CONTINUED: Why I left a big university for a shot at social sanity

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Man down!

Word had gotten out that I didn’t have a roommate. Unless I wanted to pay almost double, I had to get one. I was disheartened at the prospect of another unbearable situation. Then a little guy in a U.S. Navy ball cap knocked on my door, pleading.

After quizzing him, I felt reasonably certain we could coexist. He was academically inclined and had been stuck with an inconsiderate frat pledge, causing him to get little sleep or study time. I was sympathetic, so I gave in.

But his daily routine wore on me. He was part of the university’s Navy ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps). Up at 4:30 a.m. to go running and marching, in bed at 11:30 p.m., he spent the hours we were together asking me for silence so he could study and requesting I join him for meals at the same precise times every day.

Everyone who knows me understands that I’m quiet. So one day, after surviving a drill-sergeant-like lecture for being too loud, and apparently forcing him to seek refuge in the library, I fantasized about him stumbling badly in front of his stiff comrades.

He soon did. One broken leg for him, one guilty conscious for me.

I felt terrible for the guy. With his injury, he would soon fall behind in his program and struggle to catch up. It would take longer to realize his dream of becoming a naval officer, something he felt pressure to achieve from the other men in his family.

Which is probably why he kept practicing—on me. I was delegated to fetching his food, carrying his books, picking up anything else he needed, and listening to his pitiful remarks about being a failure.

Good soldier that I was, I dutifully followed his orders. To protest would have meant a Jersey-style sit-down with his Italian grandparents, something I already had to endure from his mother for a week after the woeful whippersnapper fractured his precious limb.

I was too reserved to seek help. So I toughed out the rest of the school year with the military brat. Eventually, I even came to like him. But I lost a lot of confidence in myself along the way. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel comfortable in social settings, or even simple relationships.

Things get better when you’re honest with yourself

Such is life as a poor, painfully withdrawn university freshman forced to live on campus. It’s too big a leap for a shy kid. Which is why I didn’t go back.

After a lazy summer of “soul-searching,” I started attending a vocational school instead. Socially, it was just the fix I needed. The classes were smaller, with many of the same people in each one—and I didn’t have to live with them.

I slowly emerged from my armor, making friendships that inspired me to acknowledge what I’m capable of. Small surges, over time, made me a giant.

So I did find the magic. I just had to do it my way.