Jenna first enrolled in the early childhood education program as a sophomore, in our half-day program. She was eager to learn, dependable and deeply committed to working with children.
As Jenna prepared for her junior year, she wanted to take the next step by enrolling in the full-time program. It seemed like the obvious choice. The additional instructional time would provide expanded clinical experiences and opportunities to earn additional college credits and workforce credentials, including her Behavioral Health Professional certification, that would better prepare her for both college and a career in working with young children.
Instead, she was encouraged to think carefully about that decision because enrolling in the full-time program could negatively affect her class rank. Suddenly, what should have been a decision about preparing for her future became a decision about protecting her class rank. Reluctantly, Jenna chose not to enroll in the full-time program for her junior year. But she never stopped becoming an educator.
Throughout that year, she volunteered countless hours at community events and sought every opportunity she could find to continue learning. Still, many of the opportunities she had hoped to pursue remained just out of reach. Additional college credits. Expanded clinical experiences. Industry-recognized credentials. The daily mentorship that comes from being immersed in a full-time CTE program.
By the time senior year arrived, Jenna made a different decision. She told me she no longer cared about where she finished in her graduating class and that she was going to choose the path that prepared her for the future she envisioned. She enrolled in the full-time program.
By graduation, Jenna had earned 24 college credits, completed her Behavioral Health Professional certification, earned multiple other industry-recognized credentials, and continued building the foundation for the career she had dreamed about since she first entered our classroom. I was incredibly proud of her. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the year she missed.
Why should any student have to postpone opportunities that align with their career goals because of the way our educational systems recognize academic success?
That question stayed with me long after Jenna’s junior year ended. I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t yet know how to investigate it. I had a question, but I didn’t have a process for finding the answer.
Finding the Curious Educator Again
During Jenna’s senior year, I enrolled in EHD 590: Leading Growth in Rural Schools through the University of Maine and the Rural Aspirations Project. What I expected to be another graduate course quickly became something much more significant.
The Rural Aspirations Project partners with rural schools to help educators strengthen their communities through human-centered de-sign. Rather than beginning with pre-determined solutions, participants are encouraged to understand the people at the center of a challenge, identify strengths and opportunities, gather evidence, collaborate with diverse stakeholders, and design solutions that reflect the unique needs of their communities. This approach recognizes that meaningful innovation doesn’t happen to schools; it happens with them.
Throughout the year, instructors Gert Nesin and Korah Soll challenged our cohort to rethink how educational change happens. Rather than beginning with solutions, we were encouraged to begin with empathy. We were challenged to understand the people experiencing it. Rather than designing for communities, we learned to design alongside them. We listened before leading, and we identified missing voices.
We gathered qualitative and quantitative evidence. Then we reflected, refined and repeated the process. And somewhere throughout that experience, I rediscovered something I hadn’t realized I had lost. I found the curious educator in me again.
More Than Asking Questions
Too often, educational improvement begins with solutions. A new initiative. A new curriculum or a new policy. Another new requirement. But meaningful change rarely begins with answers. It begins with understanding.
As educators, we naturally solve problems. We make hundreds of decisions every day. Yet curiosity asks us to slow down just enough to determine whether we’re solving the right problem. Instead of asking, “How do we fix this?” curious educators first ask, “Why is this happening?” That small shift changes everything.
Instead of collecting evidence to defend our opinions, we begin collecting evidence to understand reality. We invite students into the conversation rather than assuming we know what they need. And we begin to recognize patterns within systems.
Curiosity isn’t passive. It is disciplined. It is intentional. And it is one of the most powerful leadership skills an educator can develop.
Following the Questions
- How many students had made the same decision Jenna made?
- How many had quietly walked away from career and technical education?
- How many believed they had to choose between career preparation and academic recognition?
Those questions became the foundation of my Rural THRIVE project. I conducted statewide surveys, interviewed educators and administrators, collaborated with counselors, reviewed graduation policies, analyzed district practices, met with higher education partners, and engaged state leaders in conversations about CTE access and equity. The goal was never to prove a point but to understand the system. What emerged surprised me.
Across districts, I found inconsistencies in how CTE courses were weighted, how dual enrollment opportunities were recognized, and how students and families understood graduation pathways. Some schools celebrated career-connected learning as rigorous academic preparation. Others unintentionally created barriers that forced students into impossible choices.
None of these educators lacked commitment. They all wanted students to succeed. The challenge was inconsistency. Once I understood that, the con-versation shifted to designing solutions.
A Better Way to Lead
Looking back, I realized I wasn’t just investigating a single problem. I was changing the way I approached every problem. Every meaningful improvement seemed to begin in the same place. With a student’s story.
Stories revealed the questions worth asking. Those questions challenged assumptions I didn’t realize I had made. The answers required listening to voices that had been missing from the conversation.
Evidence often led me somewhere I hadn’t expected to go. And the strongest solutions never came from working alone. They emerged through collaboration with students, educators, families, counselors, business partners and community members.
I also learned that curiosity doesn’t end once we find an answer. It requires us to reflect on what we’ve learned, remain open to new perspectives and continue improving as new questions emerge. Over time, I realized curiosity wasn’t simply something I practiced. It had become the way I led.
Looking Toward the Next 100 Years
As ACTE celebrates its centennial, career and technical education continues to evolve alongside the workforce, technology and the communities we serve. The next century of CTE will not simply be defined by new equipment, stronger partnerships or innovative programs. It will be defined by educators who remain curious enough to question systems that no longer serve students.
Today, I often think about Jenna. Not only because of what she accomplished, although those accomplishments are remarkable, but because she unknowingly left a mark on so many futures yet to come. One student’s story became the catalyst for asking better questions, challenging long-held assumptions, and re-imagining how we can better serve every learner who walks through our doors.
I think about the opportunities she postponed. The experiences she delayed. Not because she lacked passion. Not because she lacked ability. But because a system unintentionally asked her to choose.
Jenna’s story reminds me that behind every policy is a student.
Behind every data point is a dream. And behind every meaningful improvement is an educator willing to remain curious, ask one more question, and have the courage to act on the answer. I entered the Rural Aspirations Project believing I needed to solve a problem. I left realizing my greatest responsibility was something much simpler. To remain curious. To keep asking better questions. And to have the courage to let the answers change the way I lead.
Lauren Remington is a content manager at ACTE whose career has come full circle through CTE. A former CTE student, Remington used the Certified Nursing Assistant credential she earned in high school to work while pursuing her goal of becoming an educator. She later returned to the same school she graduated from, where she spent 10 years as a CTE early childhood education instructor, building dual-enrollment pathways and expanding access to credentials and professional learning opportunities for students.
