I thought the hardest part of my life was leaving home and starting over in a new place. I was wrong. The hardest part was realizing, years later, that something I avoided reading might explain everything I could never move on from.
I thought the hardest part of my life was leaving home and starting over in a new place. I was wrong. The hardest part was realizing, years later, that something I avoided reading might explain everything I could never move on from. Fourteen years is a long time to carry something without knowing it’s still weighing you down. I didn’t realize that until last week, standing in the dusty heat of my attic, surrounded by boxes I hadn’t touched since my 20s. Old textbooks. A cracked suitcase. A jacket I hadn’t worn since I was 18. I’m 32 now. A doctor. A man who built a life exactly the way he planned — except for the part that mattered most. Back then, I thought I understood sacrifice. I thought I knew what it meant to leave something behind. I was wrong. High school feels unreal when I think about it now, like a place I only visited in a dream. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone, routines felt permanent, and the future seemed destined to mirror the present. B...