Someone
asked me recently if I had a bad childhood. Honestly, I don’t think I did. I
grew up in the city, went to school, had food on the table and lived what most
people would call a normal life. But if you asked me whether I would ever want
to go back to relive my childhood, my answer would always be no. I don’t
miss being told how to love. I don’t miss waiting for permission. I don’t miss
feeling like someone else had the final say over my own life. I guess that’s
why adulthood never frightened me the way it seems to frighten some people. Responsibility
has always felt lighter than powerlessness.
Lately,
I’ve met a few people who seem almost afraid of becoming fully responsible for
their own lives. They hesitate before making decisions, avoid uncomfortable
conversations, and stay in situations they’ve long outgrown. It made me wonder
why. Then I noticed something else. Many of them were the people who did
exceptionally well in school. The ones who always knew the right answer. The
top students. The scholarship holders.
Perhaps
if we spent years being rewarded for getting right, making mistakes begins to feel
like losing a part of ourselves. But adulthood doesn’t hand out answer sheets.
It asks us to make choices with incomplete information, to fail, adjust and try
again. Failure isn’t the opposite of success, it’s a part of success.
Maybe
that’s why I choose a different road at eighteen. I didn’t pursue a degree, not
because I didn’t value education, but because I wanted ownership over my own
life. I wanted the freedom to choose my path, make my mistakes, and carry the
consequences that came with them. Strangely enough, that freedom has always
felt safer than certainty. My life isn’t perfect. I still make mistakes. I
still question myself. But every morning, I wake up with the quiet comfort of
knowing that the decisions are mine to make. And I’ve come to realize that I
would rather carry the weight of my own choices than spend another day
living without the freedom to choose them.