When I left my campus to become a district instructional coach, I didn’t just leave behind memories—I left behind a system.

That truth hit me hard when in-service week rolled around the following school year. My old campus was welcoming new and returning teachers, and I was already knee-deep in the busy season of coaching brand-new educators fresh off the factory line. My phone buzzed with a message: “Devin, look.”

Attached was a photo of my former dean of instruction—Buck—standing in front of a staff development session, speaking about me. Not about my personality. Not about how fun I was in meetings. He was talking about the foundation I left behind. The systems. The blueprint. The work that lived on.

That moment stayed with me.

Because here’s the thing: leadership is not about being missed. That's vanity. It's about lasting impact.

Systems outlast sentiment.

Back when I was still in the classroom, I had started piloting a hybrid learning model. Not because anyone told me to, but because I was in grad school, exhausted from redundant tasks, and determined to find smarter ways to teach. I built out digital systems using platforms, found efficiencies in collecting data, and cut out fluff so I could actually get to the heart of student learning.

I shared it with my team. It spread. Other departments adopted it. Then other campuses. Then the whole district.

So when the pandemic hit and folks were scrambling to reinvent the wheel, guess who already had a roadmap?

This guy.

The pandemic didn’t break my system—it sharpened it. I spent that year fine-tuning, making it even more “grab-and-go” for new teachers. So when they came to me panicked, saying, “I don’t know what to do,” I had an answer ready. “Here you go.” System. Resource. Structure. Support.

Every time they said, “Wow, this makes my life easier,” I knew I was doing something right. Because that’s what systems are supposed to do—make the next person’s job easier so they can focus on what matters most.

That’s what Buck was talking about that day. Not just my memories. Not just my vibe. He was talking about my infrastructure.

And it wasn’t just in the classroom.

Let me give you a quick sneak peek. I brought the yearbook back to my school—after it had been dead for nearly a decade. I had zero experience. Never worked on a yearbook staff. Didn’t know lighting, layouts, or platforms. But I knew one thing: our kids deserved it. So I figured it out. Bought cameras. Coordinated picture day. Built marketing systems. Designed everything. Taught students. Managed deadlines. Tracked finances. I even recruited others just to get it done. When people hold you in high regard, they may not see the vision yet, but when they know your character, they'll help you move mountains.

And it didn’t stop when I left. The system was so strong they turned it into an official class. Why? Because systems are scalable. Personalities are not.

Here’s what I know now:

If you’re a leader and the only thing people can say when you leave is, “We miss you,” then you didn’t build deep enough. You should be leaving behind workflows, templates, automations, onboarding tools, guidance documents, comms systems, rituals—something that functions without you having to be there.

Your presence shouldn’t be your only legacy.

Your systems should be.

So here’s my call to action:

To every leader, manager, and person in a position of influence—start thinking beyond your personality. Ask yourself, Can people still thrive when I’m not in the room?

Because memories fade. Praise fades. People leave.

But systems? Systems stay.

Systems are your insurance policy against burnout, chaos, and stagnation. They create sustainability, predictability, and clarity. And they give others permission to lead because they don’t have to start from scratch.

If you really care about your people, don’t just lead them. Equip them.

Don’t just inspire them. Structure them.

Don’t just make memories—make infrastructure.

Because that is what leadership that lasts actually looks like.

Before the polished yearbook pages, there was chaos in my living room. Practicing lighting, camera setups, backgrounds—all while juggling my full-time job and three other roles that school year. These photos? Just a peek behind the scenes of a system in survival mode. Tell me again how teachers aren't bad asses!