It has a subtle irony to it. The same individuals who devoted their professional lives to developing apps, perfecting algorithms, and claiming that technology would solve almost every issue, including education, are now enrolling their kids in classrooms devoid of any screens. Some are going even farther. Imagine classrooms with dirt floors, fire-starting lessons, handmade shelters, and morning walks along redwood trails. Executives from businesses whose entire business model depends on your attention—and your children’s—pay tuition at these so-called wilderness academies.
The phenomenon is not wholly novel. When a New York Times article from 2011 revealed that a number of Silicon Valley parents, including the chief technology officer of eBay and employees of Google and Apple, were sending their children to Waldorf schools—definitely low-tech campuses where chalkboards outnumber laptops and fifth graders spend their afternoons knitting socks—it caused quiet gasps in the education community. At the time, Alan Eagle was an executive communications employee at Google. He told the Times categorically that he thought it was “ridiculous” to teach his daughter to read using an iPad. His daughter was in the fifth grade at the time and had no idea how to use Google Search. People are usually put off by that detail.
In addition to eliminating screens, wilderness academies also do away with structured walls, set schedules, and the comfortable routines of traditional schooling. Forest trails, unrestricted problem-solving, and what educators in this field frequently refer to as “earned competence”—the sense a child gets from doing something truly challenging with their hands—can take their place. It’s possible that these parents are pursuing a particular kind of advancement that technology, by its very nature, cannot duplicate rather than anti-technology sentiment.
Something more profound than simple educational preference seems to be at play here. The same executives who discuss screen-time metrics and engagement rates in board meetings appear to have quietly come to the conclusion that their children’s early years should not be shaped by engagement, frictionless experiences, or dopamine reward loops. Depending on your point of view, that may or may not make them visionaries or hypocrites. If we’re being honest, it’s probably a little bit of both.
Additionally, these schools’ wellness reasoning isn’t wholly unfounded. The benefits of outdoor and play-based education in terms of concentration, emotional control, and creative thinking have been steadily increasing over the years. The percentage of Waldorf graduates who attend college is comparable to—and frequently higher than—that of graduates from more traditional private schools. It’s more difficult to determine whether this is due to the educational model or the socioeconomic makeup of families who can afford it, but it’s probably worth considering.
However, the curriculum is not what most strikes an observer. It’s the quiet assurance that led to the decision. These parents aren’t talking about it. They are not starting school reform movements or penning opinion pieces. While their products continue to reach the children of millions of other people in classrooms across the nation, they are merely opting out, both personally and privately. It’s uncomfortable, and it probably should be, that asymmetry.
In California, Colorado, New England, and the Pacific Northwest, wilderness academies are expanding. Waitlists are starting to form. It’s still unclear if this is just a well-funded niche or the start of a significant cultural shift. However, it is difficult to ignore that those who are most familiar with these technologies are also the ones who are avoiding them the most, at least for their own families. Even though no one is quite ready to explain what it means, it’s the kind of detail that usually has a deeper meaning.
