During my last year of high school, I dislocated my shoulder while surfing with friends. When the painful shoulder was put back in place, the doctor advised me that it could be prone to repeated dislocation unless I returned for surgery. 

This prediction went against how I thought of myself—as a happy-go-lucky kid with few worries. Convinced that the shoulder would heal naturally, I didn’t go back for the surgery. 

Because of my carefree view of myself and the world, I hadn’t applied myself much in high school—despite the values my family tried to instill in me—and wasn’t doing well academically. It was doubtful that I could get the kind of college education my parents envisioned for me. Fortunately, I wasn’t into drinking, smoking, or recreational drugs and had begun to separate myself from my friends who were. With few friends remaining, I just tried to study harder and exercise more.