Writer's Block Magazine

At 28, I’m just a year away from completing my bachelor’s degree, something that, not too long ago, felt distant and out of reach. My path here wasn’t straightforward, and at times, I’ve wondered if I was even on the right track. But as I look back, I realize this journey has shaped me, helping me grow and understand what I truly want.

When I was younger, I dreamt of  a life without constant worry—for myself, my mom, and the people I care about. Success, especially in academics, is about more than intelligence; it’s about navigating life’s circumstances. Growing up, those circumstances weren’t always easy.

In high school, I struggled to focus on my studies. Instead of doing homework, I often escaped into novels, losing myself in fictional worlds rather than facing the pressures of reality. As a result, I graduated with a kader diploma, far from what I once hoped for. After completing my MBO degree, I knew there was still more I wanted to achieve, even though I was often advised to aim for something more “realistic.” For a while, I settled into a retail job, convincing myself that maybe this was where I belonged.

I wondered if I had missed my chance to pursue something bigger. It’s easy to believe that once you’re off track, it’s impossible to get back on. I questioned whether I was “smart enough” or if too much time had passed to turn things around. The thought of going back to school felt daunting and out of reach. The more I reflected, though, the more I realized that what weighed on me more than anything else was the thought of never trying at all.

It felt like now or never. Working retail jobs drained me, and each day it became harder to picture a future beyond that routine. I would clock in, go through the motions, and then clock out—feeling like I was wasting my potential. My friends didn’t seem to struggle with these questions: they were either building their careers or content with where they were. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be more for me. That’s when I decided to make the leap and go back to school.

In search of guidance, I turned to the books and poetry I loved, and it was then that I rekindled my love for Tennyson’s Ulysses. I identified with Ulysses’ restless desire to keep pushing forward, even after everything he had been through. He reminded me that “tis not too late to seek a newer world.” Like him, I realized that I, too, could break free from the familiar and pursue something greater. Staying where I was, in the safety of the familiar, had become unbearable. I needed to move forward, to see who I could become.

Returning to school felt like sailing into uncharted waters. Before I could pursue a university degree, I first needed to obtain my propaedeutic diploma at HBO level, which was an academic hurdle in itself. There were moments of doubt, financial struggles, and the challenge of adjusting to an academic environment after so many years away from formal education. But I knew this was the path I had to take to move forward. And then, when the pandemic hit, it brought new obstacles, both external and personal.

There were moments when I wanted to give up, but I kept reminding myself of Ulysses’ words: “tho’ much is taken, much abides.” That persistence kept me going. Over time, I’ve realized it’s not about how quickly you move, but that you keep going even when it’s hard to see the way forward. 

Now, nearing the end of this chapter, I’ve come to see success not as a final destination but as an ongoing process. Each step brings new challenges, but also new opportunities. I used to doubt whether I could do this, but now I understand that it’s okay for the path to look different, for the timeline to shift, and for uncertainty to be a part of it. What matters is that I keep moving forward. That’s what I take from Ulysses´ words: “to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Tennyson, Alfred. “Ulysses.” The Norton Anthology of English Literature, edited by Stephen Greenblatt et al., 10th ed., vol. E, The Victorian Age, W.W. Norton & Company, 2018, pp. 156-158.