A few weeks ago, I did something I haven’t done in years.
I sat down, with no agenda, no deadline, and wrote.

Fifteen pages.

Not about strategy.
Not about the school.
Not even about education.

I wrote about my life.

Childhood.
College.
Work.
People who shaped me.
People who hurt me.
People who quietly held me together.

Halfway through, I realised something that shook me:

For years, I had been chasing excellence as if it were an external target.
But every turning point in those pages had nothing to do with outcomes.

They were moments where my character shifted.
Moments where I either found myself… or lost myself.

And as I wrote, I felt a discomfort I couldn’t ignore:
There were stretches in my life where I had drifted away from the person I once was (the intuitive, bold, expressive child). I had built systems, teams, outputs… but somewhere along the way, I’d stopped examining the process that shaped me.

That evening, I picked up Ron Berger’s The Ethics of Excellence again.
One line landed differently:

Excellence and ethics are not two goals.
They are one practice.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Because when I looked back at those pages, I realised something simple and uncomfortable:
I didn’t admire myself for my achievements.
I admired myself only in the moments when I acted with integrity, courage, humility, or honesty.

Values don’t show up on stage.
They appear in the drafts no one sees.

And that is the real truth behind excellence.

Most organisations (and most families) get this order wrong:

First performance.
Then ethics.

As if character is optional until the results are good.

But rereading my own story made something undeniable:

Real excellence doesn’t follow success. It produces it.
And it does so through a thousand tiny choices that never show up in the final report.

In those fifteen pages, the most meaningful moments weren’t the victories.
They were the revisions.
The quiet corrections.
The uncomfortable introspections.

The same is true in any organisation.

Here are three places where ethics and excellence meet…
where craft and character become inseparable.

When Berger talks about the butterfly, he isn’t talking about critique.
He’s talking about belief.

In my own life, every turning point began with someone who cared enough to give honest feedback. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes harsh. But always carrying the same message:

“I see you. And I believe you can be better.”

At 21K School, I’m realising that feedback is not a correction.
It’s an act of dignity.

A facilitator who says,
“Let’s see what the next draft can become,”
isn’t evaluating work. They’re elevating the child.

Belief is the soil in which excellence grows.

Reading my life backwards showed me something I had missed for years:

Systems (schools, workplaces, teams) shape us more than we realise.
Not through their targets.
Through their values.

Every time a system trusted me, I grew.
Every time it doubted me, I shrank.

This is why, when we changed financial decision limits this year, it wasn’t about speed.
It was about trust.

A system becomes ethical not by adding rules,
but by removing the ones that signal fear.

My story taught me this:
Policies either liberate people to rise,
or constrain them into compliance.

Only one of those leads to excellence.

Writing those pages reminded me of something uncomfortable:

You can execute perfectly…
and still fail ethically.

Because performance metrics measure output.
Reflection measures impact.

Children understand this intuitively.
When they ask themselves:

…they are practicing the deepest form of excellence.

Reflection isn’t a review.
It’s a character check.

In my draft, reflection wasn’t a chapter.
It was the thread holding every chapter together.

We’re hosting our Funfinity Carnival today, and I’d love for you to be part of it.

It’s an evening of play, connection, and celebration — magic shows, science demos, games, spot prizes, bouncy castles, food stalls, and our Sports Day prize distribution. Families are joining in from across Bangalore (and even Chennai and Kochi).

If you’re nearby, come experience the joy, energy, and community that make 21K School special.

See the Carnival Invite

I hope to see you there.

A school’s culture is built by the people who carry it.

We’re opening a few key roles across academics, admissions, marketing, and HR.
And if you don’t see the perfect role, but believe you can add value, I’d still love to hear from you.

Click to View Open Roles

Because the right people don’t just fill positions.
They strengthen the purpose.

When I finished writing those fifteen pages, one realisation stayed with me:

I had been measuring success by output…
when the real scorecard was always ethics.

So here’s a quiet experiment for the week ahead:

The next time your child finishes a project,
or your team ships a feature,
or you stand at a difficult decision…

pause and ask:

“Did we do right by the people involved?”

It’s not the fastest question.
It’s not the easiest question.
But in my experience (on paper and in life)
it is the question that shapes who we become.

If you’ve ever tried leading or parenting with this lens,
I’d love to hear what shifted for you.

Just hit reply.
Sometimes someone else’s reflection becomes the mirror we need.

With love and joy,
Yeshwanth
Founder and CEO, 21K School

Connect: linkedin.com/in/yeshwanth

P.S. While writing those fifteen pages, I realised that excellence is rarely a moment.
It’s a memory. A moment you look back on and feel proud of how you acted, not just what you achieved. What’s one such moment from your life? I’d genuinely love to hear it.

P.P.S. This newsletter has become a space where I reflect more honestly than I expected. If there’s one thing you’d like to see more or less of… stories, frameworks, questions, personal notes… please tell me. Your feedback shapes this as much as my writing does.

P.P.P.S. Last week, I shared a short post on the NEP (National Education Policy).
If you’d like me to share more about NEP and insights from changes across CBSE and boards, just reply and let me know. I’m happy to cover it in the next edition.