One day in kindergarten, the teacher taught us how to cut a circle out of construction paper. We were making cards, or posters, or something, and we each needed a red round. She started with a square piece of paper and cut off the corners. This led to an octagon, and she cut the corners off that. She continued cutting the increasingly obtuse angles until she held a pretty circle in her hand. It was obviously an efficient method, perfect for five-year-olds.

But I wasn’t buying any of it. The method looked too mechanical, too slow. Why not just cut the shape freehand? Which is just what I did. Or tried to do. Instead of a four-inch diameter circle, I ended up with a two-inch ragged pear. It proved impossible for me to cut a circle by eye; no matter how many times I went around it with scissors, my creation looked anything but circular. The teacher, rather smugly I thought, used me as an example for what happens when you don’t follow directions.

I have always had a hard time doing things the way everyone else does. I’d like to blame my father’s ranting against “the establishment,” but it seems unlikely that his politics were to blame for my contrariness in kindergarten. My refusal to follow normal patterns probably contributed to later career misadventures, relationship difficulties, and health problems. It would have been so much easier to choose the field of study I enjoyed rather than one that seemed more impressive. My life would now be richer if I’d focused on raising a family rather than neurotic fears. My health would be better if I’d never wasted time with marijuana, alcohol, and so on.

Some people seem blessed from an early age with knowledge of what’s important in life. A good friend of mine in college happily pointed out pregnant women, because he was so interested in starting a family. Nothing could have been further from my mind at that time. He now has three delightful offspring, and I have none. Other friends chose careers they felt passionate about, and some have achieved significant success as a result of their healthy decisions and years of perseverance. I, of course, find myself in retirement at age fifty-three.

So there has been a price to pay for nonconformity. Many prices, in fact. But today, it makes more sense to focus on what was gained instead of what was lost. By operating outside the mainstream, I’ve learned that life can be valuable even if it doesn’t follow the healthiest path. I’ve found that although a family and satisfying career no doubt help one find satisfaction, they aren’t essential. Even in the midst of pain and disability, life remains fascinating and often beautiful.

So although I’m prone to break down and often feel discouraged by my fate (which I admit to having shaped by my own choices), I spring back soon enough. And each time I rise up from despair I feel less tainted by it. Learning that the mere process of living is enough, no matter what goes wrong or how much it hurts, is of inestimable value. It leaves me ever more certain that I will weather whatever destiny may hold in store for me.

You have a right to be skeptical after my last essay. How can someone who entertains suicidal fantasies claim resilience in the face of hardship? My only defense is to say that resilience doesn’t imply that one is upright and rigid like an obelisk. Instead, it suggests the suppleness of a sapling, which can be flattened nearly to the ground by blasts of wind, but then springs upright once the storm clears. Having been knocked down countless times by circumstance, I now feel confident of my ability to bounce back.

And let me emphasize that this has been a learned skill as much or more than an ingrained trait. In younger years a single perceived rejection could lead to weeks of self-contempt and withdrawal. Nowadays I can ride out debilitating pain, humiliating treatment by a new doctor, utter cluelessness about my purpose in life, and still feel fairly happy to be alive once I get the initial tantrum out of my system.

Whence this ability to find satisfaction in the face of discomfort? It came from meditation, introspection, writing, and practice, practice, practice. Luckily, life has provided me many opportunities to develop a talent for rising up again after pain, disappointment, and despair knock me down.