Member-only story
I’m Obsessed With Learning Because I’m Afraid No One Will Believe Me
Why are we like this?
“What’s something bad about your childhood that made you a better person?”
We are strolling along a murky, sluggish river as my friend shares this question, which comes from his therapist. He can see the skeptical, sidelong look in my eyes. I’ve had enough of toxic positivity. It’s too easy to bury real pain under a pile of empty platitudes and “life lessons.”
“Like the experience itself was shitty,” he clarifies. “But surviving it, adapting to it, helped develop one of your best qualities.”
I mull the question over as I watch the dogs scamper in and out of the stunted trees ahead. More than one response rises to the surface. Then my eyes prickle with sharp and sudden tears, and I know I’ve found my answer.
I’ve never thought of it this way before, but its truth is so visceral that I’m instantly certain.
An endless stream of books.
Three University degrees.
The cell-deep hunger to know, to discover, to ferret out the secrets of the Universe.
All these things that enrich my life, give it contour and colour, joy and purpose.
