Episode notes
Why did you become a band director?
Most of us would probably say some version of the same thing: we wanted to make a difference in students' lives through music.
But somewhere along the way, it can become easy to measure our success, and even our own worth, by ratings, trophies, performances, enrollment numbers, and how much we're willing to sacrifice for the program.
In this episode of Band Director Boot Camp, Lesley Moffat talks with band director Lincoln Rowe about a deeply personal journey that forced him to reconsider what it really means to be there for his students.
In 2019, Lincoln lost one of his students to suicide.
In the days that followed, he did what so many educators instinctively do. He became strong for everyone else. He helped his students navigate their grief, kept the program moving, and tried to hold everything together.
Eventually, he had to stop and ask who was taking care of him.
That experience began a much larger journey involving therapy, an ADHD diagnosis, confronting childhood trauma, and examining how much of his identity and self-worth had become wrapped up in being a successful band director.
One question from a mentor became especially important:
Are your students there for you, or are you there for them?
Earlier in his career, Lincoln had a list of accomplishments he wanted: performances, ratings, competitions, prestigious events, and experiences that would help build a successful program and résumé.
Eventually, he began looking at those same opportunities differently.
Instead of asking, "What do I want my program to accomplish? " he started asking, "What experiences do I want my students to have?"
That distinction changes everything.
Lesley and Lincoln also talk about something band directors don't always want to admit - sometimes we become so focused on the strongest musicians and the success of the ensemble that we lose sight of the individual people sitting in front of us.
The last-chair clarinet player who desperately needs a place to belong deserves the same care and attention as the All-State musician whose absence might affect the entire ensemble.
And the same lesson applies to the person standing on the podium.
Your worth isn't determined by your band's accomplishments.
A bad performance doesn't make you a bad teacher. A great rating doesn't make you more valuable as a human being. And being the first car in the parking lot and the last one to leave isn't proof that you care more.
Students don't need us to be perfect.
They need healthy adults who know how to ask for help, take care of themselves, make mistakes, create boundaries, and show them what a sustainable life can look like.
Sometimes the most meaningful thing you do all day isn't conducting the perfect rehearsal.
It's standing at the door and asking a student how their game went last night.
Because years from now, your students may not remember the rating.
But they'll remember how they felt when they walked into your room.