Pilgrim
2026-03-26
This morning, I've been thinking about my past, particularly the crossroads I found myself at when graduating high school. During my senior year, many of my classmates were rampantly applying to dozens of different universities. Many were applying to out-of-state schools that were prestigious and in cities that were culturally more intellectual and liberal. They were looking forward to what the future held and kept their aspirations close. Back then, I was more or less done with it all. I was becoming tired of life at home and was intellectually bored at school. It seemed like things were moving along, but I felt like I was standing still. I had my heart broken a few times, and there were certain aspirations I had that were never realized. I wanted to make the all-state jazz band, but after four years of tirelessly practicing, honing my craft, and auditioning, I fell short. My grades were good, but I fell out of the top ten in class rank, a position I held for most of my time in school.
I begrudgingly went to graduation after some pressure from my brother. I didn't even order the gowns my school wanted us to buy, so I had to rush in an order from some cheap third-party outlet, so I stuck out like a sore thumb. A girl who broke my heart was the salutatorian, and I had a hard time sitting through her speech. The whole ceremony felt forced, and I felt stupid for going. When applying to colleges, I didn't think too much about the process. I applied to two schools: The University of Texas and the University of Arkansas. I knew I didn't want to be too far from home, but far enough to have my own space. I applied to Arkansas because one of my friends was dead set on going, but I knew I wasn't going there because it was a bit too far, and I didn't think I'd receive a good education there. I ended up going to Texas because it was prestigious, cheap, and thought Austin would be a good city to live in.
I ended up getting accepted to both schools; Arkansas let me into their business honors program. Texas let me in too, but I couldn't get accepted into either the business or communications schools, so I had to attend with an undeclared major. Later, I learned this was basically a sentence to the liberal arts program because internally transferring into the other degree programs was too competitive. I decided on Texas because I thought I could take a crack at an internal transfer and experience life in Austin. To make a long story short, I dropped out after two and a half years. Throughout the whole experience, I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I kept getting rejected from everything—degree programs, student organizations, internship opportunities. As the years kept going on, I felt like I was slipping further and further away from who I wanted to be; I didn't know what I wanted, but I couldn't get anything to begin with.
That attitude from senior year of high school stayed with me for a long time. I became further detached and disillusioned. I lost trust in the systems I spent so long being raised in. Even though I had faith in the system and its processes, it failed me. For a long time, I thought I was incompatible with the world and that I was forever going to be some kind of pilgrim trapped in a perpetual journey to a destination I became convinced wasn't actually there. Looking back on those years, I was wondering what I would've done differently. I don't think I made any major mistakes, but when I think back on what I could've done differently, I don't think I would've changed a thing. The real truth is the best I knew how wasn't enough, and the harsh realities of life aren't compatible with my worldview and sensibilities. I expected too much from the world, and I paid way too much money and wasted too much time learning that lesson.
Even after dealing with psychosis, depression, demons, and the depths of Hell, I still think I expect too much from the world. Despite my disillusionment with systems, I place too much faith in people. I want to believe they're good and they're figuring it out, but I'm starting to believe even that is too much. I was so preoccupied with being understood and understanding the world, I lost sight of what made me enjoy life. I know any enjoyment I get in life isn't going to be given by someone else; it'll come from those moments where I'm alone with God, pouring my heart out because He's the only one who truly listens and understands. Everyone else is too concerned with themselves to give a fuck about me, so I'm tired of trying to garner their acceptance. It doesn't make me upset, and it doesn't make me want to stop loving people, but it does make me want to stop seeking their validation.
What I do for others is never going to be enough, and it doesn't matter who that is. No one will ever be fully pleased with what I do for them, so I'm going to give up pleasing them altogether. Loving someone doesn't necessitate pleasing them. A lot of people are intimidated by my perceptive nature, and I've found that this breeds a lot of resentment in others. I'd try to use my gifts with language to persuade them into seeing the world the way I do, but it's a futile pursuit. No one is ever going to see the world the way I do, and that's okay; I don't need them to. I have a deep capacity for love, but I am not going to make the mistake of misconstruing that for restraint. If some people are going to push me around, I am going to push back. I'm not taking any of this lying down.
I keep thinking that writing here is going to be some kind of salvation, and I need to stop doing that. There's never going to be a day where it all snaps into place. There is no way out. It's just me, sitting here, figuring things out in a way that doesn't cater to someone's standards. Salvation, if it comes, will be found outside these pages.
I'm still that same pilgrim, but my destination feels a bit clearer now.
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