November 1, 2026

Information for the Next Attempt

WHAT

There is something interesting about asking for feedback.

We say we want to learn. We invite people to tell us what they think. We ask questions, collect responses, and look for patterns.

And then the feedback arrives.

I wonder how often our first instinct is to determine whether the feedback is good or bad, rather than what we might learn from it.

Recently, we invited our Mack community to participate in our first Pulse Check, a brief, anonymous survey intended to help us understand how people are experiencing our school’s identity, communication, priorities, and direction.

Forty-six people responded.

One result was especially encouraging: 41 of 46 respondents (89%) agreed or strongly agreed that Mack is moving in a positive direction.

I am grateful for that encouragement. Deeply.

But there were other important signals in the responses, too.

In an optional space for written comments, some respondents expressed uncertainty about our priorities. Others asked for greater clarity about whom we serve and how consistently we are meeting the needs of gifted and twice-exceptional learners. There were also expressions of appreciation and recognition of progress.

These voluntary comments don’t tell us how widely any particular perspective is shared. But each offers something worth understanding.

And I have found myself returning to a question of my own:

What if feedback is most valuable not because it tells us how well we are doing, but because it helps us understand what to do next?

SO WHAT

Earlier this week, I recorded a conversation for the Parent Engagement Network’s Parenting Well podcast. Among the many topics we explored was a distinction I have been thinking about for years.

The difference between performing and learning.

For some children, especially those accustomed to being recognized for their intelligence or their ability to get things right quickly, the distinction can become surprisingly consequential.

When success becomes part of our identity, feedback can feel like a verdict.

A correct answer confirms who we believe we are.

A mistake threatens it.

But learning asks something different of us.

Learning requires us to remain open to discovering what we don’t yet understand, to experimenting with possibilities, and to revising our thinking when new information arrives.

Feedback, in that sense, is not primarily a judgment.

It is information for the next attempt.

I wonder whether the same distinction matters for schools.

If our goal is to perform as a successful school, we may become particularly interested in evidence that confirms our success.

But if our goal is to keep learning as a school, then both encouragement and constructive criticism become useful.

We want to understand what is working.

And we want to understand where we can do better.

That distinction was on my mind during another experience this week.

Mack Boulder recently applied to and was accepted into the Association of Independent Schools for Gifted Students (AISGS). As part of this exciting new connection, we welcomed Terry Lee, Associate Head of School at The Nueva School and director of AISGS, for a site visit.

Liz Rippey and I walked with Terry through our garden and farm, discussing permaculture and the possibilities of learning from living systems. We visited the seventh graders’ Civil Rights Arts Museum, where students had created powerful artistic interpretations of historical events, laws, and struggles. And we joined Spooky Science, where eighth graders were teaching fifth graders through Halloween-themed science investigations.

These were wonderful glimpses of Mack.

Students creating. Investigating. Teaching. Making meaning.

Terry was especially complimentary of the students’ showcases of learning and the depth of inquiry they demonstrated.

We also shared the Mack Compass, a visual representation of our identity that we have worked thoughtfully to develop. It captures something essential about the experience we want every Mack learner to have: being known, affirmed, challenged, supported, and empowered.

As we talked about our school’s distinctive identity, we were also witnessing examples of that identity coming alive.

But a morning’s visit, however inspiring, cannot reveal the entire experience of a school.

Neither can a survey.

The deeper work is to become curious about what these experiences are telling us.

What conditions made those powerful learning moments possible?

How might we create more of them?

Where are our aspirations not yet consistently matched by students’ daily experiences?

And what might we need to change?

NOW WHAT

I hope our Pulse Check becomes more than an occasional measurement of community sentiment.

I hope it becomes part of how we learn together.

That means recognizing and celebrating what is working without allowing celebration to become complacency.

It means listening carefully when someone describes an experience that does not match our intentions.

It means being clearer about our priorities, more transparent about our progress, and more willing to experiment with improvements.

And it means returning to the community to share what we are discovering and doing.

We have already begun that work with intention. Our six annual strategic priorities emerged from a synthesis of Mack’s ACIS self-study and accreditation findings and responses, IB reauthorization work, and the winning aspirations developed through previous Board and school leadership efforts. Organized around Purpose, People, Prosperity, and Place, they address our identity, program excellence, adult culture, consistency and trust, financial sustainability, and future campus and systems.

We shared this framework at Mack Forward and in the accompanying materials. And we are using the Entrepreneurial Operating System (EOS) to translate those priorities into quarterly commitments, clear ownership, and regular reflection on our progress.

There is a kind of reciprocity here.

We ask our students to be inquirers. To take intellectual risks. To welcome feedback. To reflect, revise, and try again.

Surely the adults and the school itself should be willing to practice those same habits.

Perhaps that is one of the most meaningful ways we can model what learning looks like.

Not by presenting ourselves as finished.

But by making our own learning visible.

So, thank you to those who participated in the Pulse Check. Thank you for the encouragement, the questions, the appreciation, and the constructive challenges.

All of it gives us something to learn from.

And perhaps that is the most important question any of us can ask when feedback arrives:

What will I do differently because of what I am learning?

The view from here: Feedback is not the end of the conversation. It is information for the next attempt.

Rooted & Rising,

Bo

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Mack Pulse Check | At a Glance

October 30, 2026 · 46 anonymous responses

The percentage of respondents who agreed or strongly agreed with each statement:

Pulse Check Statement	Positive Responses
Our direction: Mack feels like a school moving in a positive direction.	89.1% (41/46)
Our communication: Communication helps me understand what is happening and why it matters.	89.1% (41/46)
Our identity: I understand what makes Mack distinctive more clearly than three months ago.	69.6% (32/46)
Our priorities: I have a clear sense of Mack’s most important priorities.	63.0% (29/46)

Of those responding, 17 attended Mack Forward, 17 reviewed the follow-up materials, and 12 had not yet done either.

These results represent the 46 community members who chose to participate, rather than a representative sample of the entire school. Written comments were optional and provide additional perspectives for our ongoing learning.

October 25, 2026

The Right Kind of Hard

One of the most hopeful words in education is yet.

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do this yet.”

I believe in the power of that little word. It reminds us that ability isn’t fixed, that learning takes time, and that what feels impossible today may become possible tomorrow.

But lately, I’ve been wondering whether we sometimes reach for yet a little too quickly.

Because “I can’t” can mean several very different things.

Sometimes it means, “I haven’t figured this out.”

Sometimes it means, “I understand more than I can show you.”

Sometimes it means, “I’m overwhelmed, and I don’t know where to begin.”

And sometimes, perhaps, it means, “I’m afraid of finding out what happens when something doesn’t come easily.”

The words sound the same. The learning needs are remarkably different.

What if the most important question isn’t whether something is hard, but whether it’s the right kind of hard?

WHAT

Psychologist Lev Vygotsky described something called the zone of proximal development: the space between what a learner can accomplish independently and what becomes possible with appropriate guidance or collaboration.

I love that idea of a space where something is not quite possible alone, but possible with support.

It’s where an intriguing challenge meets a well-timed question. Where a small nudge can unlock a big discovery. Where the learner still has to do the thinking, but doesn’t have to do it alone.

Educational researchers sometimes call this productive struggle. And that second word matters as much as the first.

Struggle isn’t automatically productive.

SO WHAT

This distinction feels particularly important at Mack, where we serve gifted and twice-exceptional learners whose remarkable strengths and genuine challenges can coexist.

Consider a child capable of sophisticated scientific reasoning who struggles to organize thoughts into writing. Or a student ready for complex mathematical ideas who becomes overwhelmed by multistep directions.

In each case, the question is not simply whether the work is challenging.

What, exactly, are we asking the child to struggle with?

If the goal is deeper scientific thinking, perhaps a different way of expressing understanding opens the door. If the goal is developing writing skills, then writing itself may be precisely the challenge that deserves our attention and support.

Both can be true.

That’s the art of teaching. And parenting.

Knowing when to stretch. When to scaffold. When to wait. When to intervene.

Too little challenge can quietly communicate, “This is all you’re capable of.”

Too much, without the right support, can communicate something equally damaging: “Maybe you’re not capable after all.”

Neither is what we want children to learn about themselves.

NOW WHAT

I wonder how often, with the best of intentions, we confuse removing obstacles with removing challenge. Or confuse insisting on perseverance with providing a meaningful opportunity to grow.

Perhaps the next time a child says, “This is too hard,” we might resist both our impulse to rescue and our impulse to insist.

Instead, we could get curious.

What’s making this hard? Is this a stretch or a wall? What support would make the next step possible without taking the learning away?

These are not easy judgments. The answers change from child to child, task to task, and sometimes moment to moment.

But that’s also why knowing our children so deeply matters.

And I suspect the question extends well beyond school. In our work, our relationships, and our own growth, we encounter difficulties that strengthen us and difficulties that simply deplete us. Wisdom includes learning to recognize the difference.

The view from here: The goal isn’t to make the path easy. It’s to make sure the hard part leads somewhere worth going.

Rooted & Rising,

Bo

October 18, 2026

When Two Things Are True

WHAT

On Wednesday, some of the most remarkable teachers at Mack were our students.

At the Museum of Dyslexia, organized by Cailen Maloney, our Orchard Center team, and students, visitors moved through a series of interactive learning experiences. At one station, a seventh grader explained how different parts of the brain contribute to reading. At another, we attempted to trace shapes while looking in a mirror, experiencing how a “brain-flip” task can require extraordinary concentration and persistence.

At each station, we collected beads that contributed to a representation of Scarborough’s Reading Rope, a model illustrating the many interconnected skills involved in skilled reading.

I was blown away.

Not simply by what the students knew, but by how confidently and purposefully they shared their knowledge. And how much they see their learning differences as their superpowers.

These students were not merely learning about dyslexia. They were teaching the rest of us.

And I left thinking about a question that has stayed with me:

How often do we underestimate what a child knows because of the ways that child struggles to show what they know?

SO WHAT

The day before the museum, our Mackulty spent time learning with Emily Kircher-Morris, an educator, counselor, author, and leading voice in the fields of gifted education and neurodiversity.

Emily has written extensively about a population of learners that is still widely misunderstood: twice-exceptional, often abbreviated as 2e.

What does that mean?

A twice-exceptional learner possesses exceptional abilities or giftedness alongside a disability or learning difference, such as dyslexia, ADHD, or autism.

A child may demonstrate remarkable mathematical reasoning while struggling to read fluently.

Another might have an extraordinary imagination and sophisticated vocabulary yet find written expression painstakingly difficult.

A student might think several steps ahead of classmates while needing considerable support with organization, attention, or emotional regulation.

These are not contradictions.

They are different dimensions of the same developing human being.

And that distinction matters enormously.

Research has shown that exceptional strengths can sometimes conceal significant learning challenges. In a 2024 review published in Dyslexia, researchers found that gifted students’ advanced language abilities can help compensate for reading difficulties, potentially making dyslexia harder to identify.

The reverse can also happen. A learning disability may prevent educators from recognizing a child’s exceptional abilities.

In both cases, we risk missing something essential.

Emily Kircher-Morris put it powerfully in a recent interview:

“Gifted education is not a privilege that a student earns.”

It is about understanding and responding to a child’s learning needs.

Consider the implications.

A student earning satisfactory grades may be working extraordinarily hard to compensate for an unidentified difficulty.

A student struggling academically may possess remarkable intellectual potential that conventional measures fail to reveal.

And a child who needs significant support may also need significantly greater challenge.

What if our most important educational question is not simply how a child is performing, but what we have yet to understand about how that child learns?

NOW WHAT

At Mack, we talk about ensuring that children are deeply known.

For twice-exceptional learners, that commitment carries particular meaning.

It means we cannot allow strengths to become reasons to withhold support.

Nor can we allow challenges to become reasons to withhold opportunities.

We must do both.

Challenge the mind. Support the learner.

Recognize the gift. Understand the difficulty.

Provide explicit instruction where skills need development, while creating rich opportunities for intellectual exploration, creativity, inquiry, and meaningful contribution.

And perhaps most importantly, help children develop an understanding of themselves that includes both their strengths and their needs, without shame or diminished expectations.

Not every child with dyslexia is twice-exceptional, and not every twice-exceptional child has dyslexia. But Wednesday’s museum offered a compelling reminder that a learning difference never tells the whole story of a learner.

I keep coming back to the experience of watching our Orchard Center students become our teachers.

One day, our adults were learning from Emily Kircher-Morris.

The next day, our students were teaching us.

There is something beautiful about that sequence.

And something important.

Perhaps the deepest expression of being known is not simply having someone understand our struggles.

It is having someone recognize our capabilities, take our challenges seriously, and create opportunities for us to contribute.

The view from here:

A child is never just a strength. Never just a struggle. And never fully described by a label. Our brains are as unique as our fingerprints. Neurodiversity is beautiful.

Our responsibility is to see the whole child, and to keep looking for what we have not yet seen.

Rooted & Rising,

Bo

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What is The Alpine View?

The Alpine View is a weekly reflection from the Head of School at Mackintosh Academy Boulder. It is a place to pause, notice, wonder, and make meaning together about learning, childhood, community, and the work of becoming.

The view may change from week to week, but the hope is the same: to look closely at what matters and to invite conversation about the people we are and the people we are becoming.

The Alpine View Archives

References & Further Reading

1. Emily Kircher-Morris: On the State of Gifted Education (August 2026)
David Adade, Multi-Health Systems (MHS)
A thoughtful interview exploring twice-exceptionality, neurodiversity, and the importance of recognizing both the remarkable strengths and the learning challenges of gifted students.
Read the interview

2. Identifying and Serving Gifted Children Who Are Twice-Exceptional (September 2026)
National Association for Gifted Children (NAGC)
A newly published position statement advocating strength-based, talent-focused, and inclusive approaches to identifying and supporting twice-exceptional learners.
Read the position statement

3. Twice-Exceptionality Unmasked: A Systematic Narrative Review of the Literature on Identifying Dyslexia in the Gifted Child (2024)
Amanda E. Kranz, Tanya A. Serry, and Pamela C. Snow, Dyslexia, 30(1), e1763.
A peer-reviewed research review examining how gifted students’ intellectual and language strengths can mask dyslexia, complicating identification and delaying appropriate support.
Read the research