Lessons from 34 years of teaching, leading, learning, and occasionally figuring things out the hard way.
After 34 years of teaching color guard, I’ve learned a thing or two about being a director.
Some lessons came easily. Others came with a few tears, some sleepless nights, and the occasional moment of wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into.
And I’m still learning.
When I think about the advice I’d give someone just beginning their journey as a color guard director, I don’t immediately think about choreography, technique, or competitive success.
I think about the things that nobody really prepares you for.
So, here are seven things I wish every beginning color guard director knew.
1. You don’t have to set the world on fire right out of the gate.
You have permission to start slowly.
You don’t need a nationally competitive program, elaborate productions, or a trophy case full of awards in your first season.
Build a foundation. Establish your culture. Teach your students well. Figure out what works for your program and what doesn’t.
There will be plenty of time to dream bigger.
You don’t have to do everything right now. You just have to start doing the right things.
2. Find a mentor who will pour into you.
Find someone who will answer your questions, challenge your thinking, celebrate your successes, and tell you the truth when you need to hear it.
And find someone who isn’t threatened by your success.
The best mentors don’t just tell you what to do. They help you understand why you’re doing it.
Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t be afraid to admit you don’t know something. And don’t ever convince yourself that you’ve reached a point where you have nothing left to learn.
Thirty-four years later, I’m still learning from other directors.
3. Being a director is 30% teaching kids and 70% everything else.
Oh, how I wish someone had told me this!
Budgets. Schedules. Costumes. Equipment. Transportation. Parents. Paperwork. Communication. Facilities. Fundraising. Deadlines.
And that’s before you ever teach a single count of choreography!
Teaching is the part most of us fell in love with. But managing everything else is what allows the teaching to happen.
Learn to organize. Learn to delegate. Learn to plan ahead.
And for goodness’ sake, find a system that works for you before your inbox takes over your life.
4. The devil is in the details.
The little things matter.
A missed deadline, an unanswered email, a forgotten permission slip, or a costume issue can become a BIG problem faster than you think.
And the longer I’ve directed, the more I’ve realized that most major headaches don’t begin as major problems.
They begin as little things that nobody took care of.
Develop systems. Keep lists. Follow through. Double-check things.
Being organized isn’t glamorous, but it will save you more headaches than you can imagine.
Take care of the little things before they become big things.
5. Advocate for yourself and your team.
Know your worth. Know what your students need. And don’t be afraid to speak up.
Sometimes that means having an uncomfortable conversation. Sometimes it means asking for resources. Sometimes it means standing firm when you know something isn’t right.
But here’s the other side of that lesson.
You also have to learn when to dig your heels in and when to back off.
Not every disagreement needs to become a battle. Not every issue deserves the same level of urgency.
Choose your battles wisely. Build relationships. Understand the bigger picture.
How you advocate matters just as much as what you’re advocating for.
6. Set realistic expectations for yourself and your team.
Dream big. Absolutely!
But understand where your program is today and what it will realistically take to get where you want to go.
You cannot build a mature, experienced program overnight. You cannot expect beginners to perform like veterans. And you cannot expect yourself to have all the answers in your first year.
Growth takes time.
Progress isn’t always linear. Some seasons will feel like giant leaps forward. Others will feel like you’re fighting for every inch.
Celebrate the small victories. Adjust when necessary. And please, stop measuring your success against someone else’s program.
Your job is to make your program better than it was yesterday. Not to make it someone else’s program.
7. Don’t confuse being liked with being respected.
I hold my students to incredibly high standards during rehearsals and performances.
I’m the toughest of the tough.
I expect their best effort, their attention to detail, their accountability, and their commitment to one another. And I’m not going to apologize for those expectations.
But here’s what my students also know.
When rehearsal is over, my office is a safe space.
I’m going to listen when they need someone to talk to. I’m going to write the most glowing college recommendation letter I possibly can. I’m going to celebrate their successes, support them through their struggles, and move mountains for them when they need me.
I don’t need my students to like every decision I make. I need them to know that every decision I make comes from a place of wanting the very best for them.
You can be demanding and compassionate. You can hold the highest standards and still be someone’s biggest cheerleader.
In fact, I think the best directors do both.
And one final thought: Give yourself some grace.
You’re going to make mistakes.
You’re going to have rehearsals that don’t go the way you planned. You’re going to make decisions you wish you could take back. You’re going to have days when you question whether you’re cut out for this.
You’re going to wonder if you’re doing enough.
Remember that you’re learning, too.
I’ve been doing this for 34 years, and I can promise you that I am not the same director I was when I started. Thank goodness!
I’ve grown. I’ve changed. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve learned from them. And I hope that continues for as long as I have the privilege of teaching.
The goal isn’t to become the best director in your first season. The goal is to become a better director with every season.
And somewhere along the way, you’ll discover that the greatest measure of your success isn’t what your students accomplish while they’re with you.
It’s who they become after they leave.
