"You have such potential!"

Dear Diary,

You know what I hate?

I hate it when people tell me: "You have such potential!"

You know why I hate it?

Because they are right. And I know it.

Let's face it girls, when somebody tells you 'you have such potential!' what do they think they are saying? Well, they're saying you're talented, smart, kind, caring, hard-working, beautiful, and they see that, all of that, in you, and the words just burst out of them, and you see their bursting because they're smiling hugely at you as they say this.

But what do you hear? You hear: "Well, you're certainly going nowhere with the gifts God gave you ... when're you gonna get off your duff and do something?"

Yeah, me, too. I hear those words that they speak, and instead of being complimented and encouraged, what I want to do is scratch their eyes out of their faces ...

... for starters.

But why?

It's called a conscience.

That little voice inside me gets very, very quiet when someone tells me, 'you have such potential!'

And after that person leaves or after I leave, and I control my breathing, and make sure the tears are wiped away, that's when she speaks.

"They're right, you know," she says quietly.

They're right, you know.

You know who don't get the 'you have such potential!' comments?

Rosalie.

She had no potential. You know why?

I'll tell you why: when she saw something she wanted, she was in motion. She worked toward that goal, every step of the way, and she didn't care if she had to fight every man, woman, and child and dig a tunnel through a mountain or walk over the top of it. She didn't care. She what she wanted, and she went for it.

"But, phfina, Rosalie's a fictional character! Who cares who said what to her, because she doesn't exist."

Guess what, girls: that's true for every one of us.

We tell ourselves stories, every second of every day.

"I'm not like that."

"I never could do that."

"I'm not that kind of girl."

"I can't do that."

Then we tell each other stories:

"You can't do that!"

... and we forget that they are all just stories that we tell ourselves and each other. We made pretend, when that chilling, crushing thing happened when we were four or five, that we were such and so, because if we are such and so, then they hurt wouldn't've happened, or, well, we realize, after we make pretend, that hurts happen anyway, so we make more pretends and forget we just playing a game, be it 'don't hurt me' or 'I'm cute!' or 'Math is hard' or 'don't leave me!' or 'love me, mommy, please ... please.' or ...

What happens is we end up by being the pretense, and then the pretense becomes our ego, so we can relegate to our id all those scary monsters that come out anyway so we can add more buttresses to our ego so we can pretend that the hurt doesn't really hurt because we're this or that.

And 'this or that' is not who we are, nor who we can be, it's a safe, little unreality box for safe, little us ... who love, who care, who are smart, and talented and beautiful, ... but if we extend ourselves at all, and write a review in Swedish, then somebody, 5,000 somebodies, in fact, notice us, and when they notice us, then we're opened up, and when we're opened up ... and then hurt can ... hurt us, again.

So we close ourselves up, and forget we read a story 8, 9, 10 times, laughing, crying, and being joyful in that moment, and, in that joy, giving a girl a reason to live, for just one more day ... just one more day, or two more years that she would've lived if you hadn't opened yourself up and told her you loved her, and that you will always love her.

So you shut down, so that's safe.

But playing it safe? being careful? You see those girls at parties (that is: me), sitting in a far corner by herself with her drink and a very tight smile plastered on her face, but you've read her writing, so you go up to her, and enthuse: 'you should publish this stuff! This is amazing! Write more! I love it! Imagine who you'd impact if you reached a broader audience! But why are you writing fan-fics? When are you going to branch out and write your own works instead of copy stuff that's already derivative? You're better than that! You know that!"

And that girl lets that all wash over her, and hands that dude her drink and runs to the bathroom to puke her guts out, then leaves the party, trying to hide her tears.

Why? Fear? What's fear? It's nothing, right? It's being afraid of nothing, because why? Fear is fear of something that may happen, and it seldom does, right, girls? You know that. And when it does, what happens? It happens, and nobody cares, and after it happens, you don't care either, because it happened, it's in the past now. It doesn't need to run your life now, because it happened then, it's not happening now.

But that's what 'you have such potential!' is, isn't it? It points out that you could be there a star or authoress or ... whatever, but you're here, and the only reason you're here is because you're afraid of going there.

Oh, yeah: I went there.

Steph Meyer went to 28 publishers before that last one picked up Twilight.

28 publishers. How many would I have gone through? Easy: zero! Because I'm afraid of going to even the first one. How many more would Steph had gone through?

Oh, come on! She went through 28 already ... that tells me that she was going to get her story published come hell or high water, because she had that much confidence in her story.

Because she had that much confidence in herself.

"Easy for you to say, `phfina: 'Oh, don't be afraid and just do it.'"

Yup, easy for me to say, because I've seen in, too: in my Nana. She was 95 when she died, and she volunteered at the hospital and at the local school until she got terminal cancer at 94. She was a force in motion, always doing something, always in motion.

Nobody told her that she has such potential, because she was in action, all the time.

And it was just so simple for her: time to garden. Time to feed the family. Time to volunteer at the school. Time to grab the fighting boys (my uncles) by the ears and give them what-for. Time to bury Pepe after he killed himself.

She had a hard life, her whole life, including raising a family of eight during the Depression, but she never complained, she was just too busy to complain, because she had something to do, because she saw a need, and she just took care of it.

And that's it, isn't it? You have something, a beautiful voice, a way of writing words, or painting, or a will and determination or a business sense. You have something. And you can put things, life, whatever, between you and you doing something with this something that you have, and be very busy and very successful, and very sad and angry when people tell you have such potential, or you can be just as busy using what you have and creating the world how you see it, how it should be, because you, you call the shots here, because you said so.

And that world that you do create? You created it, and it can be filled with the things you put in the way of yourself, and of others, and you have this nice, safe, little fence around yourself. Or you can just git-r-done and let it rip and not give a flip about what anybody else says, because that's all they do, stand around the water cooler, and that's great, because they can talk, as long as they stay out of your way, because you are woman, strong, beautiful, empowered, talented, and you are going places and making things happen.

Your choice (your ... 'potential').

"But, `phfina, what am I supposed to do?"

Oh, come on. You know the answer, even as you ask the question.

The world is the world.

And you are you.

And there's this huge thing between you and the world, and how you see the world as it should be.

That huge thing? It's nothing to what you can do. I just wrote a few words on paper and published them, and look what happened? I did nothing but a little tiny something, and I have letters in my treasure chest from people telling me how I saved their lives or how they found love or hope.

You put your foot to that first step forward, and your other foot will follow.

And the world will change around you. It has to. Doesn't mean it won't be easy, but you already know what the alternative is like.

It sucks. It sucks a big fat sucky potential suck.

So, read this. Say 'eh, whatever,' and go back to your potential.

Or, read this ... then write me when ...

... or you publish your story ...

... or you manage a multibillion dollar mutual fund, and you're 21 ...

... or you start the next Google or eBay or Amazon ...

... or someone tells you you saved their life.

... or whatever that huge thing is in front of you, and you climb over it (literally) or bust through it or hold it in your arms and tell her you love her.

I love you. You have such potential, and I love you, right now, right as you are, because you, in your potential have done things, and touched hearts, and you, in your potential, are a person. A person who reached out to me, and cried that someone told you these hurtful words, and I cried with you, hurting with the same hurt, and you let me do that. And loved me, little me, in all my stupid fearful, paralyzing potential, and you didn't judge: you loved.

I love you.