Roots of Empathy and Deep Time Exercises

There’s a moment in Roman Krznaric’s The Good Ancestor when he invites us to imagine the builders of medieval cathedrals: craftspeople who chiseled stone, hoisted beams, and shaped stained glass with the knowing certainty that they would never worship inside the completed structure. They worked not for immediate applause but for the generations they would never meet. Their legacy lived in the shadows cast by soaring buttresses, in the echoes of future choirs, in the possibility that one day, long after they were gone, someone would look up and feel awe. Krznaric calls this cathedral thinking: a way of acting that stretches our sense of responsibility far beyond the boundaries of our own lifetimes. It’s the discipline of slowing down enough to ask, “How will what I’m doing today ripple outward? What future am I shaping with the choices I make right now?” It’s a call to be not just good professionals or good leaders, but good ancestors. In education, this idea lands with particular force. So much of the work of learning—and of transforming systems of learning—has a delayed return on investment. Policies outlast policymakers. Classroom moments echo decades later in a student’s life. Innovations begun in one community can reshape what’s possible for learners across an entire generation. And the most courageous educators I know operate with an awareness that they are, in fact, building cathedrals: structures of opportunity, belonging, confidence, and human potential. That’s why, in my intake form, I ask a question about ancestor-work. I’m curious about the projects, commitments, or quiet acts of devotion that feel like cornerstones, things my guests are building that may not be fully realized until long after they’ve stepped away. And for this remix episode, I went back to six former guests who responded to that prompt with uncommon clarity, humility, and hope. Their answers were not just descriptions of work; they were expressions of purpose, of stewardship, of long-view leadership. What you’ll hear in the next hour is a mosaic of cathedral thinkers. People who are shaping systems and communities not for personal credit, but for the learners who will come long after any of us. Their voices remind us that the real measure of impact is time, not quarters, not school years, but generations. So if you are ready, I am ready. And if you have insights or questions, email me at MLTSinHawaii@Gmail.com, which is my podcast contact. As always, my gratitude to Mel Ching, the co-producer of these remixed episodes, Evan Kurohara, my talented editor, and Michael Sloan, the pianist whose music graces this show.