There’s the School Bell…

By LaDawn Sullivan

There is something about this time of year that takes me right back to the first day of school. I can still remember those jitters.

New school clothes carefully picked out. Fresh supplies that had not yet been written on, broken, lost or “borrowed” by somebody who never returned them. And, depending on the year, a lunchbox that said something about who you were—or at least who you wanted everybody to think you were. A Spider-Man lunchbox could carry a lot of confidence.

I knew I would see people I knew. Friends would be there. Familiar faces would fill the hallways.

But still. It was a new room. A new teacher. A new seat. New expectations. New things to learn.

There was excitement in that—and just enough nervousness to make your stomach flutter.

Even now, when the mornings begin to change and back-to-school displays take over the stores, I remember that feeling. There was comfort in returning to routine, but also possibility in knowing the routine wouldn't be exactly the same.

Maybe that is what this season can remind those of us in nonprofits and philanthropy. Getting back to basics does not have to mean getting back to business as usual.

Fall brings us back. Vacations slow down. Calendars fill up. Committees reconvene. Grant cycles reopen. Board meetings return. Strategic plans come back to the center of the desk.

Before long, Monday becomes Tuesday, Tuesday becomes Wednesday, and somebody schedules another meeting so we can discuss when to schedule the next meeting. Routine can be grounding. But routine can also become so comfortable that we stop noticing when we aren't learning anymore.

And that makes me wonder: Where does innovation live?

Where is the new classroom?

Where do we make room for the nervous excitement of trying something we haven't tried before?

Leading the BRIC Fund has reinforced for me that some of the best ideas don't arrive neatly packaged with an agenda, budget and measurable outcomes already attached. They come from listening. From community. From somebody asking the question everyone else has quietly been thinking.

Sometimes innovation begins with three uncomfortable words: “This isn't working.”

And then, if we are brave enough, three more: “What could work?”

That feels a lot like walking into a new classroom.

You bring what you already know with you. You don't suddenly forget everything you learned last year. You recognize some of the people around you. You know how school works. But you also understand that you are there to learn something you don't know yet.

Our sector could use more of that energy. We are incredibly good at filling space. We fill calendars, agendas, retreats, reports, and 60-minute meetings with 58 minutes of updates - then give imagination two minutes under “Other Business.”

Innovation needs more room than that.

As a mother, I understood the value of getting my sons back into a routine. Bedtimes mattered. Homework mattered. Knowing where your shoes were before it was time to leave the house absolutely mattered.

But school was never supposed to be just about mastering the routine.

It was about discovery.

Trying. Questioning. Getting something wrong. Meeting people who saw the world differently. Learning something on Friday that you didn't know on Monday.

Why should our work be any different?

The communities we serve are changing. Their needs are changing. The environment around nonprofits is certainly changing. That means philanthropy and nonprofit leadership cannot simply keep returning to the same classroom, sitting in the same seats and pulling out last year's notes.

Sometimes we need the jitters. That little feeling that says: I know some people here, but I don't know exactly what this year will bring. There is humility in that. There is curiosity in it, too.

So yes, let's get back to basics.

Pull out the sweaters. Buy the notebooks. Sharpen the pencils. Pack the lunch. Find the Spider-Man lunchbox. But let's also remember what made the first day of school exciting in the first place.

We weren't going back because we already knew everything. We were going back because there was more to learn.

There’s the school bell.

Maybe it's time for all of us to find our new classroom, take a seat, feel those butterflies again - and be curious about what we don't know yet.