I have noticed a pattern in my journey as an education entrepreneur: every burst of creative excitement is followed by a very real fear of getting in trouble. It sounds silly as an adult to talk about getting in trouble, but the process is revealing for me how schooled I am in keeping rules and not upsetting authority, and how the over-regulation of things dampens creativity and innovation.
When I set out to start The Treehouse in spring of 2024, I was excited about the concept of self-directed learning and creating a space for kids in my community to try their own ideas.
It felt like a financially risky leap, but my husband and I decided to take it. We spent the summer turning our home into an agile learning center, complete with a large kanban board and zones for all kinds of exploration: greenhouse, woodshop, craft corner, computer lab, makerspace. I was ready to advertise and hoped to enroll 16 students. Utah had just passed Senate Bill 13, which allows for home-based microschools to have up to 16 students. I went to the city office to get my microschool license and was told that there is no license for microschools in my city, and to check if I needed a childcare license. A childcare license would require a large fence around my property to keep kids off the very boulders that I felt were a feature in my school playspace! I not only could not afford such an expense, but I also didn’t want to close the kids off to the adventure of exploring the hill in my backyard. I worried that this was going to shut down my idea.
Fortunately, I was able to find an exemption for the childcare license requirement by keeping our number of kids lower as well as our number of hours per week. Having written to my city council members to get the ball rolling on the new microschool ordinance, I settled for my home occupation license which allowed for ten students, and hoped that I would soon be able to get the higher-capacity license.
My husband and I both ended up loving our first year of running our school, and were glad that we pushed through those initial hurdles to make it happen. We received our new microschool business license at the end of our first school year, just in time for us to welcome our waiting list of about 15 new students onto (now) two campuses for this fall.
Then, I encountered insurance challenges. I spent the summer preparing our two campuses—creating a few new spaces to make room for full capacity in my own home, and preparing a second home for another 10–12 students. I was in my creative mode, envisioning how the kids would be able to explore, create, and experiment in these spaces. It was time to renew our insurance policy, so I reached out to our agent to ask if we could get a second policy on the new campus. Turns out, it was not that simple. We grew, and apparently outgrew our existing coverage.
Again, a fear of doing it wrong settled over me. I tried not to spiral, but I felt so frustrated at my novice mistake—that this important piece of a business plan had been left to the last minute. I also felt overwhelmed with the new process. Our first policy had been so easy, just a general liability that our agent found; we signed, paid, and were on our way. Now, I am filling out application forms with questions that I either don’t know the answers to, or that are making me question the insurability of our educational model. Will the students roller skate or ice skate? Maybe? Will the students engage in exhibitions open to the public? Possibly? Will all the parents sign waivers? Yes.
“No wonder school got boring!” I cried.
Even as I write this, I am tempted to ask a lawyer if my vulnerability here can come back to bite me.
It is so ironic to be an advocate for creative, adventurous learning for kids, all while having an absolute fear that if I break the wrong rule, I will no longer be able to provide the space for their creative adventures. I tell my curious kids during the day: let’s try it! And then at night worry that I misunderstood the fine print in some contract or miscalculated the miles on our tax deductions.
I would love to close this article with helpful advice, but the truth is, I am still learning. I think my hope is that the world isn’t actually a scary place—that there is space here for making mistakes, and people who will help you learn when you don’t understand. I hope the general consensus is that we are all trying our best and there isn’t some authority watching our every move to catch us when we inevitably mess up. And that we really do want people to try new ideas, because that is how we grow. That’s the space I am trying to make for my students, so even if it doesn’t actually exist in the larger world now, I hope that they will know how to create it as they move into adulthood.
