The Eisenhower Matrix taught me something I didn’t expect: time isn’t really the enemy—attention is. When I sorted through my daily tasks, dividing them into urgent versus important, I discovered something profound about how I’ve been spending my energy.

What struck me most was the fluidity of it all. Tasks don’t live in fixed boxes. Something like answering emails about school life and fun activities shifts from “urgent but not important” during busy teaching seasons to “important for community building” when students need connection most. I struggled to find anything that was neither urgent nor important, which told me something about myself: I’m naturally drawn to meaningful work, even when it feels scattered.

But here’s what emerged as my most urgent and important insight: the work that doesn’t scream for attention but whispers for devotion. Student belonging. Diversity and equity work. It’s not urgent in the traditional sense—no deadline breathing down my neck—but it has something more powerful: the potential to transform lives.

My Focus: A Black Student Affinity Group

As a black female educator in a predominantly white space, I see my students navigating something I understand intimately. There’s a small group of black students in my school, and because they’re small, some things can go unnoticed. But small doesn’t mean less important. Sometimes the smallest groups need the most intentional care because they’re the ones who can feel most invisible.

This isn’t just about creating belonging for them—it’s about modeling it. I’m showing these students what it looks like for a black woman to claim space, to prioritize what matters, to say “this small group deserves focused attention.”

My Declaration of Intent

This month, I’m taking action. I’m going to have the first meeting of our black student affinity group during lunch. It will be a safe space—nothing fancy, nothing perfect, just real and intentional.

This matters because representation isn’t just about seeing yourself in the curriculum or on the walls. It’s about having space to breathe, to be seen, to know you’re not alone in navigating spaces that weren’t built with you in mind. It’s about creating the belonging I wish I’d had and ensuring my students never have to wonder if they matter.

The Eisenhower Matrix showed me that the most important work often isn’t the loudest. But it’s the work that changes everything. This is mine.

The Update: Two Months In

I was worried. I won’t lie—before that first meeting, I wondered if the students would actually want this, if they’d show up, if it would be perceived the way I hoped. I had nothing to worry about.

That first lunch gathering with candy and conversation turned into something I didn’t fully anticipate. When I asked how often they wanted to meet, they said “everyday.” I knew then that the hunger was real. The need was real. So we settled on every three weeks during lunch—a rhythm that’s sustainable and protected because we’re all on lunch at the same time.

But here’s what’s happened in these two months: this work has evolved into an actual professional learning network for my students. It’s not just a hangout anymore—though it still is that, and that matters. The students are taking initiative. They’re looking out for each other. They’re planning. They’re dreaming together about school sales and organizing our February assembly.

Most importantly? The kids are really happy. And I was right about one thing: this work doesn’t need to be laborious or extravagant. It just needs to happen. Candy, conversation, and a teacher showing up consistently to say “you matter, and this space is yours.”

My thinking about belonging hasn’t shifted—I always knew my students needed it. But my confidence in how to create it has deepened. As the only black educator in my school, I continue to know that this work is needed. It isn’t easy to find the time, but that’s exactly what the Eisenhower Matrix taught me: this work isn’t urgent on my day-to-day, but it is profoundly important long-term. And that’s precisely why it deserves my attention.

The matrix didn’t just help me identify my priorities. It helped me protect them.