You Never Know: A Reflection on Possibility, Partnership, and the K–12 RFP Journey

There is a moment in every vendor’s life when the door to public procurement seems impossibly heavy. It requires patience, discipline, organization, and a kind of long-range optimism that few commercial markets demand. Many companies come to the RFP world ready to sprint; most discover quickly that this work is more akin to tending a field. What grows is measurable, meaningful, and sustainable only with time, perspective, and a willingness to see opportunity where others see obstacles.

Over the years, I’ve watched founders, CEOs, curriculum directors, and small startup teams evolve in extraordinary ways through this process. Their companies grew not only in revenue but in clarity, discipline, and internal cohesion. This work is often described as technical, with tasks such as submission schedules, compliance matrices, and alignment guides that are usually thankless. But beneath all of that is something profoundly human. It is the story of people showing up for public education with seriousness and sincerity.

I often tell clients that there are two kinds of revenue in K–12: the revenue you pursue intentionally and the revenue that finds you because you built the infrastructure for it. The second category is the one people underestimate. A vendor may submit a proposal thinking it’s a long shot, or that their solution doesn’t perfectly fit the district’s needs. Then weeks or months later, they receive a call, an invitation, a contract, or a pilot request that shifts the entire course of their business. There is no formula for predicting these moments.

That short sentence has echoed through my life since childhood. My father introduced me to music and films not simply as entertainment but as worlds to study. I became a child who listened for patterns, who paid attention to motivations, who examined dialogue, structure, and emotional resonance. Those early habits shaped how I see systems, organizations, and the interior workings of people. What looked like a lonely childhood from the outside was, in hindsight, a private apprenticeship in deep knowing. The skills I use now mirror the pattern recognition, narrative analysis, and strategic anticipation that my father and I shared and were shaped with love long before I knew what procurement was.

I think this is why my work in K–12 feels so personal. It does not come from a place of selling; it comes from a place of meaning. Public education is one of the last great collective endeavors we share in this country. When a vendor steps into that ecosystem with care, expertise, and humility, the work becomes transformative. I’ve seen companies double and triple their revenue not because they chased fast wins, but because they invested in structures that allowed opportunity to find them.

One of the most misunderstood aspects of the RFP process is the idea that it is transactional. It is not. It is developmental. Every well-executed RFP submission sharpens a company’s internal systems. It forces cross-team collaboration. It reveals gaps in product alignment, accessibility, research design, and service scope. Even proposals that go nowhere contribute to institutional readiness for the ones that will.

This is why I often encourage vendors to respond to bids they may initially dismiss. A program might not fit perfectly. The district might seem out of reach. The timeline might feel inconvenient. These are understandable hesitations. But a national footprint is built on the willingness to stay present in the market, even when the immediate payoff is unclear. Every submission increases your visibility. Every contract, even the small ones, builds a pathway that someone on your sales team will walk months later. Contracts act as quiet connectors—evidence of trust, evidence of credibility, evidence of staying power.

I have watched companies flourish because they trusted this process. Not mindlessly, but with intention. Many came to me at chaotic moments: broken internal systems, unclear pricing strategies, missing evidence bases, products still evolving. They were overwhelmed and under-resourced. Yet once they committed to structure and simple additions such as a monthly submissions calendar, internal RFP roles, content libraries, and professionalized responses, their entire organizational identity changed. Revenue followed, but so did self-belief.

And this is why I approach my work with generosity. Knowledge hoarded does not grow. But knowledge shared with open sincerity creates momentum. I have spent years studying this field, not to guard expertise behind gates but to help companies see possibilities they didn’t know existed. The calls I take with vendors, founders, and curious educators are some of my favorite moments. There is something extraordinary about watching someone realize how big this market is, how many contracts are out there, and how much revenue is available to those willing to build the proper infrastructure.

Sometimes these conversations become turning points. Sometimes they simply plant seeds that sprout later. Continually, they deepen my belief that the K–12 sector is filled with people trying to do meaningful work, often without the guidance they need. Helping them find clarity is the part of my job that feels less like consulting and more like purpose.

Ram Dass tells a story in Be Here Now about a farmer whose experiences are labeled “good” or “bad” by his neighbors. Each time, the farmer responds, “You never know.” The meaning of the story is not passive acceptance but recognition that outcomes are rarely visible in the moment. What looks like misfortune may become fortune. What appears to be a closed opportunity may become the foundation for a future one. That principle applies profoundly in public procurement. You never know which proposal will open the door that changes everything. But you do know this: if you do not show up, the door cannot open.

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