breaking the curse of potential 🦋

imagining alternatives to ambition, duty, and expectations

I was a precocious and weird kid. At various points, I wanted to become POTUS, a voice actor, and a tree. These ambitions changed after adolescence uprooted my imagination and shook my confidence. I studied hard, followed rules, and tried to fit in. I looked for validation that I was on the right path: good grades would lead to a good college, a good job, and proof that I was a good daughter.

None of this added up to an identity, and after college, I searched for direction. Some days, I believed I was destined for greatness, but mostly, I felt overwhelmed by my limitations. There were so many versions of myself I’d never meet.

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Last week, I finally saw Everything Everywhere All At Once, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. (No spoilers, but you should watch it, especially if you have an Asian parent, as I do—ILY, Fay.)

This movie fucked me up. I mean, I loved it, because I love a Sliding Doors story, I love a multiverse story, and, most of all, I love any platform for Michelle Yeoh to get the respect she deserves.

I saw it with three of the most thoughtful people I know, Anam, Kate, and Scott. I’ve known them for 10+ years, and we’ve seen each other grow, plateau, thrive, struggle, and unearth new layers of ourselves. After the movie, we talked about the idea that we’re free to become whoever we can imagine, but expectations act as spells, whether you choose to believe in them or not.

Kate said it more poetically, and I’ll attempt to paraphrase: We each have the power to embody different versions of the self, real or possible. Anything you desire is a part of yourself that already exists.

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Kate and I have matching fig tattoos; we got them a few years ago to celebrate the decisions that have brought us to this point in our lives and friendship. The figs are inspired by a quote Kate shared with me when I needed it most:

(Yes, we have tattoos inspired by The Bell Jar; don’t overthink it! We’re getting No Ragrets next.)

I’ve found new meaning in these words since I first read them years ago. The rotten figs feel less morbid, the cut-off branches less tragic. It could be because I’ve surrendered to the fact that life is absurd and so little is within my control. My decisions will never add up to a linear path, nor do I want that.

For a long time, I felt compelled to choose a single trajectory, which meant pursuing a career, finding a purpose, and honing an identity without contradictions. I’m embracing, more and more, that the universe is chaotic, and so am I.

The most chaotic and fluid parts of myself are those I’d most like to cultivate. I care less about living up to my potential and more about expanding my capacity for creativity and freedom.

What if I stopped striving and instead stood in awe of all there is and might be?

🦋 🦋 🦋

I’ve been thinking about all of this—growth, achievement, absurdity—while watching the Japanese show Old Enough. In each episode, a toddler goes on their first errand, and while it’s cute, it has also brought up a lot of shit for me! It hits too close to home, not because my parents sent me out to do errands at a young age, but because I deeply relate to these kids.

There’s the four-year-old who spends 30 minutes pulling a gigantic cabbage from the ground, then carries it home by herself. And the two-year-old who’s determined to pick up her mom’s watch but can’t find the store. I’ll go, Mommy, she says through sobs. I want to go!

If you want to understand my relationship with chores, I told Tucker, watch carefully! (I have been known to manually defrost our freezer with a kitchen knife.)

The stakes feel high, despite the cute and cheerful tone of the show, because success clearly matters to these kids. They’ve learned, even as young as age two, that being a good child and sibling means being helpful. With a few exceptions, the kids take their tasks very seriously.

And I get it! From a young age, I learned that I could always do more, be better, try harder—not only for myself but also for the people I loved.

The adults in the show often say ganbatte, which the subtitles translate to give it your all. I think it was one of the first Japanese phrases I learned. My teachers would give me a stern ganbatte before a test, and my sensei would say it before a karate match. I’ve taken it to mean Do your best with an undertone of We’re counting on you.

I Googled the etymology and learned it literally means to stretch: stretch beyond your limits; stretch into the person others know you can be.

My parents were loving and supportive, and they knew I was harder on myself than they would ever be. Still, I learned to give and receive love through sacrifice and service—to prove myself, be useful, be good. Ganbatte.

It’s taken me decades to realize I was carrying this weight. I’m still learning that I don’t have to orient my decisions around the possibility that I might disappoint, worry, or upset someone.

I realize I’m in the process of curse-breaking. I don’t exactly know what that means, but I think the first step is inhabiting who I am and not who I could have become or believe I should be. I’ll write about how this unfolds…but not today.

Today I’m taking a long nap and drinking lots of juice and hugging my friend’s dog. I’m listening to the voice that comes from a lush and mystical place—the one that says, You’re enough, I promise, there’s nothing more to do.