It is strange that recollections of school still dominate my sense of self so much. And not even the experience of school as a whole, but particular moments which loom large in my mind’s eye.
Even now, over thirty years on, I still blame my failings then for my perceived failures now. Rarely do I recall any of the achievements that followed, which might vindicate me from notions that I’m an imposter at work.
Imprinted on my mind not a decent academic degree, but memories of homework not done, French vocabulary not learnt and lunchtimes spent gazing at nothing but the inventions of Professor Brainstorm in the school library.
Forever recalled, every bad report and exam result, every fed up teacher and cutting denunciation, lamenting that I was destined for failure. Never recalled, the MPhil which completed my formal education. I only recall that I squandered every opportunity.
How could it be that those early formative experiences could have such a profound impact on all that followed? How is it that even today those experiences still dominate my sense of self, causing me to castigate myself daily? Have I really achieved nothing since that ever so awkward youth?
So many regrets for so many moments so very long ago. Why not an ounce of pride for any success or achievement in the intervening years? I left school thirty years ago, twice the length of time to that juncture, two thirds of my life apart, the last third developing a worthwhile career at last.
Isn’t it time to leave all of these recollections behind?
Last modified: 19 October 2023
