🚲 The 1995 bike ride my 10-year-old will never know...

The year was 1995. I was 10.

No cell phones. No email. Not even dial-up had made its way into most homes yet.

The only way to find out what teacher you got (and which friends made it into your class) was to wait for the list — taped to the front doors of Southwest Elementary.

Every. Single. Day. that August, I’d ride my bike up to school, hoping those white sheets of paper had finally been posted. And every day, nothing. Just empty glass doors reflecting my hopeful little face back at me.

Until the morning they were finally there. Lists taped up like sacred scrolls. I pressed my nose to the glass, scanning for my name, praying my best friends (and my very important 5th grade crush) were in the same class.

The thrill when I finally spotted it? Electric. I raced home, fought my siblings for the transparent landline phone, and called every single friend I had. “You got Mrs. Thompson! You’re with Corree! I’m with you too!”

Living just blocks from the school, back then, we were the newsletter.

Fast forward to today: my very own 10-year-old started 5th grade this week. Last first day of elementary school. Big milestone. And 2 weeks ago when we got the email and told him who his teacher is and read the list of kids in his class, he shrugged. The Covid kindergartener with access to FaceTime his friends anytime, honestly, didn’t even care.

And that’s when it hit me: what once felt like the longest wait of my childhood is now a non-event for my child.

Anticipation has gone extinct.

But rituals make the waiting meaningful.

In leadership, it’s not just the answers that matter — it’s the way we create moments around them. Rituals mark milestones, build anticipation, and turn ordinary information into something people remember.

That daily bike ride wasn’t just about the list. It was about the ritual of hoping, checking, riding home, calling friends. It made the moment stick.

One thing I've learned running my business, is the difference between rushing to “just share the news” versus creating a sense of rhythm and ritual. The latter build teams who don’t just get information — they feel connected to it.

So this back-to-school season, if you’ve got news to share, ask yourself: how can I be more like the list taped to the door? How can I make the way I deliver it part of the memory?

Because sometimes the ritual is the real leadership.

To being the newsletter,
Elise