Higher Performance Insights | DISRUPTING THE PIPELINE

December 10, 2025
higher performance insights

Builder Insights from December's Peer-to-Peer Roundtable


2.9 million students walked away from traditional education in the last decade.


Not because they hate learning. Because they discovered something educational leaders are just now admitting to each other in private Zoom rooms.


Last Wednesday, a college president stood up (metaphorically—we were on Zoom, but you could feel him standing) and said something that made every superintendent in the room physically lean forward:


"We have become habituated to viewing educational leadership through filters—analogous to social media platforms where individuals present curated identities disconnected from reality. Trinity Valley was profoundly guilty of this pattern—appearing to external audiences as an institution meeting mission while internally delivering bare minimum performance."


Jason Morrison, Ed. D., President of Trinity Valley Community College in Texas, just named the thing everyone in educational leadership feels but nobody says out loud.


Welcome to the Snapchat Filter Effect. Your institution looks great in the photos. The reality? That's a different story.

And here's why this matters right now, today, in December 2025:


1.7 million students lost in higher education since 2014. 1.2 million departed K-12 since 2019. Combined, that's roughly the population of New Mexico—students who didn't disappear, they just opted for educational providers who weren't performing behind a filter.


The market already delivered its verdict. The only question is whether educational leaders will respond with the courage this moment demands—or keep adjusting the filter settings while enrollment evaporates.


Comment "FILTER" if this describes your institution right now. (I'll go first in comments. Yes, I've been guilty of this too.)



Builder Insights from December's Peer-to-Peer Roundtable


2.9 million students walked away from traditional education in the last decade.


Not because they hate learning. Because they discovered something educational leaders are just now admitting to each other in private Zoom rooms.


Last Wednesday, a college president stood up (metaphorically—we were on Zoom, but you could feel him standing) and said something that made every superintendent in the room physically lean forward:


"We have become habituated to viewing educational leadership through filters—analogous to social media platforms where individuals present curated identities disconnected from reality. Trinity Valley was profoundly guilty of this pattern—appearing to external audiences as an institution meeting mission while internally delivering bare minimum performance."

Jason Morrison, Ed. D., President of Trinity Valley Community College in Texas, just named the thing everyone in educational leadership feels but nobody says out loud.


Welcome to the Snapchat Filter Effect. Your institution looks great in the photos. The reality? That's a different story.

And here's why this matters right now, today, in December 2025:


1.7 million students lost in higher education since 2014. 1.2 million departed K-12 since 2019. Combined, that's roughly the population of New Mexico—students who didn't disappear, they just opted for educational providers who weren't performing behind a filter.


The market already delivered its verdict. The only question is whether educational leaders will respond with the courage this moment demands—or keep adjusting the filter settings while enrollment evaporates.


Comment "FILTER" if this describes your institution right now. (I'll go first in comments. Yes, I've been guilty of this too.)


Peer-2-Peer December Cohort


THE DIAGNOSIS: WHY SMART LEADERS BUILD STUPID SYSTEMS


Let's talk about this like adults who've survived multiple accreditation cycles, at least one superintendent search that somehow took longer than an actual presidential election, and that January board meeting where someone said something that made everyone wonder if they'd accidentally joined a different organization.


Here's what December looks like for educational leaders right now:


Your calendar is suffocating. Your inbox has emails from three months ago you'll never read.


You're managing semester-end chaos while simultaneously planning for spring enrollment, navigating board politics, addressing personnel issues that should've been handled in October, and pretending the budget projections for next year don't terrify you.


And somewhere in that chaos, you're supposed to be "transformational."


But here's the uncomfortable truth nobody wants to acknowledge:


Most of us have been optimizing for optics, not outcomes.


We've professionalized educational leadership so thoroughly that we've accidentally made it functionally impossible to tell the truth about how our systems actually perform.


I know the loneliness of being the only person who sees this pattern. Of wondering if you're the problem because surely—SURELY—leadership teams at other districts/institutions don't operate like a group project where everyone's doing their part but nobody's read anyone else's sections.


You're not crazy. Your team isn't incompetent.


You've just been optimizing the wrong variable while the world outside your conference room keeps moving.


(This is actually why research across 987 leadership teams reveals that 60% of organizations operate at barely half their potential capacity despite having individually brilliant team members. We keep adding talent to broken systems, which means we're just scaling dysfunction. But I'm getting ahead of myself.)


THE INTERFERENCE AUDIT: A FORMULA THAT EXPLAINS YOUR ENTIRE DECEMBER


During Wednesday's Peer-to-Peer Leadership Roundtable, I dropped a formula that made everyone stop nodding politely and start taking screenshots.


Because it explained why their last three strategic initiatives died:


P = p - I


Performance = Potential - Interference


Here's what it means:


Performance (P): The non-negotiable outcomes your career depends on. Enrollment. Graduation rates. Student success. Board satisfaction. The stuff that determines whether you still have this job in 18 months.


Potential (p): The aggregate talent, resources, and expertise within your organization. You've got brilliant people. You've got programs that could be excellent. On paper, you should be crushing it.


Interference (I): The systemic obstacles preventing potential from translating into performance. Legacy processes consuming disproportionate time. Cultural norms inhibiting accountability. The "this is how we've always done it" crowd showing up to every meeting to protect status quo.


Here's what you're doing wrong: Performance drops, you hire more people. Still underperforming? Add more programs. Still stuck? Expand infrastructure.


You're adding capacity to dysfunction, which means you're just scaling the thing that's already broken.


Mike Johnson, Superintendent of Eau Claire Area School District in Wisconsin, said it perfectly:


"The factor that most significantly impacts our performance is interference—legacy patterns embedded in phrases like 'this is how we've always operated.' When I assumed this role in 2020, our literacy performance was unacceptable. We had to acknowledge that reality without equivocation."

The temptation when confronting performance gaps is to add resources—more personnel, more programs. However, given our enrollment trajectory, that approach is financially unsustainable. Our imperative is systemic redesign first, then strategic talent deployment aligned to that redesigned system."


Translation: Adding talent to a broken system doesn't fix the system. It just gives you more talented people operating inside dysfunction.


💡 "Adding talent to a broken system doesn't fix the system. It just gives you more talented people operating inside dysfunction."


(This is why your last three strategic initiatives died somewhere between the VP of Finance and the VP of Academic Affairs. You added capacity. You didn't address interference.)


THE 7,000 RPM QUESTION: DO YOU ACTUALLY KNOW YOUR SYSTEM'S LIMITS?


Dr. Nathan S. Schilling, CSBO, Superintendent of Lansing School District 158 in Illinois, introduced an analogy that made every leader in the room immediately screenshot the Zoom and text it to their cabinet:


He referenced the film Ford v Ferrari—specifically the scene where the driver receives authorization to push the vehicle to 7,000 RPM, a threshold that risks catastrophic failure if the system can't sustain it.


"As organizational leaders, we bear responsibility for equivalent understanding of our institutional systems. We must know our organizations with sufficient depth to identify optimal performance thresholds—pushing hard enough to maximize outcomes, but not so aggressively that we damage the system's capacity for sustained excellence."

Here's the leadership gut-check:


Do you know your institution well enough to push it to 7,000 RPM without breaking it?


Most leaders don't.


We push harder when enrollment drops. We add initiatives when boards get nervous. We demand more when community perception shifts.


But we rarely ask: Can this system sustain this level of performance? Or am I about to blow the engine?


Nathan's honest admission: "Unfortunately, we are experiencing significant personnel challenges this year—a pattern my Illinois colleagues report as well. The human capital dimension—recruitment, retention, development, support—demands substantial leadership attention currently. My focus is sustaining our district's operational performance at that optimal threshold while navigating unprecedented personnel complexity."


This is the reality December 2025 brings:


  • You've got demographic decline eating your enrollment projections
  • You've got personnel challenges unlike anything pre-pandemic
  • You've got boards asking uncomfortable questions about efficiency
  • You've got communities wondering why education feels increasingly disconnected from their kids' actual needs


And you're supposed to lead transformation while keeping the engine from exploding.


The bar for "better" is underground.


THE FRAMEWORK: THREE LEADER ARCHETYPES SABOTAGING YOUR TRANSFORMATION


During the roundtable, I introduced a framework that helped leaders diagnose not just their systems, but their teams.


Because here's the uncomfortable reality:


You don't just have dysfunction in your processes. You have dysfunction in your people.


Think about two axes: Ambition and Idealism.


You've got leaders who want to climb (high ambition). You've got leaders who dream about mission (high idealism).


The magic happens when you find leaders who operate with both—high ambition married to high idealism, focused on building what students need.


But most of your team? They fall into three other categories:


1. THE COASTERS


Low Ambition, Low Idealism


These are the folks with 30+ years in, sitting on every committee, collecting a solid paycheck, and sleeping better than you do.

They resist by doing basically nothing. They're in your boat, but they're not rowing. And honestly? They're comfortable with that.


2. THE CLIMBERS


High Ambition, Low Idealism


Good people. Smart people. But they're optimizing the wrong metrics.


They'll move mountains to hit their KPIs, but they're bothered by the messy, complex, human reality of education. They want spreadsheets that make sense.


Students? Students don't make sense.


So they resist by demanding more data, more analysis, more proof—anything to avoid the discomfort of acknowledging that you can't always measure what matters most.


3. THE DREAMERS


Low Ambition, High Idealism


These folks have read every leadership book under the sun. Seven Habits. Five Dysfunctions. The One Thing.


They've got beautiful visions. Zero execution.


They resist by studying everything to death. In Texas, we call these "Big Hat, No Cattle" leaders. Lots of talk. No cows.


Then you've got the BUILDERS.


High Ambition, High Idealism


These are your people. The ones willing to dismantle what doesn't work and construct what does.


The ones who understand that moral ambition isn't optional—it's the fuel that keeps you fighting when everything feels impossible.


Here's the leadership question you need to answer this week:


How much of your energy is spent managing Coasters, redirecting Climbers, and grounding Dreamers—versus empowering Builders?


Because if you're spending 60% of your time managing the first three categories, you don't have an execution problem.

You have a talent allocation problem.


And that's fixable.


💡 "You don't have time to fix everybody. You have time to build with the Builders and create systems that make Coasting uncomfortable."


YOUR TURN: CALCULATE YOUR COASTER TAX


Quick math:


  • Number of Coasters on your team: _____
  • Average salary: _____
  • Percentage of time spent managing their dysfunction: _____%
  • Hours per week: _____ × 42 weeks = _____ hours annually


That number you just calculated? That's not a personnel budget line. That's leadership energy stolen from Builders and students.


Multiply by your hourly rate. That's your annual Coaster Tax.


Now ask: What could you build if that energy went to Builders instead?


Drop your number in comments (round to nearest thousand—nobody needs exact figures, we need honesty).


THE CASE STUDY: HOW ONE PRESIDENT REMOVED THE FILTER (AND WHAT HAPPENED NEXT)


Jason Morrison walked into Trinity Valley Community College in Texas with a clear-eyed diagnosis:


His institution was operating under what he calls "the Bare Minimum Culture."


Texas had structured community college funding around contact hours—meaning you got paid for enrollment, not completion.


So guess what Trinity Valley optimized for? Butts in seats. Didn't matter if students graduated. Didn't matter if they learned.


Just... show up long enough to generate funding.


Then Texas shifted to performance-based funding tied to completion.


Suddenly, bare minimum wasn't sustainable. It was existential.


Here's what Jason did in January of Year 2—not Year 5 after building relational capital, but Year 2 when most leaders are still smiling pretty and listening carefully:


He stood on stage at convocation and said this:


"I need to apologize. Previous leadership failed you by establishing and tolerating a culture where minimal effort was deemed acceptable. That failure belonged to leadership, not to the dedicated professionals working within a dysfunctional system. This will not be our identity moving forward."

Then he did something most consultants would tell you is career suicide:


He blew everything up.


Not incrementally. Not through a carefully phased change management process with stakeholder input sessions and listening tours.


He established new cultural standards publicly and unequivocally.


He called it the "Championship Mindset"—leveraging the college's athletic success as a cultural metaphor. Not mandates. Not requirements. Expectations.


And then he invited the community to define what those expectations meant operationally.


The result?


The high-capacity professionals—the people buried in advising offices and financial aid departments who'd been doing excellent work in obscurity—they lit up.


Because someone finally said out loud what they'd been thinking for years: This isn't good enough, and we're going to fix it.


The bare minimalists? Some left. Some adapted. Some are still there, but they're no longer setting the cultural tone because the Builders now outnumber them.


Here's the leadership principle:


Culture change requires both clarity and co-creation. Leaders must establish non-negotiable standards while creating space for the organization to define how those standards manifest operationally.


Jason didn't tell people how to build a championship mindset. He told them we will have a championship mindset. Then he let his Builders define what that meant in their contexts.


Revolutionary? No. Obvious? Yes. Common? Based on conversations with 987 leadership teams—absolutely not.


THE TALENT QUESTION: SHOULD YOU EVEN TRY TO CONVERT COASTERS?


Amy Diaz, EdD, President of GateWay Community College in Phoenix (Maricopa system), asked the question that made every leader in the Zoom uncomfortably shift in their chairs:


"Should I invest substantial leadership energy attempting to convert coasters into builders? I question whether such transformation is achievable in most cases. Perhaps a coaster can become marginally less passive, but fundamental identity transformation from coaster to builder may be unrealistic."

My preferred strategy focuses on hiring practices that identify and attract builders from the outset—individuals whose values, work ethic, and orientation toward innovation already align with our institutional culture."


Translation: Stop trying to fix people. Start hiring the right people.


Now, some of you just got really uncomfortable. Because this feels harsh. It feels like giving up on people.


But here's the data:


@Wade Stanford, Superintendent of Westwood ISD in Texas, connected this directly to student outcomes:


"Leadership energy consumed managing adult dysfunction is energy unavailable for student-focused work. And community perception? External stakeholders experience our institutions through these individuals. We inherit the reputation associated with their performance patterns—and community perception becomes institutional reality regardless of broader excellence."


The uncomfortable truth: Your Coasters are costing you more than salary. They're costing you reputation. They're costing you community trust. And they're costing students the leadership attention they deserve.


So here's the strategic question:


What if you stopped investing energy trying to convert Coasters and instead redirected that energy toward:


  • Hiring practices that identify Builders from the start?
  • Professional development that multiplies Builder capacity?
  • Systems that make it harder for Coasters to hide and easier for Builders to thrive?


Amy's right. Your hiring process is probably too sterile. Twenty-minute finalist interviews can't distinguish between people who interview well and people who perform well.


You need performance tasks. You need operational context. You need to assess entrepreneurial mindset, builder orientation, and resilience explicitly—not just credentials and interview polish.


Because here's the reality December 2025 demands:


You don't have time to fix everybody. You have time to build with the Builders and create systems that make Coasting uncomfortable.


THE PARADOX OF EXCELLENCE: WHEN HIGH PERFORMANCE BECOMES THE ENEMY OF GROWTH


Stacey Boyd, Superintendent of GateWay Community College Charter High Schools (operating campuses embedded in actual colleges), introduced a tension most leadership literature ignores:


What do you do when you're already excellent?


His schools: 100% graduation rate. 100% college-going rate. A-rated performance. Students graduating from high school with associate degrees and millions in scholarships.


By every conventional metric? Crushing it.


So here's her question:


"How do you pursue continuous improvement when the organization perceives itself as already excellent? More pointedly: Do I function as superintendent to facilitate growth—or do I represent interference preventing an already-excellent system from maintaining its performance?"

This is the question that leaders of high-performing institutions never publicly ask because it sounds like hubris.


But it's the most important question for sustainable excellence:


How do you move from A to A+ when your team thinks A is the ceiling?


Gordon Amerson Ed.D. (Superintendent, Alvord Unified, California, and our roundtable moderator) synthesized it perfectly:


"Excellence is not a destination but a trajectory. Pursuit of excellence remains constant regardless of current performance level—whether you are far from excellence or operating at its current threshold."

High performance creates organizational conditions that inhibit continued improvement—confidence morphs into complacency, success validates existing practice, critique feels like ingratitude."


The leadership principle: Leaders of excellent organizations must cultivate perpetual productive dissatisfaction—appreciation for current accomplishment coupled with relentless pursuit of unrealized potential.


If you're already performing at A-level, the question isn't "are we good enough?"


The question is: "What does A+ look like, and are we pursuing it with the same intensity we used to reach A?"


Because here's the reality:


The market doesn't care that you're excellent by yesterday's standards. The market cares whether you're relevant to today's students.


And today's students? They have options your A-level performance didn't prepare for.


THE ECOSYSTEM PLAY: WHEN COMPETITORS BECOME COLLABORATORS


Here's where the roundtable shifted from diagnosis to disruption.


Dr. Matthew Flippen, President of Gracelyn University, described a model that should be obvious but somehow isn't:


The Para-Professional Pipeline


The problem: 300,000-600,000 teacher shortage nationwide, disproportionately impacting vulnerable students.


The resource: 1.2 million teacher assistants and para-professionals working in schools right now—people who demonstrably care about education (you don't work for $8-$12/hour unless you love kids), many of whom want teaching credentials but face insurmountable barriers.


Single parents. Economically vulnerable. Can't access traditional pathways requiring full-time enrollment and unaffordable tuition.


Matthew's solution: Can we design a pathway for a single mother earning $12/hour who can invest $100 monthly in education?

The math: $100/month = $44/credit hour.


The results after five years:


  • Full accreditation
  • 100% placement rate (students upskilling in existing positions)
  • 92% retention rate
  • 1,000+ students enrolled
  • Projected growth: 1,000-2,000 annually


Here's why this matters:


The moment Matthew finished explaining his model, superintendents started connecting dots:


Gordon Amerson immediately saw the "Round-Trip Ticket" strategy:


"Districts possess vested interest in reducing cost burdens for employees pursuing certification because we derive enormous benefit from placing fully-certified teachers who already know our students, culture, and community."

If you graduate from Alvord Unified, matriculate through our partner community college, we can employ you. As you pursue continued education, we supplement tuition costs because your professional growth directly benefits our organization and students."


Jason Morrison (Trinity Valley) reported they'd already launched this:


"This fall we launched our Bachelor of Applied Science in Early Childhood Education specifically targeting para-professionals. Many districts now fund tuition for their para-professionals. We enrolled 40 students; approximately 25% were already employed in regional school districts."

Do you see what just happened?


Three leaders—two superintendents and one college president—discovered a systemic solution to a shared problem by thinking as an ecosystem instead of as isolated institutions.


Nobody competed for market share. Nobody protected territorial boundaries. Nobody worried about enrollment cannibalization.


They asked: What do students and communities need that none of us can build alone—but together we could create?


That's the shift.


💡 "The most effective pathways eliminate artificial institutional boundaries that create friction in student progression."


THE APPLICATION: WHAT TO DO BEFORE YOUR NEXT CABINET MEETING


Alright. Enough diagnosis. Let's talk about Monday morning.


STEP 1: THE INTERFERENCE AUDIT (30 MINUTES)


Grab a whiteboard. Draw three columns:


  1. POTENTIAL – List your organization's actual capacity (talent, resources, programs, community support)
  2. PERFORMANCE – List your non-negotiable outcomes (the metrics your career depends on)
  3. INTERFERENCE – List everything preventing Column 1 from producing Column 2


Be brutally honest in Column 3:


  • Legacy processes consuming disproportionate time
  • Cultural norms inhibiting accountability
  • Structural misalignments between strategy and resources
  • Talent management systems that don't actually identify Builders
  • Meeting cultures that prioritize optics over outcomes


he strategic question: If you invested the next six months eliminating interference instead of adding potential, what would change?


STEP 2: THE TEAM INTELLIGENCE DIAGNOSTIC (15 MINUTES)


Map your leadership team:


  • Coasters (Low ambition, low idealism) – Who's comfortable with status quo?
  • Climbers (High ambition, low idealism) – Who optimizes wrong metrics?
  • Dreamers (High idealism, low ambition) – Who studies instead of executes?
  • Builders (High ambition, high idealism) – Who dismantles and constructs?


Now calculate: What percentage of your leadership energy goes to managing the first three categories versus empowering the fourth?


If it's more than 40% managing/redirecting/grounding, you have a talent allocation problem, not an execution problem.


STEP 3: THE ECOSYSTEM QUESTION (THIS IS THE UNCOMFORTABLE ONE)


Ask yourself:


"If I stopped optimizing my institution's enrollment and started optimizing my region's student success, what partnerships would I pursue? What territorial boundaries would I transcend? What 'competitors' would become collaborators?"

Then ask the follow-up:


"What's preventing me from making those calls this week?"


If the answer is "because we compete for the same students," you're optimizing for institutional preservation, not student success.


If the answer is "because our systems don't align," that's fixable. Make the call anyway.


If the answer is "because I don't know where to start," start by forwarding this newsletter to one leader in a different sector and saying: "Let's have coffee. I think we're solving the same problems in isolation."


OBJECTION HANDLING


"But we don't have time for this meta-conversation."


You just spent the last three months managing Coasters, redirecting Climbers, and grounding Dreamers while your Builders waited for permission to build.


You don't have time NOT to do this.


Also, this isn't meta. This is the actual work. The strategic planning you keep meeting about? That's the distraction.

The real work is building a team that can think together efficiently enough to actually execute the strategy you keep strategizing about.


You're not too busy to fix this. You're too busy BECAUSE of this.


"My team won't go for it."


Your team is currently "going for" individualized development that produces isolated competence while your actual challenges require collective capacity.


They're already bought into something—it's just not working.


The bar is on the floor. You're not asking them to do something dramatically different. You're asking them to stop doing something that's provably ineffective.


And while you're hesitating, enrollment decisions are being made by families who won't wait for your cabinet to align,

competitive institutions are moving faster, and your best teachers/faculty are wondering if leadership will ever actually lead.


THE MATURITY SHIFT: FROM FILTERS TO FOUNDATIONS


Immature leaders think: "We need better marketing to fix our enrollment problem." Mature leaders think: "We need to remove the Snapchat filter and address the systemic dysfunction our marketing is currently hiding."


Immature leaders optimize for: Looking good in accreditation reports. Mature leaders optimize for: Actually being good in ways students and communities experience daily.


Immature leaders believe: Adding capacity solves performance gaps. Mature leaders know: Adding capacity to dysfunction scales dysfunction—you must address interference first.


Immature leaders ask: "How do we compete better?" Mature leaders ask: "How do we collaborate to build what students need that none of us can create alone?"


Immature leaders defend: Institutional structures we inherited. Mature leaders build: Pathways students and communities require, even if it disrupts what we've always done.


The difference is the difference between defending and building.


One protects the past. One creates the future.


Students have already voted with their feet. 2.9 million of them walked away from traditional educational institutions in the last decade.


The only question remaining: Will you remove the filter and build what they actually need—or keep adjusting the lighting until the last student walks out?


YOUR TURN: THE QUESTION YOU CAN'T AVOID


Here's what I want you to do right now—before you close this newsletter and move to the next thing suffocating your inbox:

Answer this honestly:


"If a consultant observed your institution for one week—not your marketing materials, not your strategic plan, but your actual daily operations—what would disturb them most about the gap between what you project and what you produce?"

Be specific. Be vulnerable. Your honesty gives other leaders permission to name their own dysfunction.


I'll go first in comments. (And yes, my consultant WAS disturbed. That's how I know this framework works.)


Comment "FILTER" if the Snapchat Filter Effect describes your institution right now.


Tag a cabinet member who needs permission to name the dysfunction everyone knows exists but nobody discusses. Tell them specifically why you're tagging them.


Screenshot the Interference Audit formula (P = p - I) and text it to your CFO with just this message: "Tuesday's agenda just changed."


FOUND VALUE IN THIS? HERE'S HOW TO MULTIPLY IT:


Repost this with your Coaster Tax calculation or your honest answer to the consultant question. Tag DR. JOE HILL so I can see your assessment.


Tag a superintendent if you're higher ed, or tag a president if you're K-12 and propose coffee. Ecosystem thinking starts with one conversation across sectors.


Forward this to your cabinet with the subject line: "We need to talk about interference." Then actually talk about it.


The more leaders who shift from defending institutions to building what students need, the better our educational systems become.


Follow DR. JOE HILL and Higher Performance Group for weekly Team Intelligence insights that turn roundtable conversations into Monday morning resources.


WANT THE SCIENCE BEHIND THIS?


Everything in this newsletter is grounded in research across 987 leadership teams.


The data is clear: 60% of organizations operate at barely half their potential capacity despite having individually brilliant team members.


The gap? It's not talent. It's Team Intelligence—the operating system that transforms individual brilliance into breakthrough collective performance.


Download the full Team Intelligence Whitepaper to see:


  • The Three-Intelligence Framework (IQ × EQ × PQ = TQ)
  • Why teams with balanced cognitive representation outperform homogeneous teams by 40% in problem resolution
  • Case studies from Sourcewell Cooperative ($13B in cooperative purchasing) and Gateway Community College (#1 in Arizona)
  • The five cognitive approaches essential for breakthrough performance
  • Implementation protocols you can deploy immediately


Get the whitepaper here: https://www.higherperformancegroup.com/team-intelligence-assessment

It's free. It's research-backed. And it might explain why your last three strategic initiatives died between the VP of Finance and the VP of Academic Affairs.


GET THE WHITEPAPER HERE


NEXT ISSUE: "THE ROUND-TRIP TICKET: WHY YOUR BEST TALENT PIPELINE IS WEARING A LANYARD AND MAKING $12/HOUR"


We'll explore why workforce development strategies that start with recruitment campaigns are like trying to find your soulmate on dating apps when your best match is already in your contacts—you just haven't called them yet because they're in the "para-professional" folder instead of "potential leaders."


Spoiler: The teacher shortage isn't a talent problem. It's a barrier problem. And you have way more power to remove those barriers than whoever designed your hiring process wants you to believe.


(Hint: It involves thinking like Matthew Flippen, acting like Gordon Amerson, and having the courage Jason Morrison demonstrated in January of Year 2—when most leaders are still smiling pretty and listening carefully.)


P.S. – ABOUT THAT ROUNDTABLE...


If you're thinking "I need to be in conversations like this with peers who are actually building, not just defending," here's your invitation:


Next Peer-to-Peer Leadership Roundtable: February 4, 2026 | 10:30-11:30 AM CST


REGISTER HERE: https://us06web.zoom.us/webinar/register/9417613317373/WN_qkTP4lWNTfSycggS_ZFKnw#/registration

Who should attend: Superintendents and College/University Presidents who are tired of competing and ready to collaborate. Public and private sectors both welcome.


The only requirement: demonstrated commitment to building what students need, not defending what institutions want.

See you in February—or in the comments below.


Keep your dukes up.

— Joe


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By HPG Info September 15, 2026
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THE DIAGNOSIS Let's talk about this like adults who've sat through a “great meeting” that solved nothing. You know the meeting where the budget gets flagged as a concern, everyone nods that they'll “look into their numbers,” and six weeks later the same number resurfaces, because nobody said out loud whose number it was to fix. You know the one where two VPs have been quietly furious with each other since March over a staffing decision, and you can feel it every week in how carefully they avoid each other, and you've decided not to name it because naming it feels like starting something. You know the one where a board member's pet initiative gets full-throated public support in the room, then gets picked apart, sentence by sentence, in the parking lot the second the meeting adjourns. That parking lot conversation is where your cabinet's real meeting is actually happening. The one with the agenda is theater. We call it Consent Theater: everyone performs alignment in the room, and almost nobody in the room actually feels it. I know the exhaustion of being the only person who can feel the thing nobody's saying. It's a specific kind of lonely: watching six capable adults nod in unison at a decision you already know three of them will quietly work around by Thursday. (This is the exact gap THE TEAM INSTITUTE was built to close: the collective architecture that makes disagreement safe enough to happen in the room, in real time, instead of surfacing later in a one-on-one, a group text, or the parking lot. Most leadership development still trains individuals to argue better. This trains the room to hold the argument without breaking. More on that in a moment.) Here's the diagnosis. This is an EQ problem, specifically the part of EQ nobody trains: the capacity to host real disagreement without the room falling apart. Most leadership development sharpens IQ. Almost none of it builds a team's tolerance for productive friction. TQ = IQ × EQ × PQ. Skip that capacity, and you're not getting a calmer team. You're multiplying by something close to zero. THE REAL-FIGHT LITMUS (Or: How to Tell a Real Fight From a Tantrum, in Under Ten Seconds) Call this the Real-Fight Litmus. Or don't — it'll still explain why your cabinet's least professional-sounding argument last year was probably its most valuable ten minutes, while last month's perfectly polite meeting produced exactly nothing. Not all workplace drama is the same. There's melodrama, and there's the real thing, and most leaders never learned to tell them apart, so they shut down both the same way. Three checks separate them. The Stakes Check. Is this about the mission, the budget, the students, the decision, or is it about who gets credit and whose feelings got bruised three weeks ago? Real conflict is anchored to something the institution actually needs solved. (IQ's job: knowing whether the fight is even worth having.) The Address Check. Is it being said to the person it's about, in the room, right now, or about that person, to someone else, later? Real conflict happens at the table. Manufactured drama happens in the parking lot, the group text, the hallway pull-aside that somehow never includes the actual person. (EQ's job: whether the team has the nerve to say it to the face instead of the back.) The Landing Check. Does it end with a decision, an owner, and a next step, or does it just end, unresolved, waiting to resurface next month wearing a different disguise? (PQ's job: reading the room accurately enough to know when the real issue has actually surfaced.) Miss any one, and per the formula, you're multiplying by something close to zero: all the emotional energy of a real fight, none of the resolution. THE CASE STUDY This is a composite, drawn from patterns across our work with 987 leadership teams , not one specific superintendent's story. Picture a seven-person cabinet known among peer districts as “the calm one.” Internally, two departments hadn't fully trusted each other in over a year, since a staffing reallocation neither side felt was handled fairly. Nobody had said that sentence out loud with both of them in the room. Instead, it surfaced everywhere else: in one-on-ones with the superintendent, in the politely cold exchanges in shared meetings, in a joint enrollment-outreach grant the two departments had quietly stopped planning together — fourteen months and counting. The turning point came in one meeting when the superintendent named it directly: “I think there's an unresolved staffing decision between these two departments, and I'd rather we have that conversation here, today, than everywhere else.” Twenty-five uncomfortable minutes followed, then something the cabinet hadn't had in over a year: a resolution, with an owner and a next step, that both departments could name identically when asked separately. The grant application was back on both departments' calendars within three weeks. Six months later, joint planning had gone from an occasional truce to a standing agenda item. Same seven people. One real fight, finally allowed to land where it belonged. THE APPLICATION Here's what to do Monday morning (assuming you're not already mid-crisis, in which case, do this Tuesday): Step 1: Run the Litmus on Your Last Meeting (15 minutes). Pull last week's cabinet agenda. For each item that generated any friction at all, ask the three checks: was it about the mission, or about ego? Was it said in the room, or about someone elsewhere? Did it land on a decision, or did it just stop? If most items pass all three, you have real conflict already, and you're ahead of most cabinets. If most items fail the Address Check, you have a parking-lot cabinet, and the real meeting is happening somewhere you're not. Step 2: Name One Unresolved Thing, Out Loud, In the Room (20 minutes at your next meeting). Pick the one disagreement everyone already knows about but nobody has said directly to the people involved. Say it plainly, the way the superintendent did above: name what you've noticed, and invite the actual conversation, in the room, this week, not “offline.” This will feel like the least professional five minutes you've had in months. It's also the most useful. Step 3: Build a Team Norm for the Address Check (ongoing). Agree, as a cabinet, on one rule: disagreements about a colleague's decision get raised to that colleague, not about them. Practicing this once doesn't undo a year of parking-lot conversations. Practicing it every week, for a few months, does. “We don't have time for this.” You're already spending it. The latest workplace research puts the average manager at over four hours a week managing workplace conflict — more than 230 hours a year. That number doesn't change based on whether you have the real fight or not. It just changes whether that time produces an actual decision, or more meetings about the meeting. “This will make our meetings feel less professional.” Maybe for the first few. But Google's own multi-year Project Aristotle study found one trait separated its highest-performing teams from the rest: psychological safety, the freedom to disagree openly without fear of looking bad in the room. Politeness never made the list. You've been chasing the wrong variable. THE MATURITY SHIFT Immature leaders think: “A good meeting is one where nobody gets upset.” Mature leaders think: “A good meeting is one where the real thing finally got said.” Immature leaders protect the room from conflict, and call it culture. Mature leaders protect the room's capacity to have the conflict, and call it trust. The gap runs deeper than temperament. Somewhere along the way, we convinced an entire generation of leaders that a quiet room is a healthy room. Lencioni named the pattern in 2002. Twenty-four years and a mountain of team-performance research later, most cabinets still run on the original assumption: calm equals healthy. Every eleven-to-one vote your cabinet takes without a single dissenting question is a choice, made weekly, about whether the real disagreement happens in the room or goes and finds somewhere else to live. Your turn: think of the disagreement your cabinet is currently avoiding in the name of staying “professional.” Where is it actually living right now? A one-on-one? A group text? Somebody's resignation letter draft? Name it in the comments. I'll wait. If artificial harmony has been running your cabinet's meetings, and after this issue you don't believe “calm” and “healthy” are the same thing anymore, then what's missing is architecture: the collective skill of hosting real disagreement without the room, or the relationships in it, falling apart. This is what THE TEAM INSTITUTE builds. It's an eight-month program for full leadership cabinets — superintendents and university presidents and the people who sit across the table from them — built around exactly this kind of collective muscle: knowing which fights are real, having them where they belong, and landing them on an actual decision. Across 987 leadership teams, cabinets that did this work saw performance improve roughly 3x and engagement rise 29%, without an increase in burnout, which is usually the quiet cost of every other leadership initiative that just asks people to try harder. Start with the Team Intelligence Assessment. It'll tell you, plainly, whether your cabinet's calm is real or borrowed: https://www.higherperformancegroup.com/tq-assessment Whether or not this is the season for that step, here's a smaller one that costs nothing: repost this with the disagreement your cabinet has been calling “fine” for longer than it should have, tag the colleague who already knows exactly which one you mean, or drop your own version in the comments. Somebody else's cabinet needs to hear that they're not the only one avoiding the same conversation. Follow DR. JOE HILL and Higher Performance Group | THE TEAM INSTITUTE
By HPG Info September 7, 2026
Fluent. Confident. Wrong. In that order. Every cabinet meeting I've sat in since the second week of June has opened with some version of the same sentence: "The board wants to know our AI plan." Nobody's arguing AI matters. That fight's over. What almost nobody's asking is the question underneath it: the one that actually decides whether this fall helps your cabinet or quietly wrecks it. Before you put a machine on the payroll as your cabinet's newest ghostwriter, have you checked what it already believes about you? Here's what nobody tells a team of senior leaders walking into its first AI rollout: the tool doesn't create your team's judgment. It ghostwrites it, fluently, into every board memo and parent email and strategic plan you hand it, sounding exactly as confident in the ones that are wrong as the ones that are right. Two stories explain what's actually at stake this fall. One's old. One's brand new. Together, they're the whole problem. THE SENTENCE In third grade, a teacher tried to stop a boy from getting bullied. He'd been held back in reading, had migraines nobody diagnosed, and needed things repeated more than his classmates did. So she stepped in, pointed at him in front of the whole room, and said the thing she thought would protect him: "Leave that kid alone. That's the boy with the broken brain." She meant it kindly. He heard two words. Broken brain became the sentence he ran, silently, for the next decade: every time he wasn't picked for a team, every time he failed a test, every time he took the back-row seat hoping nobody would call on him. That kid grew up to be Jim Kwik, now one of the most recognized names in learning and memory training on the planet, the guy Fortune 500 companies and elite athletes call when they need to think faster under pressure. He told the story in a conversation earlier this year, and the line that stopped me wasn't the injury. It was what he said actually held him back: "Under stress, we don't rise to the level of our aspirations. We fall to the level of our stories, our systems, and our self-image." Not his intelligence. Not his skill. His self-image, inherited from a five-second sentence somebody else said, replaying under pressure for ten straight years. Now sit with the version your own cabinet is running. Maybe it's a board comment from three budget cycles ago that nobody's repeated out loud since, but everybody still quietly believes. Maybe it's a single paragraph an accreditation team wrote four years back that's still deciding what your provost thinks she's allowed to propose. Maybe it's simpler: a founding leader who once told this team they weren't ready for something, and nobody has tested whether that's still true. Here's the part that should actually worry you. Kwik didn't get better at learning by treating the injury. He got better by finding, and rewriting, the sentence. Your cabinet's talent isn't the variable in question here. It rarely is. The sentence running underneath the talent is. THE TURN Here's why this matters more this fall than any fall before it. For every year of your career until now, your cabinet's inherited sentence stayed mostly contained. It shaped a meeting here, a hesitation there, a proposal that quietly never got made. Slow damage, spread out over years. That containment is gone. Kwik, talking about the exact tools your board is asking about, put it plainly: "AI can scale and amplify. But it can only scale and amplify what a human brings to it." Feed it a clear, tested, collectively-owned judgment, and it multiplies your best thinking across every email, every plan, every decision your cabinet touches. Feed it an untested inherited sentence, and it does the exact same thing to that. (This is the exact gap THE TEAM INSTITUTE was built to close this fall: surfacing what the room already believes before the tool starts repeating it back at scale, which is different work than training your cabinet on the tool itself. Every vendor already offers that part. More on that in a moment.) TQ = IQ × EQ × PQ still holds. What's new is the multiplier. A cabinet with strong IQ and an untested self-image used to produce one flawed decision at a time. The same cabinet, with AI in the loop, can now produce that flawed decision a hundred different ways before lunch: in a strategic plan draft, a parent email, a board memo, and every version will read as confident, because the tool can't tell the difference between confidence and an old wound. THE OLD PLAYBOOK If you want proof this isn't just a Higher Performance Group observation, change management researchers are already redrawing the map. Kotter's 8-Step Change Model has run more transformations than any framework in modern management: create urgency, build a coalition, communicate the vision, empower people to act, anchor the gains. It's built for change that holds still long enough to sequence. A comparative model published this year in the Journal of AI, Robotics & Workplace Automation puts Kotter's eight steps next to a proposed AI Adoption Change Model, and the contrast is the whole argument in one picture. Source: Journal of AI, Robotics & Workplace Automation, Vol. 5 (2026), Henry Stewart Publications. Look at where each model starts. Kotter opens with urgency and a coalition, top-down, already decided. The AI model opens with exploring potential and discovering champions, bottom-up, still being tested. Kotter ends with anchoring the change in culture. The AI model ends with "cultivate AI-driven culture" and loops straight back into exploring again, because the tool never stops shipping new capability long enough for anything to get anchored. That's the structural version of what Kwik is describing at the individual level. AI adoption isn't a project you finish. It's a loop you run, and every pass through that loop amplifies whatever judgment your cabinet brought to it, tested or not. Which is exactly why the next five steps matter more than the eight above them. BUILD BEFORE YOU BORROW Kwik teaches a five-step discipline for exactly this problem, built for one person working with AI. It translates almost perfectly to a cabinet. You just have to run it as a room, not as one person with a laptop. Brainstorm first. Before anyone opens a tool, the cabinet talks through the problem out loud, together, with nothing feeding them an answer. This has nothing to do with whether the tool can be trusted. A room that's never practiced thinking together won't notice when the tool starts thinking for it instead. Understand the real problem. Most cabinets solve the presenting problem (enrollment's soft, a program's underperforming) instead of the one underneath it. Kwik's rule: spend the bulk of your time understanding what's actually broken before anyone reaches for a fix. AI is exceptionally good at answering the wrong question with total confidence. Imagine your own solution before you borrow one. Draft the cabinet's own answer first, even a rough one, before any tool sees the problem. This is the step almost every cabinet skips under deadline pressure, and it's the one that actually builds Team Intelligence. Skip it enough times, and the room stops being able to do it at all. Leverage the tool to stress-test, not to think for you. This is the one step where you deliberately fire the ghostwriter. Kwik's own practice: ask AI to argue against what the room already believes, to name the room's blind spots, to poke holes. Not "write our plan." "Tell us what's wrong with our plan." Different question, completely different outcome, and the only one of the five steps where you want the tool talking back instead of taking dictation. Decide, because the tool never has to live with it. AI has no stake in your decision. It doesn't sit in the parent meeting when the plan fails, or defend the budget line to the board. That accountability doesn't transfer, no matter how good the draft looks. Somebody in the room still has to own it. Five steps. None require new software. All five require your leaders to still be doing the thinking it's currently outsourcing, to the tool, or, just as often, to whichever one of you has quietly become the only person who does the real thinking before anyone else weighs in. (Kwik teaches this in far more depth than one newsletter can hold: his book Limitless and his Kwik Brain podcast go deep on the underlying discipline. No affiliation here, just work worth pointing you to.) THE CASE STUDY This is a composite, drawn from patterns across our work with 987 leadership teams , not one specific president's story. A university cabinet spent the spring drafting its first AI use policy the way most do: one dean built a draft using a chatbot over a weekend, and the cabinet spent forty minutes debating word choices in a document none of them had actually thought through together. The policy read confidently. Nobody in the room could say, if asked directly, what problem it was actually solving. Before the fall rollout, the cabinet ran Build Before You Borrow on that same policy, live, in one meeting. Brainstormed first, out loud, no laptops. Named the real problem: not "we need an AI policy" but "we don't yet agree on what we're willing to let a machine say on our behalf." Drafted their own answer as a room, in plain language, before any tool touched it. Only then brought a draft to AI, and only to argue against it. The resulting policy was four sentences shorter than the first one and, according to the cabinet, the first draft everyone in the room could actually explain from memory without looking at it. Same five people. One real conversation, finally had before the tool had it for them. THE FIRST MEETING You don't need a retreat for this. You need one meeting, early in the semester, run differently than the ones you've been running. Name the sentence (20 minutes). Ask your cabinet directly: what's something this institution believes about itself that nobody's tested in years? Write every answer down without editing them. You're not solving anything yet. You're finding out what you've all been quietly agreeing not to say. Run one live decision through Build Before You Borrow, out loud, before anyone opens a laptop (30 minutes). Pick a real one: the fall enrollment message, the AI policy itself, whatever's actually on this week's agenda. Brainstorm together first. Name the real problem. Draft your own answer as a room. Only then bring in a tool, and only to argue against what you just built. Agree, as a cabinet, on one rule for how AI gets used this year (10 minutes). Not a policy document. One sentence everyone says out loud and means: something like "nothing this tool wrote goes out first without a human draft underneath it." Whatever you land on, make it specific enough that you'd notice the day you broke it. If your first objection is that you don't have sixty extra minutes this month, you're already spending more than that reworking decisions that got made too fast, by whoever talked first in the room. This isn't additional time. It's the same time, spent before the mistake instead of after it. If your second objection is that your team will treat this as one more initiative, they're already operating under an initiative. It's just an unspoken one, and it's been running since before you took the job. THE MATURITY SHIFT Immature leaders think: "We need to move fast before we fall behind on AI." Mature leaders think: "We need to know what we actually believe before we teach a machine to say it for us." Immature leaders let the tool draft first and edit for tone. Mature leaders draft the room's own answer first and let the tool argue with it. Kwik calls the difference between these two postures victim mindset and heroic mindset: whether you let your hardest chapter keep narrating you, or you use it as fuel. It's a private decision about your own institution's story, one nobody else can make for you, and this fall, a machine is about to say that decision out loud, on schedule, to everyone. YOUR TURN Your cabinet is about to find out, in public, at scale, which story it's been running. No scandal required. A machine is about to say it back to everyone, fluently, on schedule, forever. Name it. What's the sentence your cabinet has been running that nobody's tested? Where did it come from, and is it even still true? You don't have to post the answer. But if you're willing to, I'd genuinely like to know what you find. If you already suspect which sentence it is, and you're wondering whether it's about to get amplified before you've even chosen a vendor: that's precisely what the TEAM INTELLIGENCE Assessment is built to surface. Fifteen minutes, no pitch, just a clear read on what your cabinet is actually working with before you put a machine in the room as your ghostwriter. higherperformancegroup.com/team-intelligence-assessment Across the 987 leadership teams we've studied, the cabinets that did this work before scaling anything (a new initiative, a new tool, a new plan) outperformed the ones that scaled first and diagnosed later, by a wide enough margin that "later" stopped being a viable strategy. The point is simple: make sure what gets sped up is actually worth repeating. If this is useful for someone else's first fall cabinet meeting, send it their way before their board asks the same question yours did. Tell them which sentence you found. Somebody in your network is about to let a machine ghostwrite a story they've never actually tested, and this might be the newsletter that stops them in time. Follow DR. JOE HILL and Higher Performance Group . — Dr. Joe Hill, Higher Performance Group | THE TEAM INSTITUTE
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