If everything is a priority, then nothing is

As the calendar turns and people begin making New Year’s resolutions, I find myself reflecting on a familiar ritual. Every December, we say we will exercise more… or finally slow down… or find better balance.

We create long lists of what we call priorities. It is a comforting exercise because it gives us the illusion of control. A list feels manageable. A list feels productive. A list feels honest.

Except it is not.

If you take the word “priority” seriously, the entire idea collapses the moment you add more than one item. Priority comes from the Latin “prioritas,” meaning “the first. The very first. The one above all others.

For nearly 500 years of English usage, the word existed only in the singular. You either had a priority or you did not. Only in the last century did the plural form appear, and once it did, the logic became distorted.

We began using a word that fundamentally contradicts itself. The history of this word is both fascinating and a little disturbing.

You simply cannot have priorities. At least not if you intend the word to mean what it actually means. You cannot have multiple firsts. You cannot have several things that are the main thing.

Yet in education, we speak this way constantly. We describe competing priorities. We write strategic plans full of them. We sit in meetings where we reassure each other that everything is a priority.

Here is the hard truth: if everything is a priority, then nothing is.

Where competing priorities come from

This time of year invites a different question; one worth sitting with for more than a moment. How many real priorities are you chasing in your district right now?

One in communications. Another in HR. A different one for curriculum. One for school leadership. One for finance. And each of them exists because someone, somewhere, believed that their work must be first.

Where do all of these competing priorities come from? More often than not, they emerge from the lenses we use to make sense of our work.

We look through the lens of tasks, and urgency begins to drive the agenda. We look through the lens of purpose, and everything feels equally important.

We look through the lens of time and space, and whatever is closest takes precedence. We look through the lens of value, and old habits are elevated simply because they have always mattered. We look through the lens of context, and the loudest voices shape the direction.

I often talk and write about “naming the frame.” Sometimes, simply stepping back and naming the frame helps us understand why we have competing priorities.

If six people are seated around the table with six different frames, talking about the same topic, we assuredly have at least six different priorities.

None of these lenses is wrong. They simply reveal how easily a district can multiply what it claims to be first.

One thing that everything else must serve

So how do we reconcile this? How do we lead with integrity when the structure of our work seems to demand the impossible?

The answer may begin with a return to the singular. At this end-of-year moment, consider both your personal and organizational use of the word “priority.”

What is the priority for the year ahead? What is the first thing without which nothing else works? If you identified it clearly, would your strategic plan read differently? Would your cabinet conversations shift? Would the relationships between departments look more aligned? Would the work feel more honest?

Perhaps this season offers a quiet invitation. Not to add new items to the list, but to remove most of them; not to chase more things, but to name the one thing that everything else must serve. And to let the new year begin there.