Potential

Captivating word, isn't it? I mean, isn't it just chock-full of ...of..... potential? Doesn't it just scream myriad possibilities and an endless array of promise?A person can have potential, be a potential, exude potential, not live-up-to his/her potential. A person can see potential in someone else, fulfill his/her own potential, recognize their potential, get excited by potential. Like I said, it's a very captivating word with seemingly endless uses and chock full to the brim with possibilities.

The other evening, D & I were returning from an Easter visit to his sister's place and we stopped enroute at a truck stop to use the restrooms. I walked into a stall and there I saw one single word, scrawled in blue felt tip. All of the walls, in all of the stalls were clean save for this one single word written in lower case print. Potential. Now I've seen some pretty whacky stuff in restrooms. I've seen everything from "here I sit, broken-hearted" to "for a good time call..." I've seen every manner of profanity and I've even seen evidence of squatters before me attempting to wax either poetic, philosophic or prophetic. As I said, I've seen it all. I grew-up in Toronto for heaven's sake so, I'm sure you get the drift. But here, in this truck stop, somewhere east of Kingston, Ontario, just off the 401 highway; here at this truck stop, in this all but for one word graffiti-less bathroom, was one simple word. Potential. I hadn't seen that before.

Apart from wondering how many people before me had witnessed the same word (i.e. was it written this a.m.? or had it been there much longer?)and wondering what those people may or may not have thought about it(did it spark similar deep ponderings? or did they simply notice there were some blue letters on the wall?) I couldn't help but muse what the writer was thinking when they wrote that word. Were they simply trying to recall how to accurately spell the word? Had someone just told them that they had potential? Were they considering the potential outcome of a situation or a choice they had made? Of all of the words in the English language, this is the one that they chose to print in lower-case blue felt-tip lettering inside a woman's bathroom stall, in a truck stop on Hwy 401 (just east of Kingston.) It staggers the mind. The possible choices are endless yet they decided on "potential."

Narcissist that I am, the next logical step in my mental process was the question did I have any potential? Oh, I'd been told myriad times when I was young that I had plenty of it (all of it seemingly dormant and unused because the only comments I can recall contained phrases such as "you're not living up to your potential by making this choice", etc.) Nonetheless, it seemed I had had some at some point. The question was though, did I still have it or had I somehow wasted it?

I thought about all of the things that I'd ever wanted to put my hand to. I thought about the things that I would still like to put my hand to. I thought of the things that I know I do well. I thought of my personality and the things I enjoy doing. I thought about what my particular learned talents are and in what way they too could best be utilized. I thought about what makes me happy and if there was a way in which I could marry all of these considerations as best as possible, say in a particular career. Needless to say, there was much introspection taking place in that there stall over the duration of the average pee.


The instrospection then continued on the remaining car ride home. Chewing my Nibs and watching the lights pass by, I kept wondering how these considerations could best be met; in what particular career choice would I best be suited (age old question really because I've been asking myself this since my early 20s.) If I truly believed that one choice was the best, that one choice would best fulfill all of the considerations I mentioned AND make me the most happy, I would pursue it relentlessly until my dying day. There is no mountain, either literal or figurative, that could stop my progress. Problem is, I've never been "sure" that anything was the best choice. I always second guess myself. I'm always asking myself if I'm sure whether or not I've made a mistake in making a particular choice. Sigh. It's a vicious cycle.

We arrived home and I wrote one simple word in my journal, in blue felt-tip pen.

Potential.

Then I went to bed.