I Never Stopped Learning

I don’t have a completed college degree. I do have a long history of learning.

Classes. Certifications. Books. Questions that sent me looking for answers and led somewhere I hadn’t expected.

That curiosity has stayed with me. Finding a way to work with it has been harder.

School was harder than my grades suggested

In eleventh grade, I dropped out. Eventually, I realized my parents might actually have known what they were talking about (don’t tell my mom). I went back the following school year and graduated a year behind the rest of my class.

Going back didn’t resolve the attendance problem. My father would take me to school, and sometimes I’d walk in one door, cross the building, and walk straight out another. I did get a great tan from all those trips to the beach or park.

Sorry. Got off on a tangent. Back to school.

By twelfth grade, I had to convince a few teachers to excuse my absences and a few administrators to allow those exceptions so I could graduate. Even with how much school I missed, I maintained C grades. Missed work and absences from specific test-prep classes brought those grades down.

Looking back, I believe I could have earned As if I’d been able to sit through the classes and participate consistently. Understanding the material and showing up to do the work were different challenges for me.

I was bored, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. As a kid, I didn’t know what to call the patterns I was experiencing.

A similar pattern followed me into college. I took classes, but I never completed a degree. There were real consequences to that, and I still wonder what might have helped.

WHY, WHAT, HOW

The learning continued.

When something interested me or presented the right challenge, I could be relentless about understanding it—down to the smallest details.

WHY does it happen? WHAT am I missing? HOW does it work?

One answer would lead to another question. I wanted to understand how the pieces fit together, why they worked that way, and whether there might be a better way.

I kept taking classes, earning certifications, and reading. My formal education was inconsistent, but my desire to learn stayed with me.

That curiosity could hold my attention for hours. It could also make it hard to step away.

When the consequences grew

As an adult, responsibilities grew, and these difficulties carried bigger consequences. Stress made them more noticeable and harder to manage.

They also became a serious issue in my marriage.

I could become so absorbed in something that I stayed focused through the night, sometimes going without sleep. Meanwhile, things that mattered to my wife weren’t getting the same attention. To her, that could seem like I didn’t care.

I could get up to go fishing or do something I was interested in, yet struggle to get up for other commitments. I can understand how frustrating that difference could be.

As stress increased, so did the mess and chaos at home. Getting absorbed in something could give me a sense of calm. But I wasn’t the only person living in that house. My way of finding relief affected someone else, too.

“I messed up AGAIN”

The broken promises and missed occasions weren’t because I didn’t care. Often, I had big plans to make them special.

But I would lose track of the days—thinking an occasion happening that Friday was still three weeks away. I underestimated how long things would take and promised more than I could follow through on. Time blindness and overwhelm were part of that pattern.

After letting someone down, I’d tell myself, “Next year, I’m going to remember. I’m going to do better.” I meant it.

Then I’d get caught up in something and run out of time again.

The shame was: “I messed up AGAIN.”

After a while, I started questioning myself—even though I knew how much I cared. I had promised myself I would do better, and here I was, letting someone I loved down again.

Knowing that I cared didn’t make those missed occasions or broken promises hurt any less for her. And telling myself to do better hadn’t given me a reliable way to follow through.

What might have helped?

Recently, I spoke with a mother who was finding resources and taking an active role in her child’s care. I told her how much I respected that. It brought me back to my own childhood.

My parents sought help, too. They had me evaluated for what was then called ADD, and they were told I didn’t have it. I wasn’t disruptive or bouncing off the walls. From my experience, and accounts I’ve read from people in similar situations, it feels like those outward behaviors were what many people associated with it. I’ve wondered whether the quieter struggles were easier to overlook.

I can’t know exactly how my life would have unfolded with different support. But I believe the right challenge, support, and tools can change a person’s direction.

I wish I’d had more help understanding how I learned, where I struggled, and what I needed to follow through. Later, I needed that understanding in the parts of life where someone else was counting on me.

I’m glad I kept learning. I also wish some of that learning had come sooner.

If your own history includes unfinished courses, promises you meant to keep, or a path that became difficult to explain, you may recognize something here. You don’t need to share my diagnosis or my exact experience for part of this story to feel familiar.

That’s part of why I’m building The Tangent Club: to share honest stories, useful ideas, and a little humor with people whose minds take a different route.

I’m still curious. I’m still learning how to make everyday life work better.

And I suspect I have some company.