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Repetition Is Part of the Work

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, SD45, tagged , , on March 4, 2026| Leave a Comment »


We were putting significant energy into bringing Sarah Ward back to speak with families and staff about executive functioning in late January. It is important work, and we know it matters. Still, a small voice in my head said, haven’t we already done this?

And then I paused.

Sara last spoke to our community in 2017.

That was nine years ago.

In that time, more than half of our current parents likely did not have children in the system. A significant portion of our staff were not yet working here. And in a K–12 district, roughly 75 percent of our students weren’t even enrolled yet. Many of our parents’ own experiences of school are now twenty or more years old.

When you look at it that way, the idea that we have “already done this” doesn’t really hold.What is actually happening is something else entirely.

Leadership has memory. Communities don’t.

Those of us who stay in systems long enough carry the history with us. We remember when an idea was first introduced, how it landed, what worked, what didn’t. That institutional memory is valuable. It helps us avoid fads. It gives us perspective. It allows us to be steady.

But it also creates a blind spot.

While leaders remember, school communities renew themselves every year. Every September, new families arrive. New staff join teams. Students move through grades and eventually out of the system altogether. Culture, unlike policy, does not persist on its own. It has to be retaught, re-explained, and re-lived—not because it failed the first time, but because that’s how learning actually works.

Repetition isn’t stagnation. It’s how understanding is built. And it’s often what makes real improvement possible.

I think about our principals who meet with new Kindergarten parents each fall. The presentation is familiar. The questions are fairly predictable. For the principal, it can feel like Groundhog Day. But for those families sitting in the library, it is their first time. Their child is about to start school. Everything is new.

The work of leadership, in that moment, is to deliver that message like you did the first time.

Because to the people hearing it, it matters.

This is the companion idea to what I wrote in my last post, Steadiness as Strategy. There, I argued that steadiness isn’t the opposite of innovation, but its prerequisite. That without trust and a stable foundation, real improvement is hard to sustain.

What I didn’t fully name is what steadiness asks of leaders.

It asks us to say things we’ve said before, to people who have never heard them. It asks us to resist the pull of novelty when the work that matters is still unfinished. It asks us to stay interested in ideas long after they have stopped feeling new to us.

But here’s where it gets complicated.

Not all repetition is the same. Some repetition serves the community. Some repetition just serves us.

I wrote a few years ago about teaching and aging rock stars. Roger Daltrey of The Who once said there was no point in producing new music because fans just want to hear the classics. Just play the greatest hits. And I get it. There’s comfort in the familiar, for the audience and for the performer.

But the artists I admire most, people like Paul Simon, take a different approach. They know the crowd wants to hear the songs that made them famous. They play those songs. But they also keep creating. They rework old material. They stay curious. They resist the temptation to coast on what already worked.

The question for leaders is the same one facing any artist with a robust catalog: are you repeating because it still matters, or because it’s comfortable?

That’s the discernment this work requires.

Executive functioning matters. It mattered in 2017, and it matters now. So we bring Sarah Ward back. This summer, BCSSA is bringing Yong Zhao back to speak with superintendents from across the province, not because we have run out of ideas, but because these ideas still matter, and most of the people who need to hear them have changed since the last time they were said.

Capacity takes years to build. Communities don’t stand still while we build it.

But if I am honest, there are other things I repeat that are harder to justify. Familiar phrases. Comfortable framings. The Superintendent Greatest Hits. Sometimes I catch myself reaching for them not because the audience needs to hear them, but because I already know how to say them.

Steadiness is not the same as stagnation. But the line between them isn’t always obvious. The difference is intention. Am I repeating this because the community hasn’t heard it, or because I haven’t bothered to think of something better?

Earlier in my career, I might not have asked that question. Repetition felt like a lack of momentum. It felt like you weren’t moving fast enough, or far enough, or boldly enough.

Now, I see it differently.

Steadiness creates the conditions for learning to deepen. Trust allows people to hear ideas they may not have been ready for the first time. And consistency sends a signal: this matters enough to stay with.

But only if it actually does.

So when we bring an idea back into focus, when we invite a speaker again, revisit a framework, or restate a belief, we’re not circling.

We are anchoring.

The work isn’t to constantly invent. It is to welcome new people into ideas that matter, again and again.

Without coasting. And without apology.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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Steadiness as Strategy

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, tagged , , , , , on February 24, 2026| 6 Comments »

In my year-end reflection last December, I found myself dwelling on something that might seem unremarkable: there wasn’t a lot of drama in BC education this past year. No major controversies. No political firestorms. No headlines.

And I wrote: that’s a good thing.

In a year when AI, politics, and social media all seemed determined to manufacture urgency, the absence of drama stood out. It felt almost countercultural to say it out loud, but it was true.

I’ve spent more than 500 posts championing innovation, asking “what if,” and pushing against “we’ve always done it this way.” I’ve written about AI, about rethinking assessment, about challenging assumptions. This blog is called Culture of Yes for a reason. I believe in trying things.

So let me be clear: this isn’t a retreat from any of that.

But here’s what I’ve come to believe in this work: steadiness is a strategy. And it might be the most underrated one we have.

This tension between innovation and improvement isn’t new. It’s been a sustaining conversation in education for much of this century, and I’ve returned to it in different ways on this blog. In 2011, I wrote about Valerie Hannon’s “split screen approach,” the idea that we need to improve the system of today while simultaneously designing the system of tomorrow. In 2013, I used the movie Groundhog Day to warn against simply repeating each year a little better, noting that we want to teach for 25 years, not for one year repeated 25 times. And in 2017, I explored the tension between getting better and getting different, and found that when we embrace doing things differently, traditional results often improve too.

So what’s changed in my thinking?

Maybe this: I’ve come to see steadiness not as the opposite of innovation, but as its prerequisite.

We live in a world that celebrates disruption. We reward the bold move, the big announcement, the pivot. In education, we talk constantly about reimagining and transformation. The language of change is everywhere.

And some of that is good. Schools should absolutely be places of wonder and joy and amazement. We should try new things. We should ask hard questions about whether what we’re doing is actually working.

But there’s a difference between innovation and improvement. Innovation asks, “What’s new?” Improvement asks, “What’s better?” Both matter. The problem is that improvement is quieter. It doesn’t photograph well. It rarely makes the newsletter.

Innovation introduces variance. Improvement reduces variance. Healthy systems need both.

I often come back to a phrase I’ve borrowed from others over the years: you don’t have to be sick to get better. That reframes the whole enterprise. We’re not in crisis mode. We’re not fixing something broken. We’re refining something that’s working, and that kind of work requires patience, repetition, and a willingness to resist the shiny thing.

What makes that kind of slow, steady improvement possible? Trust.

And trust, in a school system, is built through consistency. When the Board is consistent with its expectations, the executive team can plan. When the executive team is consistent, principals can lead. When principals are consistent, teachers can teach. When teachers are consistent, students can learn. That chain isn’t bureaucracy. It’s infrastructure. It is the solid ground that lets people take risks, because they know the foundation won’t shift beneath them.

Sometimes progress looks like not having to explain the same thing again.

I’ll admit something. Earlier in my leadership journey, I felt pressure to prove myself through visible wins. The flashy initiative. The big rollout. The thing you could point to and say, “I did that.” It’s natural. When you’re newer to a role, you want to show you belong there.

Somewhere along the way, that shifted. Maybe it’s experience. Maybe it’s just getting older. I have become more comfortable letting the work speak quietly. The best days in our schools aren’t the ones that make headlines. They are the ones where a student finally understands something that has been just out of reach. Where a teacher tries something new and it lands. Where a conversation in a hallway changes a kid’s trajectory.

None of that trends. All of it compounds.

So yes, I’ll keep advocating for wonder and joy and amazement in our schools. I’ll keep pushing us to ask whether we’re doing right by every student. But I have also made peace with something: the most important work often looks, from the outside, like nothing is happening at all.

Steadiness doesn’t make headlines. But it makes a difference.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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The Educated Citizen, Revisited

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, tagged , , , on February 3, 2026| 8 Comments »

In December 2011, I wrote a blog post asking whether British Columbia’s 1989 definition of the Educated Citizen still held up. The question felt almost rhetorical. Despite two decades of change, the document remained remarkably relevant.

Here we are, fourteen years later, and I find myself returning to that same question with fresh urgency. Not because the definition has failed, but because the world around it has transformed.

This is what BC said it wanted from graduates in 1989, in the Statement of Education Policy Order:

Citizens who are thoughtful, able to learn, and able to think critically. Creative, flexible, and self motivated. Capable of making independent decisions. Cooperative, principled, and respectful of others regardless of differences. Aware of their rights and prepared to exercise their responsibilities.

The document also named a lifelong appreciation of learning, a curiosity about the world around them, and a capacity for creative thought and expression.

Read that list again. There is not a single reference to specific content. No mention of any skill that would become obsolete. It is entirely about human capacities that endure.

The Question AI Forces Us to Answer

In 2011, I wrote that while so much had changed in our world, many of our values and goals had remained unchanged. The challenge, I suggested, was that the strategies employed would differ dramatically.

I did not know how dramatically.

Today, a student can generate a polished essay in seconds. Information is instantly accessible. Artificial intelligence can produce first drafts, solve complex problems, and simulate expertise in ways that would have been unimaginable even a few years ago.

This changes everything about strategy. But it changes nothing about what matters.

If anything, AI has made the 1989 vision more urgent, not less. As machines take care of the “what”, the distinctly human “how” and “why” move to centre stage. Critical thinking. Creativity. Ethical reasoning. The ability to collaborate, to persist, and to make meaning from complexity. The judgment to know when to stop, help someone else, or ask a better question instead of a faster one.

These were always the point. We did not abandon them. We simply allowed other pressures to crowd them out.

The Foreground, Not the Background

In the comments on my 2011 post, Bruce Beairsto, the former Superintendent of the Richmond School District, wrote something that has stayed with me. These attributes, he said, have been in the background, and now we are beginning to appreciate that they should be in the foreground. The subjects are the means, but it is the educated citizen that is the end we seek. We have said that before, but never really acted upon it.

He was right then. He is even more right now.

We built our systems around content and competencies that fit neatly into courses, units, and gradebooks. The human capacities described in the Educated Citizen do not fit neatly. They sprawl across subjects. They develop slowly and unevenly, often in moments that cannot be planned or scheduled. They resist easy measurement.

So we let them live in the in-between spaces. The hallway conversation. The coach’s feedback after a tough loss. The teacher who notices something is off and makes time to ask. This is deeply important work, but it is often invisible work. Dependent on individual educators rather than intentional system design.

From Background to Foreground

AI is not asking us to invent new priorities. It is revealing wisdom we already had and slowly drifted from.

In 2011, Tyler James shared a story in the comments about his daughter stopping mid race to help a fallen skater. His conclusion was simple and profound. We cannot teach educated citizenship. We must model citizenship. (Tyler’s comments and the rich discussion in the comments section of the 2011 post is a wonderful read.)

That insight matters more than ever. In an age of AI generated content, what students need most are adults who embody curiosity, solid judgment, presence, and integrity. Not because these things will be assessed, but because they matter. Because students notice who we are long before they remember what we cover.

The 1989 Educated Citizen is not a relic. It is a North Star worth returning to.

Perhaps the real question is not whether we have it right, but whether we are finally ready, systemically and intentionally, to act on what we have known all along.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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The Persistence of Yes

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, SD45, tagged , , on January 20, 2026| 8 Comments »

This is Post #500. Writing that sentence feels both surreal and deeply satisfying. More than anything, these posts have taught me that leadership and life are sustained by one simple word: yes.

That yes began more than fifteen years ago, uncertain and small. When I pressed “publish” on my very first entry, I had no sense of where it might lead. Would anyone read it? Would I have anything worth saying after a handful of posts? Would the blog simply fade out, like so many others? And yet, here we are. 499 posts later.

The Early Yes

At the beginning, the simple act of writing was an experiment. By the time I reached 150 posts, I reflected that

Blogging has helped me become very comfortable with who I am … it has forced me to be specific about ideas, pushed me to share publicly, and given me a regular vehicle to reflect and refine my thinking. Blogging is different; it is the difference between telling and engaging, and I look forward to engaging in the next 150.

That shift, from telling to engaging, was one of my first and most important yesses.

At 150, I was already sharing advice for others who wanted to start: be clear about what you will and won’t write about … write for yourself, not for what others may want … think in blog posts … be a storyteller. Our schools are full of amazing stories waiting to be told. It was a reminder that blogging isn’t about volume; it’s about voice.

The Hard but Important Yes

Here’s what I didn’t know at the beginning: how difficult it would be to keep saying yes.

At 400, I wrote:

When I started blogging, I never really thought about how it would end. And I don’t think I fully knew that it was actually hard to write regularly. Anyone who tells you blogging is easy is lying! But most important things are not easy.

There were weeks when the words wouldn’t come. Stretches when I questioned whether I had anything new to say. Moments when the pressure of other responsibilities made the blog feel like one more obligation rather than an opportunity. Even at the 10-year mark, when I joked with George Couros that we might be “two of the last bloggers out there,” I wondered if persistence was just stubbornness by another name.

But then someone would stop me at a conference to share how a post resonated with them. Or an email would arrive from a teacher I had never met, describing how an idea sparked something in their practice. Or a comment would appear on the blog itself: thoughtful, challenging, extending the thinking beyond what I had offered. And the yes would return, renewed not by my own certainty but by the community that had quietly formed around these posts.

The persistence of yes, I have learned, is not a solo endeavor. It is sustained by every reader who takes the time to engage, whether directly on the blog, through social media, or in those wonderful in-person moments when someone says, “I read your blog.” Those four words matter more than you might know.

The Yes Behind the Yes

What I haven’t said yet is that I never wrote alone.

Before there was a blog, there was a newspaper column. And before every column went to print, it went to my dad. He was my first editor, catching errors, questioning word choices, and making everything a little bit better. When I started the blog in 2010, I had just officially become a superintendent. My dad was proud of that. He saw me settle into the role, saw the blog take shape, saw the first few years of posts. He passed away in August 2014, and I think of him often when I write. Some habits, once formed by people we love, thankfully stay with us.

When I started this blog in 2010, newspapers were still flourishing. I had grown up reading them, writing for them, learning from the columnists who made sense of the world in 800 words at a time. Over these 500 posts, I have watched that world shrink. Papers have closed. Bureaus have emptied. The people who made a living thinking in public, holding institutions accountable, telling the stories of communities, have largely moved on or been moved out. I miss newspapers, but more than that, I miss the people who wrote for them. Blogging is not the same thing, but in some small way it feels like an attempt to keep that spirit alive: a place to think publicly, to wrestle with ideas, to believe that writing for an audience, however small, still matters.

Since my dad, others have quietly taken up the work of editing. Tricia Buckley, and before her Sharon Pierce and Deb Podurgiel, have read every single post before it was published. Every one. They catch what I miss, sharpen what I muddle, and make this space better than I could make it alone. To write for 500 posts is one thing. To have colleagues willing to read 500 drafts is something else entirely.

I am also grateful to Jay Goldman, editor of School Administrator Magazine. Over the years, Jay and the magazine have repurposed a number of my posts and accepted other pieces of writing. What begins as a post for this small corner of the internet sometimes finds its way to a broader audience. That reach, and the connections it creates, has mattered more than I expected.

And then there are the bloggers who showed me what this could be. In the early days, I had a blogroll that was inspiring. I would read Dean Shareski, or Will Richardson, or David Warlick and be excited. The world of web 2.0 was booming and each post I read was opening me up to new ideas and a new world I was trying to understand. George Couros has been both friend and model for what it means to tell the story of education with optimism and persistence. More recently, I have found kinship with a small community of BC superintendent bloggers. Jordan Tinney and Kevin Godden have since retired, but for a time we kept each other going. Now it’s mostly Dave Eberwein and me. I also appreciate how Cari Wilson and Sandra-Lynn Shortall in West Vancouver blog regularly and keep the blog community humming.

The Yes in Ideas

Looking back across 499 posts, I am struck by something unexpected: the topics have changed dramatically, but the underlying themes have remained remarkably consistent.

Yes to innovation with curiosity: From early posts on social media in classrooms and mobile devices to today’s reflections on generative AI, the tools change but the thread remains: lean into change with curiosity, not fear.

Yes to mentorship that outlives us: I arrived in Mrs. Caffrey’s Grade 2 class unable to read and without confidence. I had her for Grade 2, Grade 3, and Grade 4, and left at the end of those three years a completely different student. I have written about her many times over the years because she represents something I believe deeply: a single teacher can change a life trajectory. From World Teachers’ Day tributes to stories of colleagues who shaped my early career, I have come to see mentorship as how yes persists beyond any single person, passed forward voice to voice, generation to generation. And now, at 52, I find myself on the other side of that exchange, trying to be for others what so many were for me.

Yes to well-being as core, not extra: Posts on physical literacy, wellness, and school sports remind me that joy, movement, and balance are not optional. They are essentials for students and leaders alike.

Yes to family and wonder as part of leadership: Interwoven among leadership reflections are personal stories: concerts with my wife, milestones with my kids, anecdotes from sports and community. Leadership is human work. Yes is sustained when it includes wonder, humour, and gratitude.

The Yes that Learns

Over the years, I have admitted when I was wrong. I have revised posts, shifted my stance, and acknowledged that what once seemed certain might now be more complicated. The persistence of yes doesn’t mean refusing to change. It is about holding fast to values while letting strategies evolve. It is about being willing to write in pencil, not ink.

The Yes Forward

So what does yes look like after 500 posts?

It looks like continuing to model thoughtful, transparent use of AI in schools, choosing curiosity over compliance, and reminding ourselves that technology should expand opportunity, not shrink relationships.

It looks like protecting public education as a place of hope, belonging, and possibility, even when the winds of politics blow cold.

It looks like saying yes to wonder, to the small joys that keep cynicism at bay.

It looks like believing, still, that education can and must be better tomorrow than it was yesterday.

After 500 posts, here is my promise: I will keep saying yes to relationships before technology, to students before systems, to hope before cynicism. Because public education still deserves our most persistent yes.

The Power of People

As I’ve been rereading old posts in preparation for this one, I keep being struck by the same thing: the people. Name after name, story after story. I am reminded of how many good people we have in West Vancouver, and more broadly across education. People who care deeply, who show up for one another, who make this work meaningful. I am lucky to be part of this community.

The Invitation

So here, at Post #500, I leave you with the same question that has guided me since the beginning:

What, in your corner of education, still deserves a persistent yes?

For me, the answer is unchanged: a stubborn belief in public education as a place of hope, possibility, and human connection.

When I pressed “publish” on that first post, I didn’t know if anyone would read it. 499 posts later, I still don’t know exactly where this is going. But I know the question is still worth asking, and the yes is still worth emphatically saying. This is not just persistence. This is the persistence of yes.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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In Praise of Assistance (And the Myth of the Unassisted Writer)

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, Technology, tagged , , on January 13, 2026| 10 Comments »

I have been thinking a lot about assistance lately. Who gets it, who does not, and why we suddenly get moralistic about it the moment the assistance comes from AI.

The spark for this post is Nick Potkalitsky’s Substack essay, “In Praise of Assistance.” It is one of those pieces that does not just add to the AI and writing conversation. It reframes it (Thanks to Adam Garry for pointing me towards it).

Nick starts from the now familiar worry about “cognitive offloading,” students delegating the thinking to a tool, and he agrees the concern is real. But then he names what often sits underneath the concern: not just pedagogy, but ideology.

He argues that the cognitive offloading critique rests on “a historical fiction: the autonomous learner.” Because if we are honest, most of us did not learn to write (or think, or revise) alone.

My own invisible advantage

In high school, I had a huge advantage: my dad was an English teacher, and he read every essay before I submitted it. Not just English essays. All of them, across every subject.

He did not write my essays. But he did what good teachers do. He asked questions I had not thought to ask. He pointed out where my logic sagged. He helped me tighten sentences. He coached me toward clarity.

That continued through university. And years later, when I became a newspaper columnist, he was still my first reader. Every column went to him before it went to my editor. He would call with suggestions, and I would decide what to keep and what to let go.

At the time, nobody called this cheating. We called it support. Nick puts it simply: “Students have always learned through assistance. From peers, from teachers, from resources…” 

We rarely worry students are “offloading” onto classmates in a discussion. We celebrate it. But when AI enters the picture, suddenly assistance becomes suspect.

That is the tension.

The question is not “help or no help”

When we talk about AI and writing, the debate often collapses into a binary: real writing (alone, unaided) versus fake writing (assisted, scaffolded).

But that binary does not match how writing actually works. It does not match how learning has actually  ever worked.

The better question is the one Nick keeps pointing us toward: what kind of assistance builds thinking, rather than replacing it?

That is where his essay becomes more than a defense of AI. It is a critique of an unspoken standard that has been unevenly distributed for a long time. The idea that “authentic struggle” is the price of admission to learning.

Nick names the class based reality bluntly: affluent students often have “small seminars, writing conferences, office hours, peer review sessions” while others are in systems where meaningful feedback barely exists. And then comes the sentence: “The outcome depends on whether we recognize assistance for what it is: not a threat to learning, but its precondition.”

What I have been writing toward

In October, I wrote “Modeling AI for Authentic Writing.”  If AI is here (it is), then our job is to model the kind of use that keeps the writer in control. In that post, I tried to move the conversation from “Don’t use AI” to “Show your decisions.”

Because the heart of authentic writing is not whether you had help. It is whether your thinking is present. What did you accept? What did you reject? Why? What did you learn in the revision?

I wrote then: “None of this replaces judgment. I accept or reject every change.”

For years, Tricia Buckley, and before her Sharon Pierce and Deb Podurgiel, have played a similar role here on this blog, reading every post before publication and offering feedback. The byline is still mine because the ideas, voice, and final choices are mine.

That is the point.

Assistance is not the enemy of learning. Abdication is.

What I want to add

There is a system design question underneath that I keep circling back to.

If we accept that all learning has always been assisted, what changes about how we run schools?

A few weeks ago I wrote about the tutoring revolution and found myself wrestling with a similar tension. For years, success in certain courses quietly required something extra: a tutor. Parents traded recommendations, students admitted they needed help, and the whole system ran on an unspoken understanding that school alone was not enough. At least not for everyone.

AI is changing that. But here is the part that worries me: the digital divide is no longer just about device access. It is about knowing how to use the tool well. A student with strong digital literacy might turn ChatGPT into a Socratic tutor. Another might never get past using it as a homework completion machine.

Nick writes about elite students who have always had access to “assistance made flesh.” The risk now is that we create a new version of the same divide. Some students learn to collaborate with AI in ways that deepen their thinking. Others use it to bypass thinking altogether. And if we are not intentional, digital confidence becomes the new proxy for privilege.

The question is not whether students will have AI assistance. They already do. The question is whether we will teach them to use it in ways that build capacity or let the gap widen on its own.

A Culture of Yes stance

A Culture of Yes does not mean saying yes to every tool or every shortcut.

It means saying yes to the conditions that help more people learn well.

So here is where I am landing, at least today.

Writing has always been assisted. The myth of the autonomous writer has always favoured students with the most support. AI can absolutely be used to bypass thinking. But it can also be used to invite thinking, especially where feedback is scarce.

Our job is to design and model practices where assistance makes thinking visible and growth possible.

Nick’s essay refuses the easy frame. It asks us to stop policing help and start building learning communities where help is normal, explicit, teachable, and more equitably available.

That feels like the kind of “yes” worth defending.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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My “Top 3” List for 2025

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, Professional Development, SD45, tagged , , on December 22, 2025| 4 Comments »

Here we are again. A final post for calendar year 16 on Culture of Yes.

As I close out another year, I find myself in an unexpected place. This was the easiest year of writing in the 16 years I’ve been doing this. Not because the topics were simple or the world less complicated, but because I found myself needing to write. It never felt like a chore. In a year where it would be easy to drown in bad news and uncertainty, I chose optimism. I chose curiosity. I chose to keep saying yes. And if I go back to my word for the year – I chose to thrive.

If you are wondering what you might have missed, here are the previous years Top 3 lists: 2024 (here) 2023 (here) 2022 (here) 2021 (here) 2020 (here) 2019 (here) 2018 (here) 2017 (here) 2016 (here) 2015 (here) 2014 (here) 2013 (here) 2012 (here), 2011 (here) and 2010 (here)

You know the format by now. Grab your beverage of choice and join me as I look back on what made 2025 special.

Top 3 “Culture of Yes” Blog Posts which have generated the most traffic this year:

These three posts represent so much of what I think about in my work. All Means All is at the core of everything we do in West Vancouver. It is not a slogan; it is a commitment. The graduation post has become a fairly regular share, and it forces me to think about what really matters for young people heading out into the world. And the AI post speaks to a tension I keep exploring: how technology might actually help us be more human, not less. I wrote a lot on AI this year, and it was interesting to see the most popular post was one about AI leading to less technology use.

Top 3 Blog Posts That Were My Personal Favourites:

The posts that mean the most to me are often the more personal ones. Writing about Paul Simon let me explore a relationship with music that has spanned more than 40 years. The mentors piece was hard to write but necessary as I am beginning to feel my age in this work. And the Blue Jays post reminded me why I love using sports as a lens to think about learning and life. That was quite the run for the Jays!

Top 3 Shifts in BC Education in 2025:

  • The focus on 0 to 5 and the ongoing integration of childcare and K-12 as one system
  • A renewed emphasis on early literacy and knowing where our young learners are so we can adjust quickly and nimbly
  • A steadiness that allowed the work to get done

I want to dwell on that third one for a moment. There was not a lot of drama in BC education this year. And that is a good thing. When the system is steady, educators can focus on what matters most: the students in front of them. I look at other jurisdictions across North America and they seem constantly distracted from the business of learning. Steadiness does not make headlines, but it makes a difference.

Top 3 Questions I’m Carrying Into 2026:

  • What do we need to stop doing so we can focus on what truly matters?
  • How do we prepare students for an AI-shaped future without losing our humanity?
  • What does leadership look like when certainty is no longer available?

As I wrote in my June post on the power of questions (here), I’m increasingly convinced that progress in education doesn’t come from having better answers, but from asking better questions. These three will quietly shape my thinking, decisions, and conversations as I step into 2026.

Top 3 Things I Was Wrong About:

  • I thought ethical discussions on AI would be more mainstream by now
  • I never thought Canada would come down with Blue Jays fever
  • I did not see my own writing renaissance coming

On AI ethics, I expected 2025 to be the year we would see more public conversation about the big questions. What does this mean for work? For creativity? For what it means to be human? Those conversations are happening, but not at the scale I anticipated. Maybe 2026.

The Blue Jays World Series excitement this year caught me completely off guard. I wrote about it, and it connected with people in ways I did not expect. There is something about baseball that still captures the imagination.

And the writing renaissance? I genuinely did not see it coming. After nearly 500 posts, I thought the well might be running dry. Instead, this year I found more to say than ever. I needed to write. That was a gift.

Top 3 Things I Am Getting Worse At As I Age:

  • Public speaking
  • Seeing stuff
  • Connecting with new staff

This is a new category, and I think an important one. Humility matters.

Public speaking used to feel effortless. Now I feel the rust. I am not as smooth as I was 20 years ago, and I notice it.  I am conscious now that I am not as good as I once was.  My glasses have become a constant companion, though I am still fighting that battle.  Far too often I am using my phone to take a photo of text to enlarge and read.   And connecting with new teachers who are younger than my own children? I can feel my age in those conversations sometimes. It takes more intentionality than it used to. Speaking and connecting are definitely two areas I can work on in 2026.

Top 3 AI Tools for Education (The Migration to the Big Players):

  • ChatGPT
  • Claude
  • Gemini and CoPilot (tied for third)

Last year I wrote about niche AI tools. This year I find myself using fewer specialized tools and relying more on the big players. Co-Pilot, Claude, Gemini, and ChatGPT have become my core toolkit. They are more powerful, more integrated, and constantly improving. The niche tools still have their place, but the migration to the majors has been real for me this year.

Top 3 Presentations That Pushed My Thinking:

  • Speaking to teachers in Beijing
  • Sharing AI thinking with Safe Schools Coordinators
  • Let’s Talk Science

The Beijing presentation stays with me. Their issues are our issues. The questions teachers ask in China about AI, about engagement, about preparing students for an uncertain future are the same questions we wrestle with here. It was a powerful reminder that education’s challenges are global.

Safe Schools Coordinators pushed me to see AI from a different perspective. When you talk about AI with people focused on safety, you think differently about risks and responsibilities.

And my Let’s Talk Science presentation late in the year forced me to take stock of where West Vancouver is right now. Sometimes you need an external audience to clarify your own thinking.

Top 3 Authors Who Pushed My Thinking in 2025:

  • Yong Zhao
  • Peter Diamandis
  • Adam Grant 

Yong Zhao continues to challenge my assumptions about what education could be. I got a look at a new book (here) he has coming out in 2026, and he is pushing again!  Peter Diamandis (here) got me thinking about longevity, which connects to so much of how I approach my own health and habits. And Adam Grant? He pushes my thinking (here) even when I push back. That is what good authors do.

Top 3 AI Connections I Always Recommend:

If you want to follow smart people thinking carefully about AI in education, start with these four. They are generous with their ideas and always worth reading.

Top 3 Blogs I Never Miss (Even After All These Years):

The edu blogosphere is not what it was in 2011 to 2014, but these passionate educators keep writing, and I keep reading. There is something to be said for people who have been at this for years and still find things worth saying. They inspire me to keep going. 

Top 3 Concerts I Saw This Year:

  • Paul Simon (multiple locations)
  • Andy Grammer
  • AC/DC

Paul Simon is not really retired yet, and I am grateful for every chance to see him. I have written about what his music means to me, and those concerts remain a highlight of any year. Andy Grammer brought pure joy. And AC/DC? Sometimes you just need to rock.

Top 3 Travel Moments of the Year:

  • 25th Wedding Anniversary at Niagara Falls
  • Running the 45th Anniversary Terry Fox Run on Confederation Bridge with my two sons
  • The VK Basketball Summer Circuit (Phoenix, LA, Montreal, Las Vegas, Chicago)

Yes, Niagara Falls for a 25th anniversary is a cliché. I do not care. It was great.

The Terry Fox Run from New Brunswick to PEI with 10,000 people on the Confederation Bridge with my sons will stay with me forever. There is something about running alongside your children for a cause that matters that defies easy description.

And the VK Basketball Circuit hit year 10 this summer. Phoenix, LA, Montreal, Las Vegas, Chicago. One more summer left with a playing age daughter. I am not taking it for granted. For the last 10 years I have spent my summers with amazing young athletes and coaches who are some of my very best friends.  It is so much fun!

Top 3 Social Media Follows That Keep Me Focused:

These three help me stay disciplined. Discipline is key. In a world of endless distraction, I need voices that remind me to do the work.

Top 3 Things I Tried To Do More Of This Year:

  • Say no to stuff that was not something I was passionate about
  • Say yes to AI and athletics, two areas where I think I can really add value
  • Be a better mentor and reach out more to colleagues I think I can assist

Saying no is hard for someone who writes a blog called Culture of Yes. But saying no to the wrong things creates space to say yes to the right ones. I need to still cull some things I do from my professional life that are time and energy drags and add little value.   AI and athletics are where I can contribute most right now. And mentorship? I want to be for others what my mentors were for me.

Top 3 Daily Streaks I Still Have Going:

  • Running 5 outdoor km a day (just passed 1,800 days, looking forward to 2,000 on July 9, 2026)
  • 10,000 steps a day (now at 12 years)
  • Daily photo posting to Instagram (January 1st will be 10 years)

The streaks continue. They are about discipline and consistency, qualities I believe are in short supply and more important than ever. The running streak crossing 1,800 days feels significant. 2,000 is on the horizon.

Top 3 Artists for Me According to Spotify This Year:

  • Paul Simon
  • Simon and Garfunkel
  • The Beatles

Not much to see here. For all the things that change in the world, my music tastes are not one of them. I am still my parents’ musical loves.  Spotify gives you an age based on my music – I came in at 73 years old.

Top 3 Photos From This Past Year That Make Me Smile:

With Nick and Zack on the Confederation Bridge

Paul Simon at the Massey Hall in Toronto

Learning alongside K students at West Bay Elementary School

I could easily pick so many others. I love going through my photos from each day to look back on the year. A collection of work, family, and friends. Scrolling through them will always make me smile.

Final Thoughts

As I wrap up my reflections on 2025, I keep coming back to the word that has guided this blog from the beginning: yes.

Yes to curiosity. Yes to optimism. Yes to the belief that education can be better and that the people in it are working hard to make it so.

This year brought me a writing renaissance I did not expect. It reminded me that even after 30 years in education, there is still so much to learn, so much to say, and so much to be excited about.

Early in the new year, I will hit a milestone: 500 posts on Culture of Yes. I did not know when I started this blog that it would become such a constant in my life. But here we are, and I am grateful.

To all of you who have read, shared, and engaged with these posts throughout the year: thank you. Your reflections, challenges, and encouragement fuel my writing and inspire my thinking.

Here is to stepping into 2026 with the same energy, passion, and hope that have carried us through this year. Here is to staying curious as I finish my 30th year in education.

Happy holidays, and see you in the new year.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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The Human Half: AI, the OECD, and the Future of Educational Leadership

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, Technology, tagged , , , , on November 12, 2025| 2 Comments »


Inspired by the recent Learning Forward BC conversation on human flourishing and AI.

Last week, I spent three hours tweaking a PowerPoint presentation I already had help with. At the same time, I had to decline a visit to an elementary class exploring AI tools. The irony? While I was perfecting slides, they were shaping the very future I was supposed to be leading them toward.

If we are honest, most of us superintendents spend far too much of our energy doing work that does not require the full force of our humanity. We draft versions of the same report again and again for different audiences. We shuffle through data systems, chase signatures, and repackage findings. It is necessary work, but is it what we were called to?

At a recent Learning Forward BC event on The Intersection of Human Flourishing and AI, that question hit home. We were exploring how technology might liberate, not limit, our humanity in education. It made me wonder: What if AI could take over significant portions of our work as leaders? What would we hand over, and what would we fight to keep?

Why This Matters for Leaders

I have written a lot on this blog about how AI is reshaping the work of teachers and students. But we need to look just as critically at our own work as superintendents and senior leaders. If we expect educators to rethink assessment, planning and feedback in an AI-rich world, then we must also examine the way we lead, communicate and make decisions.

The truth is that the same technology that can help a teacher personalize learning or a student write an essay can also help a superintendent analyze data, summarize reports or draft correspondence. AI is not only changing classrooms. It is changing the nature of leadership itself.

And yes, I am sure some superintendents might already be wondering if a chatbot could replace them at board meetings. But since I know my trustees often read this blog, I will not take the chance of testing that particular joke here.

The Question That Changes Everything

The OECD’s (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development)  Education for Human Flourishing framework reminds us that our purpose in education is to equip people to lead meaningful and worthwhile lives, oriented toward the future. If that applies to students, it applies to our leadership too.

So whether it is 30 percent, 50 percent, or even 70 percent of what we currently do, the question becomes: What would we hand over to AI, and which tasks would we hold on to because they matter most?

What We Could Let Go Of

AI is already remarkably good at tasks that drain our time but not our meaning:

  • Drafting first versions of reports, memos and letters
  • Crunching and summarizing enrolment or survey data
  • Managing meeting notes, calendars, reminders and task lists
  • Building templates, presentations and standard job postings
  • Drafting policy or procedural documents for refinement

These are automation, not animation. They do not require empathy, judgment, or nuance, only accuracy and speed. That is AI’s strength.

What We Must Protect

What we must protect, deliberately, are the moments of human connection, purpose and complexity:

  • Sitting with a parent whose trust in the system has eroded
  • Listening deeply to a principal wrestling with burnout or vision
  • Reading the room in a board meeting and knowing what not to say
  • Inspiring staff to believe in something greater than their daily tasks
  • Recognizing a student’s spark when they realize someone believes in them

These are leadership moments: irreducible, unautomatable and profoundly essential.

Leading for Human Flourishing

The OECD highlights three human competencies that AI cannot fully replicate: adaptive problem-solving, ethical decision-making and aesthetic perception.

Adaptive problem-solving: When a community crisis hits and there is no playbook, whether a sudden school closure, a traumatic event, or a divided community, we respond with creativity born from experience and intuition.

Ethical decision-making: When budget cuts force impossible choices between programs, when we must balance individual needs against the collective good, when integrity demands the harder path, these moments require moral courage that no algorithm can calculate.

Aesthetic perception: Recognizing when a school’s culture shifts from compliance to inspiration, sensing the exact moment a resistant team begins to trust, and seeing beauty in a struggling student’s small victory. This is what makes leadership an art, not just a science.

AI can mimic these competencies, but it does not feel them. It may calculate empathy, but it cannot experience it or show it. As more of our routine tasks shift to AI, the invitation is clear: we reclaim the human half.

Creating a Culture of Yes

This is where AI becomes an enabler of possibility rather than a threat to purpose. When AI handles the bureaucratic “no” work, the forms, compliance checks and procedural barriers, we create space for the human “yes.”

Yes, I have time to visit your classroom.
Yes, let’s explore that innovative idea.
Yes, I can truly listen.

In a Culture of Yes, AI does not replace us. It liberates us to be more fully present for what matters. Every report AI drafts is a conversation we can have. Every dataset it analyzes is a relationship we can build. Every schedule it optimizes is a moment we can use to connect.

Getting Started

This is not about wholesale transformation tomorrow. It is about small experiments.

What one repetitive task could you delegate to AI this week? What human conversation would that free you to have?

Start simple:

Use AI to draft that routine memo, then spend the saved time walking the halls.

Let AI summarize survey data, then use your energy to discuss what it means with your team.

Have AI create the meeting agenda, then focus fully on reading the human dynamics in the room.

The goal is not efficiency for its own sake, but reclaiming time for what only we can do.

The Real Promise

The promise of AI in leadership is not efficiency, but rediscovery.

It is the chance to release ourselves from the burden of mechanical work and return to the heart of leadership: human connection, meaning and moral purpose.

Imagine walking into your office tomorrow knowing that the reports are drafted, the data analyzed and the calendar managed, all before your first coffee. Now you can spend your morning where it matters most: in classrooms, with people, making meaning.

Because in the end, the future of education will not belong to the most efficient systems. It will belong to the most human leaders, those who use every tool available to protect and amplify what makes us irreplaceably human.

A Question to End With

I wonder if my list looks like yours. What would you hand over to AI, and what would you hold tightly because it feels essentially human? I would be interested to hear how others are thinking about their human half.

 

 

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking

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Beyond the Score: Can AI Make Literacy Screeners More Human?

Posted in Assessment, Change, Personalized Learning, tagged , , on November 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Across Canada, and in many other parts of the world, literacy screening is having a moment.

There is broad agreement that we need to be better at identifying students who may be at risk, and that we need to do this earlier. The push toward more consistent and universal literacy screeners makes a lot of sense: earlier identification leads to earlier intervention, and ultimately, better outcomes for kids.

But here’s the question that’s been nagging me: are we simply going to recycle the same kinds of screeners we have used for the last generation? Or can this be the moment to think differently about what screening could look like in an AI world?

What Screeners Do Well

Traditional screeners help us establish a baseline. They can tell us if a student is meeting expected benchmarks in areas like phonemic awareness, decoding, fluency and comprehension. They provide the data teachers need to take action.

The challenge is that screeners often leave a gap between assessment and action. A teacher receives a score and then has to translate that number into the “what’s next” for the student and their family. It’s useful, but not always immediate, personalized or engaging.

What AI Could Add

This is where I wonder if we are missing an opportunity. AI could allow us to rethink the very design of literacy screeners. Imagine if…

  • Texts were customized for cultural relevance. Instead of one-size-fits-all passages, AI could generate short reading texts tailored to the learner’s context, interests or community. A child on the North Shore might read about the Capilano River, while another in Surrey reads about the Pattullo Bridge reconstruction. For Indigenous learners, this could mean texts that reflect Indigenous ways of knowing and storytelling traditions, developed in partnership with local Nations. The text would still be controlled for vocabulary and difficulty, but it would feel more real and more personal.

  • Feedback was immediate and audience-specific. A student could receive a friendly message highlighting a win (“You read 80 words per minute—your smoothest word was ship”) and a tip for next time. Families could receive a plain-language summary with simple routines for home (“Read together for 10 minutes tonight; circle the words that start with sh”). Teachers could receive a strand-level profile with small-group suggestions, not just a number on a page.

  • Practice was built-in. Instead of waiting for the next lesson, a screener could instantly generate a few targeted practice items based on the patterns the student struggled with, turning assessment into a learning moment instantly.

What This Isn’t

To be clear, this isn’t about replacing teacher expertise or professional judgment. Teachers would still interpret results, make instructional decisions, and build the relationships that matter most.

And this isn’t about creating more data for data’s sake. It’s about making the data we already collect more immediately useful—for students, for families and for teachers.

Safeguards Matter

Of course, any AI use comes with important guardrails. Automated scores would need validation against human judgment, with teachers maintaining override authority. Generated texts would require review for accuracy, bias and cultural safety. Indigenous content, in particular, would need to be co-designed with local Nations and aligned with principles of data sovereignty, ensuring that AI tools serve rather than appropriate Indigenous knowledge.

Quality oversight would need to be built in from day one, with regular audits and continuous monitoring to prevent the kind of drift that could undermine both accuracy and equity.

A Narrow Window

Here’s what makes this moment unique: jurisdictions are investing in new screening initiatives right now. We have a narrow window to influence how these tools are designed. If we don’t explore these possibilities now, we risk locking in approaches that simply digitize yesterday’s thinking.

I am not a literacy expert. But as someone who has watched technology reshape almost every other part of our schools over the last two decades, I see a pattern. The organizations that thrive are the ones that ask not just “how can we do what we’ve always done, but faster?” but “what becomes possible now that wasn’t possible before?”

The Question We Should Be Asking

The push for literacy screening is the right one. The evidence on early identification and intervention is clear. But we also have a unique opportunity to do more than just import the same tools from the past.

What if, instead of only identifying students who need help, our screeners could also immediately provide that help?

What if they could engage families in ways that feel supportive rather than clinical?

What if they could give teachers not just data, but insight?

AI won’t replace the expertise of our teachers or the relationships that matter most. But it might make our tools more immediate, more relevant and more effective for every child.

The question isn’t whether we should innovate. The question is whether we will seize this moment to innovate thoughtfully—or let it pass by.

What new possibilities are you seeing in your corner of education? And how do we make sure we are not just replicating the past with shinier tools?

Thanks to West Vancouver District District Vice-Principal Mary Parackal who really pushed my thinking in creating this post around what might be possible with AI.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

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I Read a Book

Posted in Book Club, Personalized Learning, tagged , , , on July 23, 2025| 4 Comments »

This summer, I read a book.

Not a blog post. Not a podcast transcript. Not a long-form article on Substack. A real book. A paper one. With pages. About a hundred of them.

It’s the first book I’ve finished in longer than I care to admit. Somewhere along the way, my attention span got swept up in an endless stream of digital content—quick hits, hot takes, clever clips, and smart commentary that rarely lasts more than a few minutes. And I’ve told myself it’s the same. That reading a dozen thought-provoking pieces online is just as good as reading one book cover to cover.

But this was different. And, honestly, it was hard.

I had to put my phone in another room. I had to sit in silence. I had to fight the urge to check notifications or Chat GPT a passing reference. It felt almost foreign. But also… refreshing. Grounding. Satisfying.

The book was about education and artificial intelligence, written by a colleague whose thinking I admire. I have been meaning to read it for a while. I picked it up partly out of curiosity, partly out of professional obligation. But as I worked to stay focused on pages discussing how AI is reshaping schools, student agency and even our attention spans, the irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, struggling to sustain focus, something the book suggests may be eroding in the digital age.

Is that a bad thing? I’m still not sure. Maybe our brains are adapting to new ways of thinking. But there was something undeniably satisfying about the deep, slow engagement that a book demands. A different kind of thinking. A different kind of learning.

And, perhaps most importantly, a different kind of accomplishment.

I know some may say I’m showing my age still believing books matter. But if that’s the case, I’ll own it. Because this experience reminded me there’s still something powerful in sitting still, slowing down and immersing yourself in one sustained idea.

And here’s the twist: I think I might read another.

The joys of summer.

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My One Word for 2025 – Thrive

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, SD45, Technology, tagged , , on January 7, 2025| 4 Comments »

As change accelerates at an unprecedented pace, particularly with AI, 2025 calls for something deeper than speed—it calls for thriving. After a year devoted to acceleration in 2024, I find myself drawn to a word that represents not just progress, but flourishing in every aspect of leadership and life. Whether it’s coaching youth sports, lacing up my shoes for morning running, or leading groundbreaking AI initiatives in our district, “thrive” captures the essence of what I aim to achieve in 2025. Thrive also more broadly speaks to me as not just a professional goal, but one that hits my personal goals as well.

This marks the 10th year of my “One Word” tradition. Looking back at 2024 and “accelerate,” it was a year of urgency and innovation. We embraced the challenge of supporting AI across our district and networking with jurisdictions around BC, Canada and the world. We advanced literacy and numeracy initiatives and focused on mental and physical health. The pace was intense but rewarding. While acceleration was about building momentum, thriving is about sustaining and flourishing with that momentum.

Why Thrive for 2025?

Sustainable Innovation

Thriving means not just keeping pace with change, but shaping it thoughtfully. In the fast-evolving AI landscape, it’s about balancing innovation with educational fundamentals. We’ll approach AI integration like I approach basketball coaching – start with the fundamentals (critical thinking, collaboration, creativity) and then layer in innovative tools that enhance these core skills. Just as a strong defensive foundation enables more dynamic offensive plays, strong teaching fundamentals will ensure our AI efforts enhance learning rather than overshadow it.

Collective Growth

True thriving isn’t just about individual success; it’s about collective achievement. Watching young athletes develop skills, seeing educators embrace new technologies, and spending meaningful time with family all contribute to a sense of shared growth. Thriving lifts us all.

Depth and Breadth

Like training for a marathon, thriving requires both speed work and endurance. It’s about growing deeper in our initiatives while broadening their reach. Whether it’s making new learning approaches and tools accessible for all educators or deepening relationships within my community, thriving ensures our progress is impactful and lasting. For example, this year, I am focusing on spending more time in classrooms learning with and from teachers using AI in their classes.

Balance

Thriving captures the delicate harmony between pushing boundaries and maintaining well-being. Balancing district leadership, being involved in youth sports, running, blogging, and family time demands intentionality. For me, this means protecting my early morning runs as devotedly as I guard time for family dinners and summer basketball trips, and approaching my district leadership with equal enthusiasm and presence.

Resilience

To thrive means to grow stronger through challenges. Whether it’s navigating the complexities of educational transformation or powering through the final stretch of a long run, thriving requires adaptability and the ability to turn obstacles into opportunities. My run streak is never boring – I plan to run at least 5 km everyday this year, just like I have for almost 4 years.

Impact

At its core, thriving is about making a meaningful difference. In our district, it’s about fostering environments where students flourish. In sports, it’s about shaping not just skilled players but well-rounded individuals. At home, it’s about nurturing relationships that energize and sustain us.

Moving Forward

As I look ahead to 2025, I’m excited to transform the momentum of acceleration into a year of thriving. Whether it’s crafting my next blog post, leading an AI initiative, coaching a game, or stepping out for an early morning run, my goal isn’t just to participate or succeed—it’s to embrace every opportunity fully and flourish in all I do.

I’m curious – what word will guide your journey in 2025? How does it reflect your hopes and aspirations for the year ahead? Share your word, and together, let’s inspire each other to thrive.

Previous One Word Posts:

2016 – Hungry

2017 – Hope

2018 – Relevance

2019 – Delight

2020 – Hustle

2021 – Optimism

2022 – Focus

2023- Coached

2024 – Accelerate

I used Chat GPT to create the image at the top of the post.  I also used both Chat GPT and Claude in the brainstorming phase of my word selection.  I described what I was hoping to accomplish in 2025 and used AI to help generate potential words from which to choose.

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