From the Bubble to the Valley — Journey Beyond Comfort and Illusion
Captured by Mitchell Royel. Now playing: Pursuit of Happiness by Kid Cudi.
Hey,
There’s a story I’ve been carrying — one that doesn’t fit neatly into the polished narrative of suburban privilege or the neat boxes we’re often forced into. I grew up in a wealthy suburban high school, a place where conversations felt scripted, where laughter was often a mask, and where the future was laid out like a blueprint. But beneath that surface, I felt a growing restlessness, a hunger for something real.
Leaving that world behind, I took a job as a server at a local restaurant. It was a world apart — raw, unpredictable, and alive. The late nights were filled with laughter that wasn’t rehearsed, conversations that cut through the noise of my old life. I remember one of the guys I worked with, a musician, inviting me to a backyard show in the valley. Driving there, I felt the pulse of a world I’d only glimpsed from afar — a world where people weren’t defined by their wealth or status but by their stories, their struggles, their truths.
The restaurant itself was a classroom of life. I perfected the art of folding kid menus — a small, almost meditative task that grounded me amid the chaos. It was in these moments, folding those little menus over and over, that I found a strange kind of peace. It was a ritual, a way to keep my hands busy while my mind wrestled with everything else.
Before my girlfriend, there was another girl — she caught me off guard, hitting on me during a shift. For the first time, I felt truly seen, not as a product of my environment but as someone with depth and complexity. That moment cracked open the illusion I’d been living in.
Then came my girlfriend — a force of nature wrapped in vulnerability. She was bipolar, and living with her was like riding a wave I couldn’t predict. The mood swings were intense, the late nights filled with silence and sudden storms. I remember her dad knocking on the door, speaking in a language I didn’t understand, his voice low and urgent. Those moments were raw and real, a stark contrast to the polished life I’d left behind. It was messy, complicated, but it was life — unfiltered and true.
Meeting her through a friend at the community college was a turning point. She challenged me, pulled me out of complacency, and convinced me to drop out and leave my job. It was terrifying — stepping into the unknown with nothing but faith and a restless heart. Six months later, I was signed to a modeling agency. Suddenly, the world I’d known shifted again.
After my run with the modeling agency, I found myself drawn to a fitness studio — a place where I could reclaim control over my body and mind. The discipline of the workouts grounded me, offering a rhythm and focus that I hadn’t realized I needed. It was another form of transformation, one that wasn’t about image but about strength and resilience.
Then came the drive back into my hometown, this time for a job interview at a bookstore. The plaza looked the same, yet everything felt different — or maybe it was me who had changed. Walking into that quiet space filled with stories, I felt a strange comfort. It was a reminder that life isn’t just about chasing the next big thing; sometimes it’s about finding stillness, connection, and purpose in the everyday.
Here’s what I’ve come to understand:
Authenticity is a rebellion. The raw conversations and laughter at the restaurant were acts of defiance against a world obsessed with appearances.
To be seen is to be vulnerable. That girl’s boldness showed me the power of recognition beyond surface-level judgments.
Growth demands risk. Leaving the safety of school and a steady job was terrifying, but necessary.
Community is our anchor. The people who walk with us through uncertainty shape who we become.
The journey is never linear. Returning home felt like stepping into a story still unfolding — one I’m both author and character in.
Love is complicated and real. Loving someone with bipolar disorder taught me patience, empathy, and the beauty in imperfection.
Strength comes in many forms. Fitness wasn’t just physical; it was mental and emotional, a way to reclaim myself.
Purpose can be found in quiet places. The bookstore was a sanctuary, a place to breathe and reconnect with what truly matters.
We’re all navigating the tension between who we were and who we’re becoming. The cool thing? We get to write our own narratives, break free from the scripts handed to us, and create something real — something us.
Stay restless. Stay brave. Stay us.
— Deck