Reminiscence
A long time ago, I went to a place, for four years. And unlike the stereotypical experience of mostly fun with a few moments of misery, mine was the opposite. Loneliness. Inadequacy. Never feeling part of the crowd but also too miserable to be a good friend, either. Naive. Often condescended to by those closest to me, or at least, it felt that way, even if perhaps they meant it well. I was over my head. My brains kept me afloat even when my lack of common sense and discipline and maturity frequently got me into trouble. But I was unwilling to quit. And so I made it through.
The next two years after were the worst two years of my life. Even more isolated, more incapable, more miserable. If not for the friends who weren't supposed to be my friends, I would have cracked. They held me up when I couldn't hold myself. And so I made it through.
And then, life turned around. Friends. Fun. Opportunities and experiences I once only dreamed of. If I had quit before, I would have missed all that. I have financial benefits that would change most people's lives. I have some good memories. I made a few good friends. I have a wife and children who would not exist if I had taken a different path.
So was it worth it?
I went back recently. Whatever nostalgic crust had accumulated over the memories quickly dissolved, and my misery was exposed again. I felt as estranged from others as I did then. I felt the same sense of relief upon leaving that I did when I last left. Despite my conscious efforts otherwise, it was not a happy return. I don't think I ever want to go back again.
Perhaps some experiences are best left in the past.