The Sealed Envelope

It’s kind of messed up—the idea that you could be world-class at something, truly built for it, and never even get close. Not because you didn’t work hard. Not because you gave up. But because no one ever pointed you in that direction. No one said look here. Or maybe they did, but you were too busy surviving to notice. Too busy doing what you were told was practical, responsible, realistic.

That’s what gets me. How much of life is just... being angled. Shaped by parents, teachers, systems, money, fear. Most of the time, you’re not choosing—you’re reacting. Following the path of least resistance. Or the one with the least judgment. And if you’re lucky, that path intersects with your talent. But for a lot of people? It doesn’t. Not even close.

So maybe you’re carrying this sealed envelope inside you. And maybe it has the name of the thing you’d be incredible at. But you’ll probably never open it. Because no one told you it existed. Or they buried it under bills, expectations, and social pressure. Or worse—they told you to be grateful for the path you did get. That wanting more was selfish. That dreaming differently was naive.

And here’s the kicker: you could live your whole life doing “fine.” Competent. Decent. Even successful—by someone else’s definition. And still miss the thing. That real thing. The one that lights you up. The one that makes you not just live but burn.

But most people don’t burn. They simmer. Quietly. Contained.

Because the world is better at building fences than handing out matches.

People say the mystery is beautiful. And maybe it is. On some days, I believe that.

On others, it feels like a consolation. A way to forgive the system for failing you—or yourself, for never getting the chance.

So yeah. I think about that envelope. And I wonder:

Am I supposed to be okay with never opening it? Just keep walking with it sealed inside me, like a joke I’m not allowed to hear?

I don’t know. Some days, that question is heavier than others.