Laura K. Spencer, Ed.D., is the Chief Academic Officer at Elite Academic Academy, where she leads innovative, student-centered approaches that move beyond the traditional industrial model of education. With more than two decades of experience in teaching, instructional design, and school leadership, she is a national voice on how emerging technologies can support, rather than replace, the human side of learning. Her leadership has guided initiatives such as Elite’s VR pilot programs, the EliteX Fellowship for teacher innovation, and the rollout of human-centered AI tools that amplify student creativity and agency. Laura’s work is grounded in the science of hope and mattering, with a focus on building schools where students feel they belong and believe their futures are worth building. She writes and speaks frequently on equity, empathy, and the future of education, drawing on both research and practice to help leaders rethink what school can be in a rapidly changing world.
Earlier this year, I was off-roading in Anza-Borrego when the trail simply vanished. No tire marks. No map. Just open desert in every direction. I love those moments, not because I know where I am going, but because I don’t. When the path disappears, you have to read the terrain more closely, notice the subtle cues, and trust your experience to find a way forward.
That moment in the desert reminded me of what school should feel like. Too often, education has been treated like a paved road laid down decades ago, with fixed stops and a single destination. Today, following the old map is riskier than losing the trail. If we want students to thrive, we need to teach them to navigate new terrain, not just drive on someone else’s road.
Ezra Klein once asked: What if school wasn’t built for content delivery, but for human development? That question flips the frame entirely. Content delivery is about the past, making sure kids know what we already know. Human development is about the future, preparing them for a world we cannot fully imagine. Neuroscience supports this shift: students learn more when they feel connected and valued. The World Economic Forum estimates that 65 percent of children entering school today will work in jobs that do not yet exist. Preparing them for human development is not optional. It is survival.
The industrial model of school, with rows of desks, bells, and standardization, once prepared students for the economy of the mid-20th century. My father went from a factory line job at fifteen to an HR director role at a major corporation with an Associate’s degree and years of sweat equity in the organization. Those days are long gone. By 2031, more than 70 percent of jobs in the United States will require training beyond high school. In today’s volatile, uncertain, complex, and ambiguous world, creativity, resilience, adaptability, and strong relationships are not extras. They are the skills of survival.
Students are already signaling that they need something different. Gallup reports that while nearly half of students say they are engaged in school, only one in ten actually enjoy what they are learning. The CDC has found that 42 percent of teens feel persistently sad or hopeless. This is not a content-delivery problem. It is a human-development crisis.
Hope and mattering point the way forward. Gallup researcher Shane Lopez found that hope is a stronger predictor of student success than GPA or test scores. Students with high hope are twice as likely to graduate college. Sociologist Gregory Elliott showed that when young people feel they matter to their community, they are less likely to engage in risky behavior and more likely to persist academically. These are measurable, research-backed outcomes that change trajectories.
As Chief Academic Officer at Elite Academic Academy, I have seen how innovation can support this human-centered mission when applied with care. We have piloted VR intensives where students stepped into the Apollo missions, hearing the rumble of engines and the crackle of mission control. Research from Stanford shows immersive VR can improve retention by up to 33 percent and increase empathy. The value is not the headset. It is that students walk away with deeper connection and lasting understanding.
We have also rolled out AI with the same principle in mind: not to replace teachers, but to free them for deeper connections. One of our teachers built “Lyric Lantern,” an AI tool that does not generate songs but prompts students with questions to unlock their own creativity. A student named AJ used it to capture a bittersweet childhood memory of an apricot tree, turning it into the lyric, “Oh, where the apricots grew, that is where I knew you.” That single line anchored an original song she recorded and submitted as a capstone project. The AI did not replace her creativity. It amplified her voice.
Leadership development is just as critical. Through our EliteX Fellowship, we have asked teachers to take risks, test ideas, and rethink the student experience from the inside out. At the start of the program, more than half of participants rated themselves at the lowest levels of agency. After a year, nearly 90 percent identified as high or full agency. That is not just a statistic. It represents a cultural shift toward trust, curiosity, and innovation in practice.
Beliefs only matter if they shape practice. That is why we anchor our work in six essential skills: communication, critical thinking, creativity, compassion, collaboration, and curiosity. These cannot be downloaded like apps. They are built through relationships, trust, and experiences where it is safe to try, fail, and try again. Curiosity often acts as the spark that ignites the rest. When students are curious, they ask sharper questions, push their thinking, and reach out to collaborate. International frameworks and employer surveys agree. These human-centered skills are exactly what the world demands.
The future of education is not about chasing the newest tool or program. It is about small, intentional, human moments where a student feels they matter and believes their future is worth building. The trail ahead is wide open, and the direction we choose now will shape what students remember years from today.
If we create schools where mattering and hope are real, where curiosity and resilience are alive, then even in the middle of volatility and uncertainty, our students will know how to find their way forward. When students feel they matter and have hope, everything else – academic success, resilience, creativity – has a place to grow.