Maybe it’s my age, but I’ve been in this eternal state of self-reflection for quite a while now. A recent question asking my favorite subject in school sent me down a path I haven’t thought about much lately.

Somewhere along the way, during my adolescence, I believed the voices around me and bought into the notion that success looked like studying accounting as an undergrad and then attending law school, after which I would find employment as a corporate attorney and make piles of cash. This is, after all, the “American Dream.” At least it is for many people, but something about this never suited me.

I remember sitting in class and feeling I had no idea what I was doing there. I knew what other people said about why I was there. So, I thought that something would eventually click if I kept moving in the same direction as everyone else.

It never did.

Growing up, there was nothing I enjoyed more than going to the library. To this day, I can walk into a library — any library — and feel like I am home. It’s no surprise, then, that my favorite subject in school was English. My least enjoyable days in an English class were better than my best days in any other subject. In high school, I added creative writing as an elective to the mix. This makes one wonder why I didn’t pursue this as a field of study in college.

I can answer that question.

When I was in the sixth grade, my friend Michael and I spent time during open study periods trying our hand at writing a play. We spent a lot of time on this side project of ours, waiting to see where it would take us. At some point, however, Mrs. Murphy must have noticed just how much time we were devoting to it.

Linda Murphy was our homeroom teacher that year. She was a former Catholic nun teaching at St. Benedict’s Catholic School. I found it odd that St. B’s was located on Lord Road. I’m trying to understand why. I just did.

Mrs. Murphy was unlike any other teacher I had to that point. She was funny, encouraging, creative, and wasn’t afraid to color outside the lines. I still count her among my favorite teachers. So I didn’t think much of it when, on a progress report at some point during that year, she commented that perhaps Michael and I were devoting too much of our free study time to writing our play. That was fair, and I could see where we might want to balance things out to some degree. But I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

The response to the comment on my progress report resulted in a “no more writing” directive. As I recall, Mrs. Murphy stated this was not her intention. She was only seeking balance in how we spent our time. But for others, there would be none of that. This was a zero-sum game. Even as I recount this event, it evokes a slew of emotions, shame being chief among them.

I’m not someone who blames my discontentment with my life on anyone but myself. After all, it’s my responsibility to determine how I will respond to the traumas and hurts of my childhood. But, I will always look to understand why I’ve made the choices I did and how I might make better and more life-giving decisions moving forward.

At this stage of life, I’m not sure I’ll ever fully realize what might have been had I given myself permission to listen fully to my creative voice. I’ve seen glimpses of what life might have been through the years. Those sightings are glimmers and glimpses that all at once elicit joy and sadness.

In recent months, I’ve lost two people, one older and another relatively young, who never fully realized their creative potential. Novelist Paul Coelho said, “One day, you will wake up, and there won’t be any more time to do things you’ve always wanted. Do it now.”

While there is no way to know how this plays out, I prefer to go off into the sunset, heading in the right direction.