(You can find all the work of Rascal Zurfluh at https://zimplicity.org/.)
The story of the observations of a trusted confidant of a retired school leader.
April feels different.
Not in the loud, celebratory way of June, nor in the fresh anticipation of August. April is quieter than that. It carries a certain weight—a gentle awareness that something is ending, even as other things are beginning.
From my place beside my master, I’ve been noticing this more than usual. Perhaps it’s because we are approaching an anniversary. Nearly a year has passed since he stepped away from the work that defined so much of his life. A year since the daily rhythms of school leadership gave way to something slower, more reflective.
I can tell he’s been thinking about it. Humans do that with time. Dogs, for the record, are much better at simply being in it.
The Art of Letting Go
In schools around the world, April marks the beginning of transition season. Students begin to count their final days. Teachers reflect on what has been accomplished—and what remains unfinished. Leaders, whether they admit it or not, start to think about legacy.
- Who will carry this forward?
- What will endure?
- What must be released?
I’ve watched many farewells over the years. Some graceful. Some… less so. The difference, I’ve learned, is not in how much someone has accomplished, but in how they choose to let go.
My master never spoke much about legacy while he was leading. But now, with a bit of distance, I see that he understood something important:
What you build matters. But how you leave matters just as much.
A Note to the Seniors
This week, somewhere across the world, a group of students I remember well has just had their last day of school. I remember them as younger humans—rushing through hallways, laughing too loudly, occasionally dropping crumbs (which I appreciated). And now, they are standing at the edge of something new, preparing for exams, for departures, for lives that will carry them far beyond the school gates.
If I could sit beside them—tail gently wagging, offering my particular brand of quiet support—I might say this:
You don’t need to have everything figured out. The world you are stepping into is complex. It is, at times, uncertain. There will be moments when the path forward feels unclear.
That’s not failure. That’s life.
What matters is not that you know exactly where you’re going, but that you remain grounded in who you are. The kindness you’ve shown. The curiosity you’ve developed. The way you’ve learned to listen, to question, to care. Those things travel well. Far better than any exam result.
Supporting What Comes Next
April is also when schools quietly prepare for the next chapter. New leaders will arrive. New teachers will step into unfamiliar classrooms. Students will move up, move on, or move away.
And those who are leaving—whether retiring after decades of service or simply beginning a new adventure—carry with them pieces of the community they helped shape.
I’ve learned that strong schools do something subtle but powerful during this time: they honor what has been, without holding too tightly to it.
- They tell the stories.
- They express gratitude.
- They create space for new voices to emerge.
Continuity is not about preserving everything exactly as it was. It is about carrying forward what matters most, while allowing the rest to evolve. Even a dog understands this. We don’t cling to yesterday’s walk—we’re ready for the next one.
The First Year Away
As my master approaches this first anniversary of retirement, I sense both contentment and reflection.He doesn’t miss the emails. (I certainly don’t miss the late-night typing.)
But he does miss the people. The small conversations. The daily connections. The feeling of being part of something that mattered deeply.
What I’ve come to understand is this: leaving well does not mean leaving entirely. The influence remains. The relationships endure.
The impact continues in ways that are often invisible, but no less real. And perhaps that is the true measure of leadership—not what is held onto, but what is carried forward by others.
A Word to Leaders in Transition
If you are preparing to step away—whether this year or sometime soon—here is Rascal’s advice:
- Leave space for those who follow.
- Trust the people you have prepared.
- Resist the urge to control what comes next.
And remember that your legacy lives in others, not in structures or systems.
And if you are stepping into a new role:
- Honor what came before.
- Listen before you lead.
- Build with intention, not urgency.
You are not starting from scratch. You are continuing a story.
Closing Thoughts
April reminds us that endings are not separate from belonging—they are part of it. To belong to a place, a community, or a profession is to eventually leave it differently than you found it. To add something of yourself, and to trust that others will do the same.
From where I sit—watching one chapter close and many others unfold—I find comfort in that.The work continues. The people grow. The story moves forward.
And somewhere, not too far from here, a group of young people is taking their next step into the world—carrying with them everything they have learned, and everything they are still becoming.
That feels like a legacy worth celebrating.
Until next time,
Rascal