One winter I had the idea to take my students outside and see who could build a campfire with just three matches and a pile of sticks. It would all take place in the snow, in the dead of winter. Before heading outside, we read the short story To Build a Fire to get some ideas and inspiration. It felt like the perfect way to connect literacy with something fun and memorable.

So we read the story, bundled up, and hiked out of my classroom into the woods behind our school. Students gathered sticks, built their structures, and worked to get the flames going. 

It was epic. 

Kids who rarely speak up in class were suddenly team leaders. Students who usually drag their feet were racing through the snow. The whole thing felt alive and electric, the kind of thing you want as a teacher.

The Complaint

But when we got back inside the building, the entire first hour smelled like campfire. My principal came to my classroom during passing time and said he received a complaint about the smell and asked if I planned to do this with my other classes. I told him yes, and he paused and said, “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to be able to. Building fires outside the school and the smoke smell might not be the best idea.”

I understood where he was coming from, but I still felt so disappointed. I had watched that first group come alive around a piece of literature they might have groaned about in a more traditional setting, and I hated the idea of losing that momentum.

The Change of Heart

When my next class walked in, I was preparing to break the news that we had to stay inside, but before I finished the sentence my principal popped his head back in and said, “You know what? Nevermind Mr. Muir, go out and build some fires.” 

He changed his mind.

So we spent the entire day reading and building campfires. We roasted marshmallows, laughed together, and created the kind of learning experience students talk about for years. 

After school I asked my principal what made him reconsider. He told me he overheard students from first hour talking in the hallway about how much fun they had, and he figured a few complaints were worth seeing high schoolers that excited about English class. 

A Lesson About Teaching and Leading

What stood out to me most was not the permission he gave, but the mindset behind it. His leadership was adaptable; his decision wasn’t set in stone. He allowed new information to shape it.

That moment taught me something important about teaching. I’ve held onto rules before simply because I stated them out loud, not because they were serving students. 

A poem has to rhyme, so a brilliant unrhymed one gets marked down.

A math problem must be solved a certain way, so a creative and correct method is labeled wrong. 

Silent reading must be silent, so two kids geeking out about a book get shushed. 

These rules were not always sacred. They were just familiar, and familiarity can keep us from seeing better paths.

The Power of Flexibility

Flexibility takes intention. It means pausing long enough to ask whether the rule still serves the moment, and being honest about whether a boundary is helping learning or quietly holding it back. It invites us to adjust and shift. Sometimes we need to allow things to unfold in a better way than we originally planned.

Of course there are times to hold firm. If my principal believed that building fires was unsafe or truly disruptive, he would have been right to stick with his first decision. Boundaries, safety, and learning goals matter. But there are also times when bending a rule creates something greater than the rule itself. When the outcome is worth the adjustment, flexibility becomes a gift rather than a compromise.

A Skill for the Modern World

This matters now more than ever. The modern classroom, like the modern workforce, changes quickly, and the people who thrive are the ones who can adapt, rethink, and respond to new information. When teachers model that, students learn it. They begin to see that smart people sometimes change their minds, and that creativity often comes from questioning the familiar.

When we choose flexibility over rigidity, we open the door for a different kind of learning. Students experience more joy, because the classroom becomes a place where curiosity and creativity have room to breathe. Teachers and leaders build stronger trust with each other, since every decision is shaped by what is best for students rather than what is easiest to manage.

And in the case of this story, flexibility gave me a chance to spend an afternoon outside with my students, sharing a book, building fires in the snow, and enjoying a few extra marshmallows at work.