Purpose is a problem because it tangles us up inside. Like a fish caught in a net that becomes more enmeshed as he tries to escape. It is often related to our outside selves (and frequently confused with What Do You Do?).
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New York City elevators make us masters of small talk - efficient exchanges in the span of a minute or less. (Excellent elevator pitch practice.) Seventeen years ago, I got on the elevator at the 15th floor and nodded at my suit-donned neighbor. Then things got awkward.
The problem with potential is that it’s a future version of ourselves that we use to measure ourselves against and come up short. Again. Not because we can’t or are unable but because we won’t or are too lazy. Which is such a shame, because we have so much potential. (Potential and shame are often used in the same sentence.)
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Bittersweet too small a word for when fierce pride and immeasurable joy crash into inconsolable sadness. But it’s all I’ve got for now. Congratulations, Graduates.