Living in the Shadow of My Own Potential

This post is inspired by the above image.

Some weeks ago, when I first started writing on Substack, an old friend just asked, with genuine curiosity, "So, have you written that book yet?"

The book. Right. ‘Elysium’, the one I've been "about to start" for the past six years; and ‘Lotanna’, the one I didn’t quite finish.

I've been thinking a lot about potential lately. Actually, that's not entirely true – I've been obsessing over it. It's become this heavy shadow that follows me around, showing up in the most unexpected moments. Like when I scroll through LinkedIn (bad habit, I know) and see my former classmates making giant strides in their careers.

I'm terrified of becoming that person people talk about in hushed, slightly disappointed tones. "Oh, her? Yeah, she had such potential..." I can already hear the trailing ellipsis in their voices, heavy with unspoken questions. What happened? Where did she go wrong? Why didn't she...?

The other day, I was clearing out files from my iCloud storage, when I stumbled on a note I’d written while I was in the university. It was this list of goals I'd written for myself. By 25, I was supposed to have:

- Published my first novel (LOL)

- Learned two new languages (DuoLingo Dropout here)

- Achieved financial stability

- Traveled to and explored at least 10 different countries

-Found a life partner and got married

- Become a professional consultant or thought leader in my field.

I'm 28 now, and I haven't done any of these things. I’ve always seen myself as someone with a very bright and successful future ahead of her and reading that list felt like opening a time capsule filled with landmines of disappointment. But here's the thing – and I'm only just starting to understand this – maybe the real pressure isn't coming from those old expectations. Maybe it's coming from this idea I've built up in my head about what success should look like by now. I’ve been spiralling about how I hadn't "made it" yet, whatever that means, and how I’m still trying to figure out my purpose in life (shoutout to my partner for constantly dealing with my existential crises).

"What if your potential isn't a destination? What if it's not even about achievement?"

I really don't have an answer to this.

I've also been thinking about how I measure my days now versus how I used to. Back then, it was all about the big wins, the headline moments, and the stuff you post on your Facebook updates. Now... well, now it's more complicated. Some days, I'm proud of simply writing a decent paragraph for a press release at work. Other days, I celebrate finally figuring out what I want to have for dinner or even getting through my day without the crippling anxiety. These aren't the kinds of achievements that win awards or make headlines, but they're mine.

The hardest part? Watching people from my past zoom past me on their carefully curated paths to success. Every engagement announcement, job promotion, marriage, childbirth or house purchase announcement feels like another reminder of what I haven't achieved yet. I find myself crafting elaborate explanations for why I'm "still figuring things out" when friends and relatives ask about my life and why I’m not married yet.

The truth is, I'm not even sure what I'm afraid of anymore. Is it the failure itself? Or is it the limbo of possibility that's actually terrifying? There's a certain finality in failure – at least you know where you stand. But potential? Potential is this endless expanse of "maybe" and "could be" that stretches out indefinitely, becoming more daunting with each passing year.

I keep thinking about this quote I read somewhere: "The fear of failure is really the fear of having to finally define yourself." Maybe that's what's really keeping me up at night. As long as I'm just "full of potential," I can be anything. The moment I commit to a path, I have to let go of all those other possible versions of myself.

But here's what I'm slowly learning to accept: I'm not behind. I'm not ahead. I'm just here, trying to figure out how to be a person in a world that's obsessed with measuring everything. Some days I do better at accepting this than others. Some days I still catch myself looking at that graduation photo, wanting to warn that bright-eyed girl about the complicated journey ahead.

Then again, would she have listened? Would I have wanted her to?

I don't have neat conclusions to wrap this up with. No life-changing epiphanies or five-step plans to share. Just the quiet acknowledgement that maybe, just maybe, being "the person with potential" isn't the worst thing in the world. At least it means I'm still possible.

And for now, that has to be enough.