Wasted Potential

Idle Time | January 2026

A reflection on potential, process, and the quiet fear of living a life un-lived. On choosing the mess of becoming over the comfort of staying small.

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Often times when it comes to stepping into the image of who we are or who we wish to become, we’re often expected to arrive as a finished product — concise, aesthetically curated and organised. But it’s very rarely like that. Nowadays you never really see the process being applauded: the public work in progress, the messiness, the thousand attempts at finding your style, your voice, your lane, lastly your stage for your performance.

In this day and age, searching, trying new things and exploring is labelled as performative. You’re criticised for trying new things, stepping out of the bounds of what you’re known for, breaking the mould or the mental image they have of you — who they understood you to be. People fear what they don’t understand, hate what they can’t conquer. Guess it’s just inferior man becoming a monster. Cough cough, Nas lyrics.

But I feel that criticism stems from being reminded of their own fear of embracing their own light, talent and potential. When witnessing others fearlessly embracing their own with conviction, it’s like they’ve witnessed something I should know — a secret to self-belief, a sign from the universe, a dream vision, a blimp in the sky — who knows…

But they project onto you what long since limited themselves. One of the most disheartening things is witnessing adults long since past their primes profess all the dreams they’d let go of and the weight of regret that accompanies it — be it out of survival, responsibilities, or just the lack of a clear path. There’s a particular sadness amidst their eyes that whispers if they had one chance to go back, they’d take it to do it all right. Or at least give it an honest try.

Growing up, we’re often mislabelled and sorted into boxes as children, where others would cast their bets on what we’d become, but very rarely take in whom we wished to be — especially when measured against their metrics of success, which is often monetary. But I get it, we have to pay to live, right? But if the soul is unfed, are we really living or merely existing? A hollowed-out existence. You can always beautify the surface, but really — how are you feeling?

Nowadays I believe the curriculum of social media serves as both a hellscape and a bandage. Some of the loneliest souls appear to be the most put together, the most active, at every social event, posts surrounded by family and friends — but still at war in their minds, ignoring the whispers of their souls.

But in my eyes, Substack is the last digital refuge for those that are still trying, searching, exploring — be it shy, fearful, nervous or hesitant — we’re still trying…

I myself, one of the earliest things I wanted to be was a cartoonist, but as someone with my background, that isn’t a viable option, so that gets scratched off as “you’re going to be an architect”, which I tried and honestly hated. It wasn’t for me.

I pursued many things, but none of them felt meant for me. But I was compensated, so that quieted me for a while. But here I am, with no idea in the world of what lies ahead of me, in this pursuit of self-expression — not external validation or glory — trusting that this path is for me.

The thing no one tells you about adulting is there are often two types of people we choose to become, be it implicitly or explicitly: the one who blindly follows their potential in hopes to truly live out the whispers of their soul, and those that succumb to dogma and live lives they weren’t an author of.

One thing I fear more than anything is dying with the weight of regret — that I lived a life unlived. I want to try everything, discover hidden talents and learn from them, meet, experience, collaborate and learn from others along the way. Maybe that’s the root of this restlessness I’ve lived with all my life. I guess I wasn’t meant to be tethered or held down in one place or another. Maybe I’m destined to be a leaf in the wind, bear witness to it all and translate said experiences into a language we all know and understand.

So in quiet rebellion, I’ll let it be messy — but you know, just my brand of it. I guess this next chapter of my story is committing to that, committing to me, and honouring the vow I made to my inner child, wherever that’ll take me, despite how nerve-racking.

Doing all I can do and letting the cards fall where they may… The highest human act is to inspire. So through doing me, I hope I can inspire others along the way.

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For those who’ve stayed with me this far thank you, if this message resonated you might also like ‘Burn the boats’ an earlier reflection of mine.

Much love,

Rich

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Burn The Boats (and Stay)

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