Leigh Kimmel says:

My greatest problem in school was not understanding that teachers wanted their students intelligent, but not too intelligent. They wanted students who would reflect glory on them, not outshine them. So I never understood why my teachers would be all praise for the first few weeks of a new school year, only to turn nitpicky and look for every excuse to grade me down, to give me a B instead of an A. I asked “too many questions,” never mind they told us that asking questions was how we learned. I used “too many big words,” never mind our teachers were constantly pushing us to expand our vocabulary. Worst of all, I liked topics that were “too obscure” — and only years later, in retrospect, did I realize that it was code for “too hard for them to understand, therefore threatening because I clearly did.”

I thought getting out in the working world would change that, especially in an industry that was supposed to want smart employees. But it wasn’t long before I fell into the same pattern: the boss had nothing but good to say about me for the first month or two, and after that, nothing but endless sniping criticism meant to cut me down rather than improve my performance. Eventually I’d get the message and look for a new job, only to have the cycle repeat itself.

At least I didn’t have expensive tastes or habits, so I was able to sock away a decent amount of money during those years. These days I live in a little beach house that belongs to an old friend, and I spend my days painting in the nearby tourist-trap town, attracting enough attention that I sometimes get commissions, as well as the sales of my on-spec pieces.

Recently I’ve been talking with my new neighbor, a retired doctor who’s been introducing me to terms such as “neurodivergent” and “Asperger’s.” It’s given me a lot to think about, although at this point in my life, I’m just as happy where I am.