My tiny city in Maine has a very different culture from Atlanta, where I spent most of my adulthood.

One major difference is the sound of fall. Here, it's quiet. Why? Because no one owns a leaf blower.

People do some raking, I guess. But mostly, they leave the leaves alone. Soon enough, they'll be under snow. And nobody seems to expect their landscaping to look like a golf course.

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When I started The Little Middle School, I was a relative outsider to the world of education.

Even though I'd been teaching music lessons for awhile, I'd been out of the public schools for many years.

As a result, some of my students' behaviors surprised me. They were behaviors that belonged in a culture that I didn't want to preserve.

For example, the students knew to raise their hands when they had something to say. Fine—that's how it works in a group of people. But then, when I'd call on someone, all the hands stayed up.

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I checked out the website of a guy who helps people to improve their money mindset.

Amidst the elevated, abundance-oriented language, there was one of those clickbaity headlines promising “40 ways to make more money” or something. I clicked, thinking that the article might help me understand more about this person's unique perspective.

Instead, it had the same kind of lowbrow advice you'd find anywhere else. I'm not kidding, driving for Uber was on the list. And selling your jewelry to a pawn shop.

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For years, I resisted advertising for my music school.

I wanted it to be better before I invited new students in. I wanted things to be polished and perfected; I wanted every system to be functioning perfectly and every instructor to do things exactly as I would.

Well, it's been over a decade, friends, and I am still waiting for perfection that will never arrive. In the meantime, we've served hundreds of families who are pleased with what we offer (and sometimes, downright thrilled).

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It was a moment that will surely be familiar to anyone who survived middle school.

My students and I were playing and singing a song together when one voice rang out a little louder than the rest. Exuberant and enthusiastic though it was, it was imperfect. No problem in our group — we’re all learning. We’re constantly talking about how we can all grow and improve as musicians, and how it’s an act of leadership to put in the effort.

But not all of us were in agreement on this point, apparently. Two eighth grade girls, sitting idly instead of participating in the music, exchanged a glance. Its meaning was unmistakeable — they were silently making fun of the earnestness of the confident singer.

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