When you accept a leadership position—especially in city government or public service—there’s always the job description. It outlines the expected duties, the metrics for success, and the technical requirements. But what it doesn’t say, and what you only learn through experience, is that leadership often calls for stepping far beyond the bounds of what’s written.
I learned this early in my career as a New York City public school principal, overseeing a building full of our youngest and most vulnerable students—children just 3 to 5 years old. One year, we were notified that major roadwork was scheduled to take place directly outside our school. Knowing the chaos that could cause during arrival and dismissal, I immediately reached out to the Department of Transportation to request a meeting.
We sat around a table. We had coffee, cookies, and a respectful, productive conversation. I explained our students’ needs, and we agreed—formally—that no work would be done during the 15-minute windows of arrival and dismissal. Everyone nodded in agreement. I left that meeting confident, feeling like I had advocated effectively for my school community.
But the day of the roadwork arrived—and so did the jackhammers.
Despite our agreement, the work began just as families were trying to drop off their children. We scrambled, we redirected foot traffic, and we managed to get every child inside safely. I made urgent phone calls and was assured again that the workers would pause operations during dismissal.
Then 2:15 p.m. rolled around—and the steamrollers kept rolling.
Parents were trying to navigate past enormous machinery with their toddlers in tow. I rushed outside to find the on-site supervisor, only to be sent on a wild goose chase from one end of the block to the other. Finally, after being misdirected for the third time, something inside me snapped.
Wearing my dress and heels, I stepped into the middle of the street. I stood in front of a live steamroller. I raised my hands, locked eyes with the driver, and yelled for him to stop.
The look of shock on his face was unforgettable—but he stopped. And in that moment, our students were safe.
That wasn’t in my job description. There was no line that said “be prepared to block construction equipment in high heels,” but that’s what leadership demanded of me that day.
Here’s the thing: those of us who lead—whether in schools, agencies, or local government—will inevitably face moments like this. Moments where policy and planning fall short, where systems break down, and where you are the last line of defense. Leadership is not just about strategy; it’s about showing up, speaking out, and standing firm—even if it means standing in front of a steamroller.
Despite the apologies I received afterward, the truth is: these breakdowns happen all the time. And when they do, our communities look to us for protection, advocacy, and action.
So I leave you with this: Are you willing to step into the street when it counts? Are you ready to go beyond the job description?
Because that’s what it takes.