I'm a college dropout.

That phrase carries a lot of stigma, as I've learned. I knew third-handed what kind of weight that phrase carried, but wasn't aware of how powerfully crippling it could be until I became one.

Let's get something straight right now: I didn't quit college because of any hardship or extenuating circumstance or awful life event.

I quit because I just stopped caring.

I stopped putting energy into going to class, I stopped giving a crap about listening to a professor prattle on about a topic I could easily research in my own time. I ceased to have any motivation to get a degree, a piece of paper in a fancy folder with my name (likely) misspelled in cursive, telling the world "I jumped through a few years of hoops and unnecessary classes to get this thing that makes you want to hire me."

I came to a realization that a little piece of paper with my name on it wasn't that important to me. Plus I learned how much I enjoyed time with friends and booze over sitting in class, which definitely helped spearhead my jaunt down a self-deprecating lane.

Could I have done things better? Oh sure. I could've shaped up, paid my bills on time, actually attended classes and finished assignments and worked my academic butt off to graduate in a few years -- but that's no guarantee of anything. At least I don't believe so.

College degrees are quite helpful, yes… for folks studying certain subjects or desiring a particular career down the road. Degrees can mean a difference of several thousand dollars (upwards of a million) over one's lifetime. They should be a gateway into that "dream job" everyone has in mind, whether they know what it is or not.

I guess that makes me an outlier, as I'm currently holding down number two in a long personal list of "dream jobs." I quickly get tired and bored of a lot of things; my curse is that I want a new and interesting endeavor to sink my teeth into fairly frequently. I'm impatient; my brain needs constant refreshing.

That may sound cocky, but it's more of a self-awareness. I didn't learn that until my second attempt at college, at Washburn. I was in acting classes, I got cast in a large play, and I learned through experience how important self-awareness was, on stage and off. That's one of those skills you don't realize you're gaining at first. It helped when I started to get lazy and disinterested, and eventually, through poor grades and no money, when I kicked myself out of college.

Then came a much tougher realization: that I hate working. I think everybody hates working. Everything eventually becomes a job, and everyone needs a vacation from their work even if they are absolutely in love with it. The street corner beggar even takes vacations -- his just isn't as long as yours might be.

So, this degree-less bum had to go to work. Money is a necessary evil. I eventually took a job I hated because it paid for necessary things. I was back living with my parents (like a lot of millenials end up doing now, it's nothing to be ashamed of). On the positive side, I was living in Colorado, so I had pretty scenery to surround myself with while I lived in my self-created squalor.

I don't recommend doing that. If you start college, by all means finish it, even if it takes you a hundred years. At the very least, finish college for the sake of your finances. Student loan payments are less painful when you can defer them repeatedly; they don't let you defer them if you quit.

So, what happened? I kept searching. In my spare time, I improved myself, sharpened some skills and generally brought my mental health back to a point of self-respect. I've always had a version of depression that shows up occasionally, making it difficult for me to do anything. The month before I moved back home, my depression was borne out of not giving a damn about my own life, so I made myself sick through stress and lack of activity. I was waylaid on my friend's couch for at least two weeks, self-medicating (not in a harmful way) and feeling sorry for myself.

That's a tough monster to kill, feeling sorry for yourself. Once you defeat it -- and it takes a long time, maybe your whole life -- you can kick butt at the things you've always wanted to do. Having fluctuating depression makes it even more challenging, but I've got a system down now which helps offset any negative waves.

I screwed myself up, in the traditional sense. But maybe I'm not meant to follow a traditional path. At this point, I'm convinced I'm meant to carve a new trail, one that only I can navigate.

It's working out so far.

What about your path?