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The Apprentice Principal: You’re Hired… to Play the Role of “Leader” Until You Accidentally Become One

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Donald Trump spent years preparing for the presidency by practicing a phrase on The Apprentice. "You're fired."

Frankly, educational leadership offers a slightly different version. "You're hired… to emcee Catholic Schools Week, troubleshoot the boiler, calm an anxious parent, inspire exhausted teachers, find three substitute teachers before 7:15 AM, host graduation, survive accreditation, and pretend you slept last night."

Welcome to educational administration. No golden escalator required. Somewhere along the line, I accidentally became the President of a small republic known as Catholic School.

Population: hundreds of students. A couple of dozen faculty. Countless parents. At least four people are crying at any given time. Including me!

The strange thing is this: People who know me in my administrator role probably assume I thrive on this. The microphone. The assemblies. The Mass announcements. The graduation speeches. The “Good morning, SSP family!” energy. The visible leadership thing.

Plot twist: If left entirely to my natural instincts, I would not be standing under stage lights delivering inspirational remarks to 800 smiling people. I would be somewhere quietly working in a woodshop, listening to Gordon Lightfoot, and avoiding unnecessary human interaction like a Victorian ghost with chains around his feet.

I am, by wiring, introverted. Shy. Quiet. A backstage person who somehow got cast as the frontman. Think Kevin Kline in Dave. One day, you're a relatively normal human being. The next day, people expect you to walk into every situation projecting Confidence. Competence. Optimism. Calm. Vision. Spiritual leadership. Knowledge of why the copier is making demon noises.

The remarkable thing is… You learn how. Leadership, I’ve discovered, contains a surprising amount of acting. Not fake acting. Functional acting. The kind where you stand in front of a room and confidently explain the strategic vision while internally wondering if the cafeteria freezer has stopped working again.

Last week alone I was in front of somewhere between 500–1000 people. Masses. Graduations. Retirement tributes. Celebrations. Ceremonies require smiling, warmth, presence, encouragement, and enough emotional bandwidth to make everyone in the room feel seen and valued. Mission accomplished. Oscar-worthy performance. Standing ovations. What the audience doesn’t see is backstage.

Backstage is: "Dear Lord, please let the microphone work." "Please don’t let anybody faint." "Please let the air conditioning survive through the closing prayer." (It didn’t!) "Please let me remember everyone’s name." (I did!) "Please let my face continue projecting confidence while my soul quietly requests a nap and soup."

Educational leadership is weird because people often imagine leaders naturally enjoy public visibility. Some do. Some inhale energy from crowds like solar-powered motivational speakers. I am not one of those people.

My superpower is apparently becoming temporarily extroverted for mission-critical purposes. Like Batman. If Batman's enemies were: broken HVAC systems, state compliance paperwork, graduation seating charts, and emails beginning with “Per my last message…”

You learn to project. That word, projection, really lands with me.  The administrator becomes something of a movie character. The reassuring principal. The calm leader. The optimistic public face. The person who somehow appears to have answers. Even when internally, you're running on caffeine, prayer, and whatever emotional fumes remain after Spring Break.

And here's the funny irony: The introvert who never wanted the spotlight can become surprisingly good at standing in it. Not because they love attention. Because they love the people. The students. The teachers. The mission. The graduates crossing the stage. The retirees are being honored. The community needs someone to stand at the podium and say, "You matter. What you do matters. We made it."

So yes. In a strange way, I understand the oddity of someone moving from one role into another larger-than-life public identity. Reality show host becomes president. Quiet introvert becomes administrator.

A normal human becomes a Catholic Schools Week emcee, a graduation announcer, a facilities coordinator, a pastoral counselor, a motivational speaker, a substitute weather system, and an emergency IT support. "Sturgill… you’re hired." I’m still not entirely convinced I applied for this position.

 

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