Let It Go, Sweet Caroline, and Going First

Why warmth, energy and intentional presence are the real work of leadership

I woke up this morning with no voice.

It wasn’t because of a wild night out. I am deeply committed to being in bed early and I take that commitment very seriously. I’m also not ill. I’ve lost my voice because yesterday, I sang my heart out to an entire school.

What happened wasn't just "end-of-term vibes" or a bit of seasonal silliness. It was a reminder of a truth we quietly forget in the daily grind. Culture doesn’t change when people understand the message; it changes when they feel it.

The "Half-In" Hallway

Before the atmosphere shifted, I noticed a familiar sight. The hall was full, but the energy was fragmented. Some staff had iPads out not being rude, just "clearing jobs," staying half-in work mode even during a communal moment. We’ve all been there: physically present, but mentally checking a spreadsheet or an email.

I could have addressed it directly. I could have reminded people to be present. I could have leaned on "professional expectations."

But I didn’t. Instead, I chose to model what to do. I went first.

The Elsa Factor

I was already mid-song, belting out Let It Go from Frozen. Arms out. Voice up. Committing with the kind of reckless abandon you usually reserve for an empty house. No dignity preserved, just full-throttle enthusiasm and zero concern for how it sounded.

Then I said it, not sharply, but with a warmth and insistence that left no room for "no"

Right. All staff. Up the front. You’re singing too.”

Within a minute, you could see the shift. Postures changed. Faces softened. Shoulders dropped. Once people physically stepped in, they emotionally followed. That didn’t happen because I explained why presence mattered. It happened because I made it impossible (and a lot more fun) not to join in.

When "Sweet Caroline" Hit

And then it tipped. When the opening notes of Sweet Caroline hit, the room shifted from "karaoke" into something else entirely.

Arms went around shoulders. Voices rose, not polished, not pretty, just loud and full. Students shouted the “so good, so good”. Staff stopped watching and started being. The sound wrapped around us, bounced off the walls, and came back heavier each time.

In that moment, there was no hierarchy. No audience and no performers. Just a school, breathing together. That doesn’t happen by accident. It happens when emotional commitment is modelled so clearly that people feel safe enough to let go of their own "professional armour."

The February Fallacy

The most dangerous story we tell in schools is that joy is seasonal that "serious work" requires emotional coldness once the decorations come down. We treat this energy as a Christmas novelty that can’t survive a grey Tuesday in February.

That story is a lie. The students who sang their hearts out in December haven’t changed by March. Their need for connection didn’t expire on New Year’s Day. Enthusiasm isn’t a reaction to a good day; it’s the tool you use to build one. If we want to bottle that energy for the bleakest months of the year, we have to treat it as a deliberate professional skill.

How to Build the Energy (When the Tinsel is Gone)

I didn't lose my voice because I shouted; I lost it because I committed.

I used to think leaders who could lift a room were just born with charisma. They aren't. What we see as charisma is actually intentional emotional presence. It’s about being reachable and human, especially on the ordinary, difficult days.

We can talk about "Culture" and "Belonging" in every INSET. We can put them on posters. But they only become real through intentional action, modelled with so much visible commitment that they become unavoidable. Choosing to show up with that level of humanity, again and again, is the work.

Over time, I’ve realised that when warmth and energy genuinely work, it follows the same simple pattern. I’ve learned it myself and I’ve watched others do it well. It isn’t about being dramatic or loud. It’s about how you enter spaces, how you respond under pressure, and whether people feel safe enough to step in.

So this is the language I now use to anchor it.

WARM

W — Walk in with intention

How you enter a space sets everything that follows. Your pace, your posture, your eye contact all speak before you do. Walking in with intention doesn’t mean being upbeat; it means being present. Slow down. Look up. Let people see that you’ve arrived with them, not just at them.

A — Act first

Warmth doesn’t wait for permission. Someone has to go first, and in leadership, that’s you. Act first by modelling the tone, the energy, and the behaviour you want to see. Smile before you ask for one back. Step into the moment rather than observing it from the edges.

R — Raise the room

Raising the room isn’t about hype or performance. It’s about lifting the emotional floor. Name effort. Acknowledge difficulty without letting it dominate. Hold expectations with warmth and clarity so people feel steadied, not scrutinised.

M — Make it safe to be human

People engage when they stop protecting themselves. Leaders make that possible by dropping the armour first. Admit a mistake. Laugh at yourself. Be calm and real when things wobble. Safety doesn’t come from perfection, it comes from predictability and humanity.

Emotional energy is like a sneeze. You don’t need to explain it, and you can’t really argue with it, if it’s powerful enough, the people around you are going to catch it whether they want to or not.