Fact Check Me: I Missed It the First Time

I didn’t miss university—I just wasn’t ready for it.

I didn’t waste my time in university.

I just didn’t know what I was doing while I was there.

Not too long ago, if you asked my son what he wanted to do after high school, he would’ve told you he wanted to be a firefighter.

And if he went down that path, he would’ve had the proudest dad a firefighter could have.

But like a lot of kids his age, he changed his mind.

He found something that actually interested him—something that lit him up. And from what I can tell, he found it because of a teacher. A public school teacher, of all places, who actually knows his shit.

I’m grateful he lucked out.

But this isn’t about that.

Because now we’re touring universities.

And I’ll be honest—I didn’t expect to feel anything about it.

He’s still got another year of high school, but apparently that doesn’t matter anymore. You have to start early. You have to get ahead. You have to decide what your life looks like before you’ve even lived enough of it to know what you like.

Fine.

So we go.

We walk campuses. We sit through tours. We listen to students talk about programs and opportunities and “the experience.”

And somewhere along the way, something unexpected happens.

I start to feel excited.

Not just for him—for me.

And yeah, I know exactly what that is.

I’m living through him.

Because I didn’t feel any of this when I had my shot.

I went to university. I graduated. I did everything I was supposed to do.

And I missed it.

I was burned out coming out of high school. I didn’t know what I actually cared about. I didn’t explore anything—I just followed the path in front of me.

Pick courses that match what you already took.

Pick a program that makes sense on paper.

Get it done.

So I did.

I even switched once. Almost switched again. But at a certain point, it didn’t matter anymore. University wasn’t something I wanted to experience—it was something I needed to finish.

Something to get off my plate so I could finally start my life.

And on top of that?

I was shy. Awkward. Not exactly the guy walking into lecture halls ready to take over the room.

So yeah… my “university experience” was lacking.

Not completely.

I did meet the love of my life in a Shakespeare class in Curtis Lecture Hall B.

So it wasn’t a total loss.

But the truth is, I never really understood what university was supposed to be.

Not until now.

Now I walk these campuses with my son, and I see it.

I see the energy. The curiosity. The possibility.

I see what happens when someone shows up because they actually want to be there.

And I realize—I didn’t miss university.

I missed the mindset.

Because university isn’t about the degree.

It’s about the engagement.

It’s about caring enough to ask questions.

It’s about being curious enough to explore.

It’s about being ready.

And I wasn’t.

That’s the part nobody tells you.

We don’t send kids to university when they’re ready.

We send them when the timeline says they should go.

Eighteen. Graduate. Move on.

Like there’s a right moment stamped on everyone’s life.

Like curiosity, purpose, and identity all show up on schedule.

They don’t.

So we take kids who are exhausted, unsure, and still figuring themselves out…

…and we drop them into one of the most expensive, defining experiences of their lives—

and hope they grow into it fast enough to make it worth it.

Most of them aren’t.

They’re tired.

They’re unsure.

They’re still figuring out who they are.

So they do what I did.

They pick something that fits.

They get through it.

They move on.

And then, years later, they look back and realize…

They never really showed up.

Now, standing on these campuses, I can’t help but think:

I’d be better at this now.

I’d ask better questions.

I’d care more.

I’d actually engage with what I’m learning.

There are tools now I never had back then—or maybe I just never used them.

Either way, I know I’d do it differently.

And yeah, there’s a part of me that wonders what that would look like.

But let’s be real.

Half of what I’m drawn to isn’t the education—it’s the experience.

Dorms.

Late nights.

Hanging around the quad.

Thursday pub nights.

And that part?

That’s gone.

No one wants a 50-year-old guy hanging around like he belongs there.

I remember being that age.

We tore up the 30-year-old guy for showing up at the club.

I’d be everyone’s dad.

Worse—I’d be the dad asking to borrow your notes because I never learned how to take them the first time around.

So no—I’m not going back.

But I’m also not missing it this time.

Because I get to watch it happen the way it’s supposed to.

I get to see someone show up ready.

Ready to care.

Ready to engage.

Ready to build something that actually means something to him.

And maybe that’s the trade.

You don’t always get the experience when it happens.

Sometimes you get the understanding later.

And if you’re lucky—

you get to watch someone else step into it at the exact moment you finally understand what it was.