Before the Melt
March always feels a little different in schools.
The change usually shows up outside first. You notice it when you leave work and the sun is still hanging around. The snowbanks start to sag a bit. Hallways fill with wetter boots. Students seem to glance out the windows a little more often. And somewhere along the way, the energy in the room shifts.
The classroom feels a little louder. Students move more in their seats. Conversations carry a bit further than they did a few weeks ago. Every year around this time it’s easy to catch yourself wondering what’s going on. But the longer I work with students, the more I think nothing is actually wrong.
It might just be the season.
If you spend time outside this time of year, you know winter doesn’t quietly disappear. Snow softens before it melts. Ice shifts long before it’s gone. Water starts finding its way through small cracks in the landscape. And here in Calgary, March rarely moves in a straight line.
One week the sun feels like spring has arrived. The next morning there’s fresh snow covering the sidewalks again. Then it warms up, melts, and the whole cycle repeats.
It’s unpredictable.
Schools can feel a bit like that in March too. Students of all ages, whether they’re five years old or fifteen, seem to carry a little more energy this time of year. They react faster to things around them, talk a little more with their friends, and sitting still suddenly becomes harder.
It’s easy to read that as distraction or a lack of focus. But sometimes I think it’s simply the thaw starting. When that energy starts to build, pretending it isn’t there rarely works.
Sometimes the best reset is simple. Step outside for a few minutes. Walk the schoolyard. Change the environment just enough to give everyone a breath of fresh air. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Even a small shift in movement or space can settle things faster than trying to push through another long stretch indoors.
One moment that stayed with me from Antarctica was watching the sea ice from the ship. From a distance it looked solid and permanent. But the longer you watched, the more you noticed the movement. The ice was shifting slowly with the ocean beneath it.
At first it felt chaotic. But it wasn’t chaos. It was simply the beginning of change.
In Mentorship in the Wild, I wrote:
“Growth rarely looks polished while it’s happening. Most of the time it looks like movement, uncertainty, and a bit of noise along the way.”
March reminds me of that. The extra energy in the room doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong. Sometimes it’s simply a sign that the season is shifting. Just like the landscape outside, schools move through their own transitions too.
March might simply be the part that happens before the melt.
Antarctica 2025
