I Think I Romanticise Potential More Than Reality

I’ve realised I rarely fall in love with what’s actually in front of me.

Not just people. Everything.

Careers. Cities. Friendships. Versions of myself. Creative projects I’ve barely started. Lives I could maybe, possibly, potentially live one day if every single thing aligns perfectly.

I think I romanticise potential more than reality.

And honestly? It can be kind of beautiful sometimes.

Why certain songs feel emotionally loaded for no reason. Why I suddenly become nostalgic while something is still happening. Why I remember tiny details that nobody else notices, or one random sentence someone said once that permanently lodged itself in my brain.

I could probably create emotional lore out of literally anything.

But I think there’s another side to it too.

Because when you romanticise potential, you start emotionally investing in things before they’ve even become real. You become attached to what something could be instead of what it actually is.

A mediocre opportunity becomes, “Maybe this is the start of something huge.”

A random phase becomes, “Maybe this is who I’m becoming now.”

A good night becomes, “I never want this feeling to end.”

A tiny spark of inspiration becomes an entire imagined future.

Sometimes I think I mourn possibilities more than actual realities.

Not because something was amazing, but because I could see the version of it that might have been.

And I don’t even necessarily think that’s a bad thing.

Romanticising life is also what makes life feel meaningful. It’s what makes ordinary moments memorable. It’s probably why I write in the first place. Some people move through life practically and logically, and meanwhile I’m emotionally attaching significance to the way a city smells after rain.

I know it sounds dramatic, but I genuinely think there’s something nice about caring this much. About allowing yourself to feel things deeply instead of pretending everything is meaningless or ironic all the time.

But I also think there’s a fine line between appreciating beauty and abandoning reality for fantasy.

Because potential is comforting. Potential is perfect. Potential hasn’t had the chance to disappoint you yet.

Reality is messier.

Reality is unfinished projects and uncertainty and ordinary days and people who aren’t always who you imagined they’d be. Reality doesn’t always match the cinematic version in your head.

And maybe growing up is learning that there’s still beauty in that too.

Maybe the goal isn’t to stop romanticising life entirely. I don’t think I ever could. I’ll probably always be the kind of person who turns ordinary moments into stories and gets emotionally attached to songs and phases and memories and weird little details.

But maybe I’m learning that reality deserves my attention too.

Not just the almost-version of things.

Not just the imagined future.

Not just the possibility.

The actual moment itself.

I've spoken in quite a positive and self-aware tone for most of this, but I'll be real. The fallout from these expectations I create can be hell, especially when it comes to people. I get so hung up on what something could’ve been that I struggle to accept what it actually was.

And the worst part? Everyone suddenly becomes an expert. Which, to be fair, is partially my fault because I process everything out loud and refuse to shut up about it. The second I mention a situation to other people, literally anyone with ears, they all start giving their opinions.

The worst part? Most of the time, they're right.

But when you're someone who constantly sees the best in people, harsh opinions can feel almost impossible to accept. I know I can be slightly blind to red flags. I know I have a habit of defending people even when the evidence is sitting directly in front of me.

I become the world’s strongest lawyer for people who haven’t even asked for representation.

“It’s fine, they’re probably just busy.”

“No, you don’t get it.”

“It’ll work out.”

And maybe sometimes I’m not even trying to convince other people. Maybe I’m trying to convince myself.

Because once I see potential in someone, I cling to it. I hold onto the version of them I created in my head long after reality starts trying to correct me.

Maybe that’s the real issue with romanticising potential. It keeps you emotionally attached to things that don’t fully exist. Not reality, not facts, not what’s directly in front of you, but possibilities. Imagined futures. Half-formed versions of people and situations that only really make sense inside your own head.

And honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever fully stop doing it.

I’ll probably always be the kind of person who gets too emotionally attached to phases of life, who turns random nights into core memories, who sees symbolism in tiny things and reads too deeply into moments that other people forget by the next morning.

But I think I’m slowly learning that there’s a difference between being hopeful and refusing to see reality.

Potential can be exciting. It can make life feel magical. But sometimes reality is trying to hand you an answer while you’re still rewriting the question.

So maybe the goal isn’t to stop romanticising life entirely. Maybe it’s just learning when to let reality speak for itself.

Sez