I have always felt a kind of detestation and disdain for university, university students, and even professors. It felt, to me, like a cage, a box, a false reality. Let me dig this out a bit. Digging for the gold, the lesson, the hard-earned learns.

It did not feel like the idea I had of "real." It was theoretical, hypothetical, academical, but not practical. It was a discussion. It was a theory. It was not the practice of living. It was not the experience of living. It was the sterile classroom that lacked the blood, sweat, dirt, and loss that comes with a life lived, not merely studied. It was the theory of living. It was not knowledge earned through experience.

"Those who cannot do, teach."

At that time, I really subscribed to that way of thinking. It felt like an entitlement to knowledge, a class separator, another way for well-to-do kids to think they were better than me because they had a year on me, a book they had read, a credential they were chasing, some family connection to a fancy job, or something they could use to look down on me.

They would pity me. They would feel sorry for me. They would pat me on the head and say, "Oh, I'm sorry you had to go through that. That must have been difficult for you." That was all in my head, for sure. It may have been real in some instances, and I do remember a couple times where some form of that did happen. But my own prejudices and insecurities told me to start from the negative. They had to prove to me they were not part of that category of people. We will see later how that was all me, and it did not have to be that way.

I was poor. I was undereducated, though not unintelligent. Maybe even that steps too far. I did have education. I had public school. I had gifted classes. I took it upon myself to learn things I found interesting (anybody remember The Anarchist Cookbook?). What I did not have was a formal setting where curiosity could be explored and guided. I did not have a dedicated teacher walking me through the nuances of my own questions. I had a garage and curiosity, and I blew shit up. Literally, a couple times.

When I arrived at university, away from home for the first time, I carried my prejudice with me. I carried my underlying dislike of these people. I thought the classroom was the cage. I thought the people around me were small. I thought freedom lived elsewhere. I thought the wisdom of life existed outside of that box.

Some of that was courage. Some of it was arrogance. Some of it was hunger. Some of it was fear disguised as courage. I created a framework where the things I valued most placed me above the people I believed looked down on me. If they had education, I had experience. If they had theory, I had reality. If they had credentials, I had scars. And for a time, that framework protected me. Or so I thought.

It let me avoid disliking myself, my circumstances, my upbringing, and my financial limitations. It was easier to redefine the game than to admit I felt behind in the one being played.

Yeah, yeah. I am not doing that anymore.

I am not above any other person.

Today, we start with a baseline of humanity.

But that is not where I started.

I believed knowledge had to be earned to be real. I distrusted anything merely taught in some book. I distrusted the people who had access to rooms I had not been invited into. I thought they were entitled to knowledge, while I had to earn that shit. I believed my harder path made my knowledge more real.

Newsflash: it didn't.

I had to lose the prejudice. I had to lose the anger. I had to lose the contempt I felt for them. I had to lose the belief that struggle automatically made me wiser. I had to lose the story that everyone in that room was looking down on me, because that story made me look down on them first.

That was not freedom. That was another cage. A cage of my own making. I raged against their "box" and built one of my own.

I built my self-image around this contempt. This air of superiority had me searching for something else, something that felt like me. I found myself in many different places in this life, always searching, always trying to find myself. I changed locations, changed jobs, changed friends, changed schools, changed routines, changed the people around me, and changed the explanation I gave myself for why the next change would be the one that worked.

My thought, sometimes correctly, was that the environment was not conducive for me. It was them. It was the place. It was the path. It was the people. They limited me. They did not understand me. They did not see what I saw, feel what I felt, know what I know.

It was them.

Sometimes, I was right.

Sometimes the environment really wasn't the right one. Sometimes leaving really was the brave thing. Sometimes changing the external was not avoidance. It was wisdom. It was survival. It was growth. It was the first honest decision available to me.

But sometimes, I was not leaving the problem. I was carrying it with me.

This showed up when I left the place where I grew up to be somewhere else. I looked deep in myself and found the courage to leave. I could not see possibility where I was. I only saw black and white. I found myself struggling to imagine a future in that location, and the possibilities felt limited. That limitation came less from reality and more from my beliefs. I looked at what I knew, and I did not like the ending. That limited imagination led me down many roads in search of something different.

And honestly, it didn't seem very cool to stay. All the cool kids left their hometowns, right?

Looking for something different, something more real, I left university in my third year. I was “tired of going to school,” and I wanted to actually do something with my life, in the world. It was the environment that was not allowing me to do the things I wanted to do. I did not want to be stuck in some classroom with "these kids" who did not see the grandness of the world.

I had the belief that they were of small minds. They only talked about others or events. They never spoke of ideas, concepts, dreams, goals, or how they might be affected by the moments of life. I thought myself superior in some fashion. Not in the clean, cartoonish way where I believed I was simply better than everyone. It was stranger than that. I saw something bigger, and I confused that seeing with wisdom. I thought I was an old soul who longed for something more than the traditional path would offer.

I dropped all of my classes. I did not care because I wanted something else, and I wanted it now. When was I going to live life instead of being stuck? I was following the path that someone else said was the way to go. Go to school, get a job, do the thing, live the life. I just knew there was more out there. Something better out there. And, in my infinite wisdom of 19 years, I joined the military.

So I took off on my own path.

Freedom awaited me.

I joined the military in search of something more real. If university was theory, this was practice. If the classroom was sterile, this was blood, sweat, dirt, consequence, and experience. This was earned knowledge. At least, that was my thinking.

And in some ways, I got exactly what I wanted.

Fast-forward a couple years, I finished my time in the military. I felt like I actually earned that experiential knowledge that was missing from the books. I survived war. I was “better." Or so I thought.

This experience was what I thought I needed. I thought I was transformed. I switched my head from fearing those things to a place where I was not scared of dying anymore. It was replaced with a welcome sign for death.

When it is my time, it will be my time.

I did not have to fear.

That belief led me down roads where I narrowly escaped death. I started drinking after coming home from war. I was an adult. I could handle whatever came my way. I became fearless.

Looking back with today’s wisdom, it was not fearlessness. It was ignorance. I had no reason to put myself in situations where I could be killed. I did not understand what real readiness looked like. Perhaps a lack of understanding was not the whole story, but there was certainly an underestimation of what real skill required. It was a true misunderstanding of what it meant to "be a man." I thought I could do away with fear, ignore risks, and charge forward. I confused recklessness with boldness. Underneath all that supposed fearlessness was insecurity.

This was my imposter syndrome. I still thought there was something I did not know. There had to be something everyone else knew that I was missing, so I set myself on a mission to learn whatever that might be.

There were life skills I needed. I had experience in the military leading people, but I lacked some essential skills for ordinary life. Namely, people skills. I got busy learning how to talk to people. I pored over books on communication. I did not know what I did not know.

It is difficult to sit here now and look back at the exact process, but it feels as though the skills I learned first were mostly transactional. Sales skills became a focus. Money became a focus. Influence became a focus. I learned how to move through transactional relationships because those were the relationships I understood. But all of that was still a mask for what existed beneath.

I was young, maybe twenty-three at the time. In my head, I was an adult who could make adult decisions. I did not recognize the limits of the horizon in my own mind. I could only see so far. It is only in hindsight that I can say I was shortsighted. I did not see the limits of my own understanding. I can barely say that I see those limits today. The difference is that now I can at least acknowledge they exist.

I had one good role model at the time. My stepfather had become a true father to me. He taught me how to be a man in this world. His calm demeanor was something I admired. He had an ability to be with me that no one else had. He seemed to understand who I was and how I thought. I felt understood by him in a way I had not felt from my biological parents.

I looked to him for guidance. It was on his recommendation that I continued my education in the direction of business and eventually law.

But I barely had any purpose yet. I was mostly doing the next thing and living life. I was hanging out with friends, working, making very little money, and spending it very quickly on things that amused me. I had a limited view of where my life was going. It was more about the moment than the future.

I had many adventures. I had a lot of “fun.” I met women who were also living for the moment. I met friends who filled the hours but did not become roots. The one thing we all had in common was that everything was temporary. I did not find anything that lasted. I was not looking for anything that lasted. I only concerned myself with living.

But I had a wrong definition of what living meant.

I followed the contemporary wisdom of “live for the moment” because nothing was guaranteed in the future. I had it now, so I should enjoy it now. I also had another thought that something was on the other side of this wall I faced. If I got this one skill, if I met the right person, if I found the right place, if I had the right experience, then something would open up. There might be an opportunity if only... fill in the blank.

There were a whole lot of “ifs” doing work there.

I just had not found my person. I had not found my passion. I had not found my purpose. I had not found myself.

I looked at the lives of others, the slivers they showed, through the lenses they used to filter. I had to be missing something. So I went to find myself. I went back to school so I could get that out of the way. It only took a year and a half.

“Only took” is a phrase that makes me laugh today.

It only takes five years to be an overnight success. I committed myself to that chapter of school, and now I look back and say it “only” took a year and a half. At the time, it felt like forever. It felt like I was doing this to get to the next thing. I “needed” this education because there was something I did not know. That knowledge was a prerequisite for me to be ready. That was what I told myself.

I had to learn this skill, and this place gave me the opportunity to do so. I put myself into positions where I was forced to learn in order to survive in the environment. I did not believe I was ready, or even worthy, because there was something I did not know, some experience I did not have, some question I was unable to answer.

When I learned those things, then I could have confidence.

I can see more clearly now how wrong I had it at the time. I was going to find the quick way to get where I was going. I was going to do it all right now so I could be prepared for what came next. The hard path was the one where I stuck to one thing and did that one thing. But that thing was not giving me what I wanted.

I did not get money from studies. I chose to work to get that money. I was not getting the support and help from my current position that I expected. I was not getting the amount of money I wanted in that moment. I was not getting the excitement I longed for. I had these ideas of what I wanted, and this was not it.

My patience was wearing thin.

I decided that I would be able to make it no matter what happened. So I left where I was because there had to be something better. I thought I should not have to sacrifice what I wanted just to be in this place.

This was a job in that moment.

It was also a relationship.

There had to be something else that was meant for me.

This could not be it.

I write these words with a certain difficulty and hesitation because I know better today. I know the issue was not always the environment. I know the environment was not always the whole answer. I had more power than I could see then. I was more ready than I believed. The realest thing I learned later was that there was not always some missing piece of knowledge. I lacked self-confidence. I did not always lack knowledge or skill.

That is a hard thing to admit because the external explanation was easier.

If the problem was the job, I could change the job.

If the problem was the city, I could change the city.

If the problem was the people, I could change the people.

If the problem was the relationship, I could change the relationship.

If the problem was the school, I could change the school.

If the problem was the path, I could change the path.

But if the problem was the pattern I brought with me, then changing the external could only take me so far.

That lesson became clearest to me with drinking.

I stopped drinking at the old age of twenty-nine. This feels old to me because the ones who get it earlier are the lucky ones. I had too many bad moments, too many close calls. The good moments were vastly outweighed by the negative ones. I do not miss it. I cannot even think of any benefits of drinking.

What is there that I would want to drink for?

I cannot say it is the taste. I cannot say I need it to go out and have fun with friends. I cannot say it provided any benefit. If I asked someone why they drink alcohol, they might not even see it as a possibility that they would not drink. I was once interested in the opinions of others on this topic. But as I have learned, no one else’s reason can be my reason.

I must live for myself.

I am a fan of a clear head. I am a fan of stability and predictability.

I am sure I could just have one. I am sure I could be in a good environment and have a blast with a little tipsy feeling. I may not even get to the tipsy feeling with just one. So that means I could have two. Two does not do anything. I could have a third because it has been a few hours since the second.

If I remain around safe people, if I limit the amount, if I do not let it control me, if the environment is safe, if the circumstances are right, then sure, I could have that drink.

I could get totally wasted on that logic.

If everything were safe, I would be safe.

There are a lot of “ifs” needing to be true at once for that to work. It scares the hell out of me to think of having a drink. I do not want to project this fear onto anyone else. I do not care if anyone else drinks. I care if I drink.

I cannot let the statement “live for myself” sit without discussion. This could be interpreted as selfish. It could be seen as doing myself without regard for others. That is not my meaning. My meaning is that the reasons of others cannot be the reasons for myself. I have my reasons, and they are held sacred. I protect myself from the harms of the world by living for my own.

I have been through periods of not drinking and periods of returning to drinking. It took a couple returns and exits for me to get to a spot where I could confidently say, “No, thank you,” when offered a drink. I will take something tasty and delicious. I will not be drinking something that can poison my body, muddle my mind, and cost crazy amounts of money when the nickels and dimes start adding together.

This is a me thing. I do not care to change anyone else’s decision on this matter. I write this only as context for how my decision for me was made.

I have heard of people returning to drinking after a period of not drinking. I heard most of this in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. I sat in those rooms for years, court-mandated because of driving while intoxicated charges. I never found it difficult to stop drinking. I never found it difficult to stop smoking either. When I actually made the decision to stop, the next steps became easy.

It was when I tried to change the environment to make it work that it became difficult.

I rambled around to get to this spot, but here we are.

I did not guess it was me. I could not be the problem. I was doing so good, but then the environment was not conducive. So I chose to change locations, change friends, change liquor to beer, change the time, change the frequency, change the rules, change the story, change everything about the circumstance.

For a while, each change looked like growth because the scenery was different. I could point to the new condition and say, this time will be different. This time I have better rules. This time I have safer people. This time I know more. This time I am more prepared. This time I can control it.

But the same negotiation kept returning.

The same “ifs” kept multiplying.

The same pattern kept finding the new room.

That was the lesson I had avoided while calling myself free. The external can change without the pattern changing. A new place can give me space. A new job can give me opportunity. A new relationship can show me something true. A new path can be necessary. But none of those things automatically make me different.

I tried a lot of changes, and one thing remained constant throughout.

Me.

That does not mean I was bad. It does not mean I was broken. It does not mean every place I left was good for me, or every person I walked away from deserved more access, or every path I abandoned was the path I should have stayed on.

It means I was responsible for the part that followed me.

Sometimes changing the external is the first brave act. Sometimes leaving is the choice that saves a life. Sometimes a person really does need a new room, a new city, a new job, a new circle, a new chance, a new beginning.

But sometimes the next brave act is not leaving.

Sometimes the next brave act is staying still long enough to see what I keep bringing with me.

The lesson was not that external change is wrong. Sometimes the room really is too small. Sometimes the job really is wrong. Sometimes the relationship really is not healthy. Sometimes leaving is wisdom.

But a new circumstance is not a new me. A new place can give me space, but it cannot do the internal work for me. A new job can give me opportunity, but it cannot give me confidence. A new relationship can show me something different, but it cannot make me whole.

Sometimes I did not need another external change.

Sometimes I needed a new me.

But going from earned to learned requires an L.

I had to lose to learn.