A call for breadth in our education system
Why doing your options can mean being left with no real option
When I was at school in the 90s and 00s, I believed that life would progress in a straight line. I would finish education, become a journalist, astronaut or ballet teacher, and that would be that.
The English education system reinforced this notion. Like all my peers, at 13 or 14 I had the chance to “do my options”, a grown-up decision-making process which was sold to us as an exciting opportunity, but actually meant I dropped subjects that later I wished I hadn’t - History, mainly, but also French, Graphic Design, Geography. Subjects I loved, or could have loved but didn’t fit into the narrow set of options that worked in the school’s timetable. Barely 2 years later and if we wanted to continue to A Level study, we’d have to narrow further, choosing just 3 or 4 options. This seemed especially unfair given all the new possibilities that opened up, subjects I’d never even had chance to try - Economics, Philosophy, Photography, Business Studies, Psychology, Law, Performing Arts. And then it was onto university applications, narrowing once more to the one subject that would apparently shape our whole career. All before we were old enough to legally buy a pint of cider.
I’m not alone in questioning the wisdom of this - one Which? University study found that a third of students regret their A level choices and only half feel they were properly informed about them. In 2020 the RSA called for a rethink of the GCSE system, pointing out that “In the best-performing countries, subject specialisation happens at age 16, not 13-14.”
I do remember one teacher, my secondary school tutor, whose views on what our working lives would look like went against the grain. He told us that our careers would be more like a trek through a mountain range than a drive along a straight road. That we might become a pianist, then qualify as a teacher, leaving teaching to work for a tech corporation, then seizing a business opportunity manufacturing portable kites, before selling out and pursuing a passion for haiku writing. He said that the lives we had ahead of us were (hopefully) long, and that we’d have time enough to explore a myriad of careers.
At the time I thought he was mad. And honestly, I couldn’t see the appeal. If what I’d been taught at school was true, I’d have made the right choice already. The prestigious, or exciting or impressive career I’d opted for would be completely fulfilling.
Except it came unravelled a bit. For my A Levels, I chose English Literature, Maths, Further Maths and Physics. I most loved reading and writing, but I also liked the ‘Big Ideas’ of Physics and I enjoyed seeing people grimace when I said I did Further Maths. Plus I grew up at a time when teachers and parents were being strongly encouraged to “get girls into STEM,” and I wanted to please. By the time it came to choosing my university subject, my choices already pointed towards Physics. Careers advisors told me my A levels hadn’t been artsy enough for English really. I remember feeling trapped; I’d been navigating the education system step-by-step, not realising how each move would limit my future game plan.
But I focused on the positives; I enjoyed my Physics lessons so I assumed that more of the same could only be a good thing. I probably didn’t stop for long enough to consider how much of my enjoyment was down to my charismatic Physics teacher, who would intersperse lessons with poetry and who brought concepts to life with beautiful words. I didn’t know then how much without this I would drown in mathematical notation, particularly once surrounded by tutors and students whose brains seemed able to think without words in a way mine never could.
I regretted my way through my undergraduate degree, envying my Historian housemates who had opted better than me all those years ago. In graduating I was certain of only one thing - I never wanted to do Physics again. I have a vivid memory of unhooking reams of notes from lever arch files in my parents’ garage and shoving them into bin bags. Incidentally, this is another thing I now regret. I wish I’d kept some memento of my then cleverness - just a couple of pages of that mathematical gibberish to remind myself that however much I’d struggled, I’d once managed to coax my brain to work in ways completely alien to me, to speak a language that never felt right.
In those early months after graduating, I floundered. I began Graduate Entry Medical School, hopeful of finding the sense of belonging I’d never found in the fluorescently lit labs of the Physics building. But I didn’t find it in the hospital corridors either. I considered various jobs, in media, publishing and consultancy, but nothing felt right, until I stumbled across a teaching assistant role in a ‘challenging’ local school. I thrived there, and my colleagues encouraged me in applying to become a teacher with Teach First. Even better, after a chance meeting at the introductory BBQ, I persuaded the powers that be to let me swap with another participant on the programme so that I could teach English and she took my place teaching Science.
So I became an English teacher with a Physics degrees. But that wasn’t the end of the story either. Since then, I’ve become many other things - a teacher educator, a leadership development coach, a curriculum designer, a yoga teacher, a copywriter, a team leader, a doctoral researcher. I’ve worked in science, higher education, teaching, research, leadership, policing and wellness. And I’ve resisted being steered any more by what I’m told I should do, by what the “sensible” next step is. I’ve realised that doing the sensible thing, walking the straight line, rarely feels fulfilling. Instead, I've embraced the unpredictability, the tangents, and the unconventional paths, finding meaning, or at least a certain creative satisfaction in the detours.
My tutor was right; I’ve been fortunate that there has been plenty of time to explore plenty of options, and I hope that I’m lucky enough to have time to explore plenty more. But it also brings me back to schooling. We still ask children to begin narrowing their options at 13 or 14. We still steer students towards taking one subject at university, even though we know that solving some of the great challenges of the world will require interdisciplinarity. We still insist on putting children (and adults) into boxes that are too narrow for their potential and creativity. Even though we know it doesn’t make sense.
Alternatives exist. European students pursuing the European Baccalaureate, for instance, engage in a broader curriculum, spanning at least 11 subjects with 3–5 electives. Similarly, the American university system, while flawed in its own ways, allows for exploration across various disciplines before committing to one or two majors.
Surely we can design a system which better suits the dynamic nature of modern lives and careers? At the very least, one which emphasises openness over restriction, flexibility over rigidity? My secondary school tutor knew it in 1998. 26 years on and I’m not convinced the system has changed as much as it could have done.