routines, mutual trust, and collective purpose. Scarcity is real in public education — budgets shrink, resources disappear and are diverted from public schools — but a joyful mindset reminds us that we still have something of value to offer. From that starting point, meaningful progress is possible.
Joy also disrupts the assumption that seriousness equals competence. A sterile, bureaucratic environment may look professional, but it often drains humanity from our work. Joy allows people in schools to show up as full human beings. It replaces performative professionalism and grind culture with authentic relationships and collaboration. And it makes room for humor and levity, which are often signs of deep commitment rather than a lack of it.
Joy even challenges cynicism. The “sophisticated cynic” often claims to be the only true realist in the room. But there is evidence for both cynicism and joy. Joy does not deny the problems; it simply refuses to be defined by them.
In that sense, joy becomes a form of resistance. It pushes back against the forces that erode our passion: poor policy, low pay, limited support, overwhelming demands, and even toxic workplace cultures. This kind of resistance is not loud or dramatic. It is steady. It is communal. It grows from purpose and is sustained by attention, renewal, and vision.
The result is a quiet delight in the work and in the people who share it. It is a refusal to be shaped primarily by the systems that surround us, and instead to be shaped by the purpose that initially led us into education.
As I reflect, my hope is simple: that I am known as someone who leads with joy — and who is willing to notice, and correct, the moments when I drift away from it.
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