Open Doors

Open Doors

By Benjamin Finser, San Franciso Waldorf School alum

I have a kind of radar for Waldorf schools.

I am a third-generation Waldorf graduate, and my sister and I both graduated from San Francisco Waldorf High School. Even now, as I run a small investment fund that takes me to far-flung corners of the world, spotting that distinctive sign gives me a familiar thrill. It feels like finding a piece of home in an unexpected place.

My partner, Thomas, is from Toronto, and I have been there countless times. But on one Saturday morning we took a different route to his office, where he is working on a new condominium development. We drove past the Toronto Waldorf School, and its sign caught my eye. I thought, Wait, really? Right here? We kept driving a few blocks, and I dropped Thomas off at his office.

Then I could not help myself, and instead of getting started on some investment research I was planning, I doubled back.

I turned off Bathurst Street onto campus, convinced the gate guard to let me through, and wandered around for a bit, letting the place sink in. Near the front, I stopped into the little store and met the owner, Linda Lee. I told her how impressed I was, not just by the warmth of the space and the familiar products, but because the shop felt like a doorway. A parent could wander in out of curiosity and leave with a first taste of what Waldorf is all about.

Later that evening I mentioned the visit to my dad. Without missing a beat, he said he knew someone there, Sara Anderson, and that he would introduce us. I had been on campus over the weekend, when it was quiet and empty, but I wanted to see the school alive. And I wanted to show Thomas.

He had never been to a Waldorf school, and I have always wanted him to feel, firsthand, the kind of education and atmosphere that shaped me.

So earlier this week, we met Sara on campus. She greeted us with that easy, grounded warmth that feels very Waldorf, and she kindly took us on a tour.

We were struck by how much nature the students have access to: fields, forest, even the river nearby. The building itself felt both substantial and welcoming. The typeface on the sign, so familiar, brought me right back to all those anthroposophical buildings I have stepped into over the years. Inside, the bursts of color, natural wood, and lots of natural light made it feel like we had crossed into a world where imagination is taken seriously.

But the space that really impressed us was the auditorium upstairs.

We walked in and saw all the classrooms gathered around it: twelve main classrooms in a circle, encircling the heart of the building. I came from a school where the lower and high school were split, so seeing first through twelfth held in one continuous ring was at first surprising but felt so whole, like the architecture itself was telling a story about continuity.

We peeked into classrooms filled with children and felt the quiet beauty of the teachers’ work: chalkboard illustrations, imaginative decorations, the kind of care that distinguishes Waldorf rooms from others. We lingered in the kindergarten spaces, seeing the cozy napping nooks and corners that felt more like a home than an institution. Thomas especially loved those rooms. It made perfect sense: for the youngest students, the boundary between school and home is meant to be gentle. We found ourselves imagining our own children walking into a room like that someday.

At the same time, the building had this soaring openness, high ceilings, big light-filled spaces. It was that Waldorf balance again: detail and craft alongside room to breathe.

As we walked, Sara shared pieces of her own story. She was part of the first first grade to ever start in that building in the 70s. Her three children attended the school. And today, she continues to work there. That kind of continuity creates a culture that I imagine students can feel, even if they do not have the words for it. We certainly felt it.

We kept going: to the Eurythmy classroom (my sister is a Eurythmy teacher and therapist, as were my late mother and grandmother), so it felt like a little echo of my own life, and I pictured my sister in that beautiful space. Then we visited the art and woodworking studios. Outside, we walked toward the greenhouse. We tasted sun-warm tomatoes, spotted eggplants, and left with a small handful of grapes. As we spit the seeds from the sweet grapes, we looked across the field toward the retirement community and then continued into the forest.

By the time we looped back to the front entrance, we had made our own circle around the campus, mirroring that circle of classrooms around the auditorium. We ended up right where we started, but with a new sense of belonging.

We have been back to Thomas’s office in Thornhill since then, and the neighborhood feels different now that we know the school is there, close by, quietly carrying values that feel familiar. It is a small shift, but a meaningful one.

And it reminded me of something I have felt again and again: wherever I am in the world, when a Waldorf school appears, it is an invitation to reconnect, to meet new people, and to feel a sense of belonging, even when we are far from home.