A month into university, I decided to drop out. My friends and I used to joke about it – some even thought about setting up a Polymarket on whether or not I’ll even last a semester.
But these loose jokes aside, the decision didn’t make sense to most.
“You’re throwing away $500,000, and your college experience?”
“1 month? Why even bother going at all?”
“You have your whole life ahead of you to work – what’s the rush?”
Part of me agreed. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t look rushed or reckless.
But another part of me couldn’t shake this gut feeling – that I was supposed to be somewhere else, chasing something I couldn’t explain yet.
So in that sense, this decision didn’t feel like a leap; it felt more like giving in to gravity.
That said, I still think about what it cost. Those few weeks of freshman year felt like a second chance to be a kid again. I averaged three hours of sleep a day, to spend more time going out and just having fun. Maybe deep down I knew this might be the last time I’d be in an environment like this.
I’m leaving something I never fully had, but I’m also moving toward something that feels real to me.
I get to work on things I believe in, with people who believe in me. I get to try, fail, and build something bigger than myself.
For the first time, I’m trusting that the questions I can’t stop asking are worth more than the answers I already have.