In the wake of my decision to part ways with the conventional path of university, I found myself navigating the twists and turns of life. A seemingly unsuccessful return to the workforce turned unexpectedly positive when I stumbled into a workplace where understanding and support were the norm. Yet, the limitations of my brain, an intricate labyrinth of its own, made their presence known. In contemplating my next steps, the idea of delving into academics to understand human behaviour through a master's or doctorate program whispered to me.

Cultural Anthropology, a subject that hadn't graced my schedule in over a decade, became the doorway to a new world. Two 1.5-hour classes a week seemed like a manageable commitment, but a familiar overwhelming feeling crept in as the weeks unfolded. Nevertheless, the subject matter, unravelling the foundations of Western anthropology, its origins, founding members, and evolution into its present form, intrigued me.

Unexpectedly, this academic exploration led me into a realm I hadn't foreseen – that of an artist. Raised in an environment where the term "artist" carried a negative connotation, I discovered a creative streak within myself. Rooted in my parents' desire for straightforwardness as first-generation settlers, this aspect of my experience became a secret shared only with my therapist. The intersection of a deep interest in human behaviour, a passion for storytelling, and an innate curiosity about people's journeys became clear. I yearned to uncover individuals' authenticity, tracing their growth from infancy to unique adulthood.

Stay tuned for tomorrow, part 2 of 3…