I’ve started this message twice and deleted it twice.
I’ve been reading the stories here for a while, usually on my phone before bed. A few times I’ve wanted to respond, but it feels easier to stay quiet when nobody knows you’re there.
Anyway. This time I’m sending something.
You can call me Ronnie. I’d rather keep my real name private. I’ve been in education for more than 20 years and a school leader for almost nine.
There’s a decision I keep going back to, and I’m not sure I like what I notice about myself when I do.
I thought I was being fair at the time.
Now I’m not so sure.
I had to choose between two teachers for an opportunity.
Both were qualified.
Both were capable.
Both had reasonable reasons for wanting it.
Only one could get it.
I made the decision.
Nobody complained.
The teacher who didn’t get it was professional.
The teacher who did get it performed well.
On paper, everything was fine.
But the next morning I woke up with one question in my head:
Was I actually fair?
Not because somebody accused me.
Nobody did.
I think that is what made it worse.
The doubt came from me.
And if I’m being completely honest, one part of the decision still makes me uncomfortable.
The teacher I chose was easier for me to work with.
More responsive.
Less complicated.
Someone I already trusted to make things run smoothly.
There were other legitimate reasons too.
Real ones.
But once I noticed that preference sitting somewhere inside the decision, I could not completely ignore it.
That is what I am embarrassed to admit.
Because it is easy to talk about fairness when the right answer is obvious.
It is much harder when the decision depends partly on your judgment…
and your judgment belongs to a human being who has preferences.
That is where this confession starts.
I made the decision on a Thursday.
By Friday morning, I was already questioning it.
Not because anything dramatic happened overnight.
Nobody complained.
Nobody confronted me.
No one sent an angry message.
I just woke up thinking about it.
That was enough.
The situation was simple on paper.
Two teachers wanted the same thing.
Only one could get it.
I had reasons for the decision.
Seniority wasn’t the only factor.
Performance wasn’t the only factor.
Availability mattered.
The needs of the school mattered.
Timing mattered.
There were a lot of things involved.
I weighed them.
At least I thought I did.
Then I chose.
One teacher got the opportunity.
The other didn’t.
And the second teacher handled it well.
Too well, maybe.
She said:
“I understand, Sir.”
That was it.
No argument.
No disappointment on display.
Nothing.
Which should’ve made things easier.
It didn’t.
Because now I had nothing to react to except my own thoughts.
Did I really apply the same standard to both of them?
Did I favor the person I found easier to work with?
Did personality influence me more than I want to admit?
Did I choose the person I knew would not create complications?
That question stayed.
Because if I’m being honest…
maybe a little.
Not enough that I can point to the decision and say, yes, that was the reason.
But enough that I noticed it afterward.
And once I noticed it, I couldn’t unnotice it.
That bothered me.
I kept going back through the reasons.
She was available.
She had experience.
She had done similar work before.
She was reliable.
All true.
So why was I still uncomfortable?
Because the other teacher could also have done it.
That’s the part.
There wasn’t one obvious right answer.
There was just the answer I made.
And sometimes that’s worse.
When there is a policy, you can point to it.
When there is a clear requirement, you can explain it.
When someone clearly qualifies and someone clearly doesn’t, fine.
But when two people are both reasonable choices?
Now the decision starts looking more like you.
Your judgment.
Your preferences.
Your assumptions.
And maybe your biases too.
I don’t like that word.
Bias.
Sounds serious.
But pretending leaders don’t have preferences is ridiculous.
Of course we do.
There are people who are easier to work with.
People who reply on time.
People who do not turn every request into a negotiation.
People you trust because they have made your life easier before.
And if we’re not careful, “easy to work with” can quietly become “more deserving.”
That’s what I started wondering.
Did I reward the person who made my job easier?
And if I did…
was that fair?
I didn’t know.
Still don’t, completely.
A few days later, I saw the teacher who didn’t get it.
Normal conversation.
She was fine.
Friendly.
No tension.
Then she said:
“Maybe next time, Sir.”
Simple.
She even smiled.
And that line stayed with me for hours.
Maybe next time.
Was she disappointed?
Probably.
Was she angry?
Maybe not.
Did she think the decision was unfair?
I had no idea.
Part of me wanted to ask.
Part of me knew asking would be awkward.
What was I going to say?
“Do you think I was biased?”
Very normal principal conversation.
So I didn’t.
I just said:
“Yes, maybe next time.”
And hated how weak that sounded.
Later I opened the notes I had used when I made the decision.
Yes, I actually did that.
Like I was reviewing evidence in my own case.
The reasons were still there.
They still made sense.
That should’ve settled it.
But fairness is strange.
A decision can be explainable and still not feel completely fair.
Maybe because fairness is not just whether you can defend the choice.
It is whether you would still make the same choice if the names were different.
That question made me uncomfortable.
Would I?
I think so.
Probably.
See?
Even now.
Probably.
That’s the problem.
Leadership training loves words like fairness, consistency, transparency.
They sound clean.
In real life, sometimes you are deciding between two good options with incomplete information and your own human preferences sitting quietly in the room with you.
No one mentions that part enough.
I wish there were some way to remove yourself completely from the decision.
Just input the facts.
Press a button.
Fair answer.
Done.
But there isn’t.
It’s still you.
Your judgment.
Your interpretation.
Your experience.
Your blind spots.
That’s why I think some decisions keep following you.
Not because you know you were wrong.
Because you know you could have been.
I never changed the decision.
The teacher who got the opportunity did well.
Everything worked out.
That should’ve been enough proof.
But outcomes don’t always answer fairness.
A decision working does not automatically mean the process was perfect.
I think about that sometimes.
Not every day.
Not in some dramatic way.
Just when I have to make similar choices.
Who gets this opportunity?
Who gets the schedule they asked for?
Whose request do I approve?
Who gets another chance?
Who doesn’t?
And every now and then, that Thursday comes back.
Not to tell me I was wrong.
Just to ask the same annoying question.
Were you fair?
And the truth is…
I think I tried to be.
I’m just not completely sure that trying and being are always the same thing.
That is what I am asking you about.
How do you examine your own judgment without becoming suspicious of every decision you make?
Because I do not want to become so afraid of bias that I stop trusting myself.
But I also do not want to hide behind:
“I had reasons.”
when maybe some of those reasons were more personal than I realized.
And how do you know when a preference is relevant?
Reliability matters.
Communication matters.
Ease of working together can matter.
But at what point does:
“She is reliable”
quietly turn into:
“She makes my life easier, so I prefer her”?
That line is harder to see from inside the decision.
I would really like to know what The Good Principal thinks.
And I would like to hear from other school leaders too.
Have you ever made a decision that worked out perfectly well…
and still wondered whether your process was as fair as you wanted it to be?
Thank you for giving us somewhere to admit the questions that do not necessarily make us look good.
Maybe those are the ones we need to ask most.
— Ronnie
FROM THE GOOD PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE
Ronnie, I think there is something important in the fact that nobody accused you of unfairness.
You questioned yourself.
That matters.
Not because self-doubt automatically makes a leader fair.
But because fairness requires a willingness to examine the parts of our own judgment that are easiest to defend and hardest to see.
You named one of them clearly:
“Did I choose the person who made my job easier?”
That is an excellent question.
And an uncomfortable one.
Because there is nothing inherently wrong with valuing reliability.
Someone who responds on time, follows through, communicates clearly, and handles responsibility well may genuinely be the stronger choice for an opportunity.
Those things matter.
But there is a subtle shift worth watching.
Reliability can become:
I trust this person because she has demonstrated she can do the work.
That is relevant.
Or it can become:
I prefer this person because she creates less friction for me.
That may be less relevant.
Sometimes both are true at once.
That is where fairness becomes difficult.
The goal is not to remove all preference.
You cannot.
You are human.
You have experiences with people.
You remember who follows through.
You remember who complicates things.
You develop trust.
Judgment is not bias-free.
The goal is to make your criteria visible enough that your preferences do not quietly become the criteria.
One useful question is the one you already found:
If I switched the names, would I still make the same choice?
That is powerful because it forces you to separate the person from the evidence.
Imagine Teacher A had Teacher B’s history.
Imagine the communication style was reversed.
Imagine the person you find easier to work with had the weaker evidence.
Would the choice change?
If yes, ask why.
Another useful question:
What factors did I decide mattered before I compared the people?
That one can help a lot.
Because if you decide the criteria after you already know who you prefer, it becomes very easy to build a reasonable explanation around the choice.
For example:
experience,
availability,
relevant performance,
reliability,
specific skills,
fit with the opportunity.
Those may all be legitimate.
But ideally, you know which ones matter and how much they matter *before the names start competing in your head
That does not make the process perfectly objective.
Nothing involving human judgment is perfectly objective.
But it gives your judgment structure.
There is another thing worth examining:
Would you be comfortable explaining the criteria to both teachers?
Not necessarily every private thought.
But the actual basis for the decision.
If you can say:
“I considered experience in this area, availability, previous performance with similar responsibilities, and the specific needs of this assignment,”
and you genuinely applied those factors consistently, that is meaningful.
If the explanation becomes vague:
“She just seemed like the better fit,”
then perhaps more reflection is needed.
“Fit” can be legitimate.
It can also become a convenient hiding place for preference.
That does not mean never use judgment.
It means unpack it.
What exactly made the person a better fit?
Name it.
If you cannot name it without referring to how easy the person is for *you, that is worth noticing
You also raised an important point:
The outcome was good.
The teacher performed well.
That tells you the person you selected was capable.
It does not necessarily tell you that the selection process was fair.
Those are different questions.
A biased decision can sometimes produce a good outcome.
A fair decision can sometimes produce a disappointing outcome.
So when reviewing fairness, do not let success become the only evidence.
Ask about process.
What did you know?
What criteria did you use?
Did both people have a genuine chance?
Were you consistent?
Did any personal irritation or preference influence you in a way that was not relevant to the opportunity?
Would you be willing to use the same process again?
Those questions tell you more.
There is also a danger on the other side.
Once thoughtful leaders become aware of bias, they can become suspicious of every instinct they have.
Do I only trust her because I like her?
Am I being unfair because this person is easier to work with?
Should I deliberately choose the harder person so I can prove I am unbiased?
No.
That can become another distortion.
Fairness does not require pretending all professional histories are equal.
If someone has consistently demonstrated reliability, that can legitimately influence trust.
If someone has repeatedly failed to follow through, that may also legitimately matter.
The key is whether the factor is *relevant to the decision, not whether it makes you feel good or bad
So maybe the question is not:
“Did personality influence me at all?”
It probably did.
A better question:
“Did anything irrelevant influence me enough to change the outcome?”
That is more precise.
And sometimes you may not know with perfect certainty.
That is okay.
Fairness is not a state where you achieve complete moral certainty.
It is a practice.
You create clearer criteria.
You document your reasoning.
You ask another perspective when appropriate.
You look for patterns.
Who keeps getting opportunities?
Who keeps not getting them?
Are the same people always selected?
Are there people you unconsciously avoid because they are harder to work with?
Patterns can reveal things individual decisions hide.
That may be particularly useful here.
One decision might remain ambiguous.
But over six months or a year, you may notice:
I keep giving additional opportunities to the same reliable people.
That makes operational sense in the short term.
But it may also mean other capable staff never get the chance to become the reliable people you trust.
That is worth thinking about.
Sometimes fairness is not only about:
Who is most ready right now?
It can also include:
Who has had opportunities to become ready?
That does not mean every opportunity must be rotated mechanically.
It means leaders should occasionally look beyond the convenience of giving the next task to the person who already makes everything easy.
Because ease can become self-reinforcing.
You trust her because she has experience.
She has experience because you keep choosing her.
You keep choosing her because you trust her.
Meanwhile someone else remains untested.
That cycle can be perfectly understandable and still deserve review.
But Ronnie, I also want to come back to something important.
You wrote:
“I think I tried to be fair.”
Do not dismiss that too quickly.
Intent is not everything.
But it matters.
You examined the situation.
You used real factors.
You did not describe choosing someone simply because you liked her more.
You later questioned your own preference.
You reviewed your reasoning.
Those are not signs of someone indifferent to fairness.
They are signs of someone who understands that judgment deserves scrutiny.
At some point, however, scrutiny has to become learning rather than prosecution.
You do not have to keep putting yourself on trial indefinitely.
If you review the decision honestly and conclude:
The criteria were relevant.
I applied them reasonably.
There may have been some personal preference in the background, but I do not believe it determined the decision.
Then let that conclusion matter.
Maybe next time you make the criteria more explicit before choosing.
Maybe you document the basis more clearly.
Maybe you ask:
“Would I choose the same way if I changed the names?”
Then decide.
You cannot remove yourself completely from leadership decisions.
You are the judgment.
That is partly why you are in the role.
The responsibility is not to become a machine.
It is to make human judgment as fair, transparent, and examinable as you reasonably can.
And when you find a blind spot?
Adjust.
That is what reflection is for.
Not proving that you were secretly a bad person.
Improving the next decision.
So maybe the question that Thursday left you with does not need a final answer like:
Yes, I was fair.
or:
No, I was not.
Maybe its value is that the next time two good people stand in front of one opportunity, you will notice something you might not have noticed before.
You will ask:
What actually matters here?
What is relevant?
What is preference?
What would I decide if the names were reversed?
That may be the most useful thing the old decision can still give you.
Then perhaps you can stop retrying that Thursday…
and use what it taught you on the next one.
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