Well, I don’t know how it came around so quickly, but here we are again, that special time of year when Ireland’s teenagers turn into zombified versions of their former selves as they cram in as much information as they can in the last few days of school. Leaving and Junior Cert season – the Hunger Games of education. 

I speak from personal experience. I have my third child now about to go through the trials of the Leaving Cert. I often think that having older siblings who performed well is a cruel added pressure to have to bear. If having to do the exams isn’t bad enough, you often feel this added pressure to live up to what others have achieved. Which is crazy, because you aren’t your brother or sister: you are you, with your skills, interests and your own value. I often think that one of the best things that any of us parents can do around this time, is to make sure that our child is not weighed down by family expectations – they have enough pressures that they are already heaping on themselves.

To anyone doing an exam this summer – however well you do, you are not defined by your academic achievements. You are a valuable and complex, multi-faceted human being with unique strengths, talents and intrinsic value that no exam can measure. While doing your best is admirable, don’t let exam pressure diminish your spark.  

Set realistic goals and be ambitious, but also be compassionate with yourself. Missed a study session? Couldn’t concentrate? That’s okay – simply refocus and try again. Celebrate small wins along the way. Every bit of effort counts. 

Remember that every previous generation went through this too, and they made it out the other side. What kinds of advice would those generations likely give you now, as they look back?

1. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you exams don’t matter. They matter not because of results, but because they give you a chance to push yourself and stretch yourself. Everything we do is a chance to grow and become stronger human beings.  
2. Schedule some breaks away from the books. Your brain needs breathing room to let stuff sink in. Get outside, kick a ball, pursue other interests. Recharging is as valuable as studying, because it keeps you fresh and alert. 
3. Be organised, but don’t become a prisoner to a rigid revision timetable. Spontaneity and changing things up can be healthy. 
4. Ask for help when you need it. People want you to succeed. Asking for support can lighten the burden. (And parents, remember that supporting doesn’t mean adding excessive pressure. Provide a listening ear, advice when requested, and comfort when needed.) 
5. Get enough sleep! Self-care isn’t just a buzzword, it’s essential for peak performance. 

Most importantly, keep some perspective. Of course, your exams are important. But they’re not the be-all-and-end-all that they can feel like right now. You’ve got your whole life ahead to experience in new, exciting ways, regardless of what happens over the next month. 

To my own son and to anyone doing exams over the next while, you’ve got this! One exam at a time. In the grand scheme of your remarkable life journey, this is just a short-term hurdle. Believe in yourself, and you’ll make it through stronger and wiser. 

Not too long ago I met a friend at a work event. He is someone that I don’t meet very often but whose company you cannot help but enjoy. By any measure, I would describe him as very successful: he’s incredibly well respected in his field, he has a very senior job, he’s charismatic, always impeccably groomed, and hugely liked. I say this only to explain why I was so surprised when he turned to me at one point and said that he envied me. 

How could that be, I thought? I have never been particularly career-oriented, am generally not impeccably groomed, am uncomfortable in many social situations, and my charisma level might be described as low average at best. What could I have that might inspire envy in others?  

The answer, as so often is the case of course, is that he envied in me the characteristics that he didn’t see in himself. Most specifically, he envied what he saw as my ability to find joy and meaning in ordinary things. Things like clearing an overgrown patch of garden, or continuing the traditions of Halloween games my mother used to play with us when we were younger. For my friend, meaning was intertwined with ambition and striving, while I think he perhaps saw in me a more simple, and perhaps less ambitious, approach to finding meaning in life. If he knew me better, of course, he might not envy me so much – we all have our issues and challenges. But even given this caveat, I do think that there is an element of truth to his observation.  

I’ve been reading a lot of Ellen Langer’s work recently. She is the Harvard psychologist who, over decades, has pioneered research around mindfulness. This isn’t the same as mindful or Eastern meditation, which has such a strong focus on being aware of one’s emotions and thoughts and then letting them go. Rather, Langer’s idea of mindfulness is to actively engage with each moment, being aware of the meaning, possibility and options that that moment offers.  

I like this idea: the idea that everything we do can be done automatically, by rote and mindlessly; or alternatively can be done actively and with awareness. Everything can be done in multiple ways, which means that every moment offers us choices that give us control over our lives. Nothing is too small – every moment and every choice makes a difference. This way of thinking can turn walking in the rain from a hardship to a sensory joy; can change helping with a child’s homework from being a tiresome drudge to an opportunity to build relationships, trust and memories. We can all work to engage with the present moment. It’s done by means slowing down to actively make ourselves aware and conscious of every decision, thought and emotion, to realise that there are other ways of thinking and feeling, and that how we choose to think and behave now is important. 

There is a phrase that has been going around in my head since I was a teenager. I had always believed in what I called the virtue of simplicity, but I was never able to put my finger on exactly what I meant.  

Reading Langer has made this a lot clearer for me. I think that what I meant was that so many of us make life out to be more complex than it needs to be. We look to the future; focus on future goals; strive for bigger and better. But in doing so we allow ourselves to become mindless about the present, as though it doesn’t matter and is only a stepping stone towards that future. This is even moreso the case if our present reality is the mundane – making dinner; filling out forms; getting kids to school.  

The truth, in my view, is very different.  

Everything about this moment matters, because this moment is all we have. 

There’s a driveway in front of my house. Anyone who looked at it over the last year might have been forgiven for thinking that perhaps nobody lived here – every single cobblestone had become grown over with moss, and every crack between them had become home to multiple small weeds. I have to take full responsibility – I did notice this problem as it was sprouting. But noticing it and doing something about it are two very different things!

Months passed as this unintentional rewilding of my driveway continued. I saw it but I did nothing about it. Cognitive dissonance is the psychological discomfort that arises from holding conflicting beliefs – in my case I avoided this discomfort by pretending that the driveway actually looked fine. It’s amazing how easily I can fool myself when I want to.

As the seasons turned, a decision finally took root alongside the flourishing moss and sprouting grass on my cobbled driveway. Perhaps it was the crisp bite of autumn air that invigorated my resolve, or maybe the subtle realisation that the unruly green was a metaphor for letting things slide a bit too far. Whatever the catalyst, it led me on a journey to Woodies DIY, where among the aisles of paint and tools, I found my implement of change: a shovel.

This shovel wasn’t destined for grand gestures or heroic undertakings. Its blade, sharp and unyielding, was chosen for the meticulous task of reclaiming order from chaos, one cobblestone at a time. And so, with a sense of purpose, I began the slow dance of restoration. The sharp edge of the shovel became an extension of my will, methodically scraping out the moss and earth nestled between the stones. Each stroke was a small victory, each cleared crevice a reclaimed territory in a war measured not in conquests but in persistence.

I never aimed to conquer the driveway in a day. Instead, I adopted a strategy of increments. Every departure and return to and from home was marked by a few minutes dedicated to freeing a few more cobblestones from their weedy invaders. The task became a ritual, punctuated by the sound of metal scraping against stone.

Weeks turned into months, and the transformation was as gradual as the growth that had given rise to it. Yet, each day, a few more stones would emerge, clean and vibrant against the setting sun. The area by the door was the first to enjoy the fruits of my labour. Then, a pathway unfolded, tracing steps to the car and, in time, weaving all the way to the gate and around to the side of the house.

What was once a mosaic of green and brown gave way to the rich, dark red of the cobbles, almost like new but with the added character of effort and time. The weeds and grass, once rampant, were now a memory, replaced by the order and beauty of well-tended craftsmanship. It was a transformation not just of the ground beneath my feet, but of the mindset that guided my daily life.

This driveway stood as a testament to the power of perseverance. It was a reminder that the greatest changes come not from the sweeping gestures but from the sum of small, consistent actions. In the grand tapestry of life, each thread weaves a pattern, and each moment is an opportunity for improvement, one small step at a time. It’s not the giant leaps that define our progress, but the ability to make a little difference, over and over again, until the picture is complete.

And so, as I stand back and admire my work, a new pattern emerges. The driveway, once a symbol of neglect, is now a canvas displaying the fruits of determination and the understated elegance of patience. It reminds us that even when the task seems insurmountable, a steady hand and a willing heart can turn the tide, one cobblestone at a time.

On Saturday night last my wife and I sat in the living room glued to our seats as we watched the final moments of Ireland against New Zealand. Her knuckles had turned white as she gripped the side of the chair. Words that I didn’t even think she knew were being uttered quick and fast as the tension rose, as Ireland slowly moved up the pitch phase after phase towards the New Zealand line, but phase after phase being repelled. New Zealand were forced to make 100 tackles in the last 20 minutes of that match. Every tackle brought the man to the ground. Yet Ireland still held on to the ball, no mistakes were made, and crept closer to the try line inch by inch. Eventually something had to give and unfortunately for Ireland the final decision favoured the New Zealanders and with that the quarterfinal was over and our dreams of a World Cup were gone.

“It’s just not fair. The five best teams in the competition all on one side of the draw. Ireland would have walked through to the semifinal if they had been on the other side of the draw. This game should have been the final.” So said my wife the rugby expert. All of these things were, of course, absolutely true. Writing this on the Monday after the match I can only think about what Ireland would have done if we had been playing either England or Argentina instead of New Zealand. Still be smiling and we’d still be thinking of what might be. My wife looked at me after the match on Saturday. She couldn’t understand why I was so calm. She has good reason to be curious – I’m a long time Ireland rugby fan and I can recall the days when success might have meant avoiding the wooden spoon in the Six Nations, never mind coming within a whisker of defeating New Zealand in the World Cup. She recalls the time when Ireland played France in Lansdowne Rd. We were winning the game – within touching distance of the first win against France since the early 1970s. Then in the last couple of minutes, Vincent Clerc broke through to score and break our hearts again. My wife remembers that I didn’t talk for a week. So how was I able to be so calm when we were so close to what could have been a World Cup winning experience?

I think that perhaps it’s just me getting older. It’s also perhaps me learning something about resilience. One of the keys to bouncing back from setbacks is to focus on something that we can actually control. Sport has the ability to give us so many incredible highs. Unfortunately, when these highs are only achieved as a spectator, we put ourselves in the hands of others. Our emotional high depends on the performance of our team. We have no control over that.

I said this to my 15 year old son who was distraught after the match. He has two Gaelic football finals coming up in the next month or so. Those games may be smaller in comparison to the Rugby World Cup, but they offer him the chance to actively contribute and potentially create for himself those highs. I decided to try and calm him by letting him in on this insight. “Don’t let it affect your mood”, I said. “It’s only sport.”  I looked at him to see the effect of my words. “Listen to you, Gandhi” he said. “We’ll hammer them next time”.

Roll on 2027.

As I sat down to pen this, my thoughts meandered back to a blog post I wrote about three years ago. The room was doused in silence, marking the seasonal ritual of ‘back-to-school’. I remember writing about the resilience our children and young adults needed, to navigate the unique challenges posed by that year. 

Fast forward to today, and the world around us has changed, arguably in more ways than we could have ever anticipated. We’ve been through a whirlwind, both in terms of global events and personal journeys, and the lessons from the past hold more weight than ever. 

Amidst this backdrop, the value and opportunity that education presents shines through brightly. Education isn’t merely a medium to pass on knowledge; in this era, it’s an anchor of normalcy, a beacon of hope, and a bridge to our collective future. Yet, as crucial as it is for our young minds to grasp this opportunity, we need to recognize that the essence of individuality means there’s no one-size-fits-all approach. 

Post-COVID, it’s tempting to look for silver linings and project our own experiences and aspirations on our young ones. As students stride into their educational sanctuaries, some may feel invigorated, ready to seize every learning moment, while others might feel overwhelmed, still grappling with the ripples of the pandemic’s aftermath. And that’s okay. 

Remembering that people aren’t forged from a single mould, we, as adults, educators, and guardians, need to resist the urge to expect one single response to schooling. Every student will carry their unique narrative. Some might find solace in the confines of the classroom; others might discover their passions beyond textbooks. 

Empathy is our ally in these times. While resilience was the theme echoed three years ago, today, let’s champion understanding and flexibility. In fostering an environment where our youth can embrace education, in all its hues, we’re not just building a brighter future, but we’re also honouring the individual journeys that make our collective tapestry so rich and vibrant. 

Here’s to a school year filled with opportunities, understanding, and the celebration of diverse paths to success! 

I’m not proud to admit it, but if anybody were to come into my house right now, and walk into our hall they’d be faced with a scene that could have come straight from a Hieronymus Bosch picture. Chaos and destruction everywhere – bags strewn across the floor, coats and miscellaneous clothing draped over the back of chairs, a single sock stranded and alone peeking out from behind a curtain. Our visitor would be forgiven for taking one look around and asking “what kind of a place is this…?”

Unfortunately, this is the reality that I have allowed to develop in this house. My wife and I have both, (perhaps foolishly), embarked on postgraduate studies, working early morning and late nights to get through assignments and meet deadlines, while working full time and also trying to ensure that a brood of teenagers is fed, educated and happy.

Unfortunately, as a result of busy schedules and competing interests, I have dropped the ball in other areas – I have allowed myself to accept standards that I never would have before. I have allowed a culture to develop in my house where my children see me not always bending down to pick up a stray piece of paper as I pass it, and they have taken that on board as the accepted way to behave. They drop their hoodies wherever is easiest, because they have seen sometimes I don’t hang my coat up immediately when I come in. Perhaps reasonably, they would answer our visitor’s question by saying “this is the kind of place where messy and untidy behavior is accepted”, because that is the culture that has started to develop.

Every family, every business, and every organisation has a culture. It’s like the particular personality of that organisation, and like with people’s personalities, every organisational culture is unique. It’s made-up of what that organisation really values, not just what it talks about valuing. Does it really believe in doing the right thing or will it turn a blind eye to poor behavior and decisions If there are short term benefits? Does it really value customer service or does it put a premium on business profit above all? Does it really value teamwork, people and diversity or are these just buzzwords that are forgotten about when challenges are faced?

These are the kind of things that make an organisation’s culture, and they can’t be faked. Employees and customers feel the culture quickly enough. They know when they are being truly valued. They know when there is a culture of respect and integrity. They know it because they can feel how an organisation really is. They know it because they see what behaviours are allowed and encouraged. And if they don’t see a culture that feels right, many of them will leave. One piece of Irish research I saw recently suggested that 82% of professionals have worked for an organisation where they disliked the company culture and 70% have left a job because the culture felt wrong to them.

I have a job of work to do to start to change the culture that has been allowed to develop in this house. I want everyone living here to take pride in the house and in making it presentable – it doesn’t.

No matter how busy we are we can all spend a few minutes each day keeping our own area clean and tidy.

And in our organisations, we can all intentionally build the kind of culture that we want to see. It starts from the top. It starts with deciding what we value as people because our organisation’s values should reflect our own, without tension. And then we’ve got to lead by example, allowing our behavior to show others exactly what kind of place this is.

Now, I’m off to find the vacuum cleaner.