Draft with Revisions

My father told me what life was.

You go to school.

You get a job.

You earn money.

You retire.

My father didn’t offer this as advice, no. He described it as routine, a set way of doing things that had worked before. Years of hardship, repetition, and caution shaped this path. There was no room for discussion. I never questioned it because that seemed pointless, even wasteful, and waste was not allowed in that system.

School was not a curiosity.

School was compliance.

Early on, I learned that success had clear limits. It was a narrow but obvious path, worn down by those who came before me. If you stayed within the lines, nothing surprising happened. Surprises were costly.

This is what I was told.

Revision 1

My father never talked about what life might become. He only described what life was.

The difference matters.

School wasn’t about learning; it was about safety. Getting an education meant you wouldn’t go hungry, wouldn’t be ignored, and wouldn’t become a warning for younger cousins who paid close attention. Curiosity was a choice. Stability was a must for me.

University wasn’t a place to explore. It was a gate. Some subjects made it wider; others, tighter. Passion didn’t matter. What counted was how quickly you could get a job.

I went along with it because that was easier than explaining what it felt like to be hungry.

Revision 2

By the time I reached the age when choice was expected, tBy the time I was old enough to make choices, the decisions had already been made for me. It felt like filling out forms with all the boxes checked, just waiting for my signature.

The path was safe.

The path didn’t care who I was. It just expected me to keep going the same way.

Revision 3

This story is not about rebellion.

That would mean I pushed back, but pushing back means stopping the flow.

I never slammed doors or declared my independence. There was no big moment. The system worked without any fights. Days went by, I collected credentials, and achievements came in the expected order.

They were achievements, but they didn’t feel like they were really mine.

From the outside, the structure appeared complete.

From the inside, it appeared correct.

But just doing things right isn’t the same as feeling alive.

Revision 4

I need to be clear about this.

My father wasn’t harsh. He was cautious. He grew up in a world where mistakes were costly and being safe was seen as a good thing. In that world, doing things differently wasn’t brave—it was risky. To survive, you needed discipline.

He passed that logic to me intact.

I carried it well.

Revision 5

Here’s the real problem:

A system built for survival can’t give you meaning. Survival needs efficiency. It cuts out anything extra, avoids risk, and gets rid of waste. But meaning needs all those things.

Survival systems aren’t broken. They just have limits.

No one tells you this when you’re doing well.

Revision 6

By the time I realized something was missing, I had already gotten used to it.

I was educated.

I was employed.

I was progressing.

Progress is convincing. It makes you feel like asking questions is ungrateful and hesitating means you’re failing. It encourages you to just keep going.

So I changed what I expected from life instead of trying to change the system.

I convinced myself that this was what being an adult meant.

Final Revision

This is not a confession.

This is not a complaint.

This is a look at how things are set up.

A life built entirely on inherited instructions will hold together. It will be coherent. It will function. It will succeed by its own definition.

But just making sense isn’t the same as feeling fulfilled.

The change starts here, not by rejecting the past, but by taking ownership.

It’s not about running away, but about making something new.

It’s not just about feelings, but about making choices, acceptable choices, of course.

I am Lori, and this is my story...

End of draft.