You know who you are, but not who you can become

And that's the most hopeful thing about being alive

Welcome to Mental Garden, a newsletter about creativity, focus, and systems for writing and building projects on the internet. To explore the full library, go here.

🏷️ Categories: Life lessons.

---

Some sentences pass through our lives without leaving a trace. Others stay with us forever.

They appear without warning, often at the worst possible moment—and that’s precisely what makes them the right message at exactly the right time. Maybe you’ve experienced it too. Maybe a single sentence once kept you awake at night.

Not long ago, I came across one of those sentences, and I still can’t shake it.

“We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”

I lost count of how many times I reread it that afternoon. It found me when I needed it most.

I’d been going through a difficult period for quite some time—a rough patch in life. From the outside, you don’t seem to be doing that badly. But inside, it consumes everything. You start questioning things you thought you’d settled years ago. You doubt decisions that once felt obvious. You feel so lost that you don’t even know what you’ll do with your life anymore. I have to admit, I haven’t found my way out of that place yet. And I can’t promise I know how much longer I’ll be there.

But that sentence shifted something inside me.

It didn’t solve anything overnight, but it gave me back something I’d stopped seeing: feeling this way today doesn’t mean I’m destined to feel this way forever.

We know what we are.

We don’t know what we may become.

That afternoon, another story came to mind—one you may already know: the Ship of Theseus. It’s a beautiful paradox that holds a profound lesson. Imagine a ship that, over the years, gradually loses its parts. The wooden planks rot away, the mast weakens, the sails begin to fray. Every replacement seems insignificant on its own. The ship still looks the same. But after enough repairs, one day you realize that not a single piece of the original ship remains.

So the question becomes: Is it still the same ship?

Philosophers have debated this for centuries without reaching an agreement. But I’m interested in looking at it differently. The point isn’t choosing between “yes” or “no.” I prefer accepting that both can be true at the same time.

It is still the same ship. And yet, it’s also a different one from the one that first left the harbor.

How can that be?

The ship that first set sail was naïve and unscarred. Since then, it has weathered countless storms. It has returned to port again and again to be repaired. And whether it wanted to or not, it had to let go of parts of itself in order to keep sailing. That’s why it isn’t the same anymore.

I won’t say it’s better or worse. Only different.

Thinking about that story—and about the difficult seasons we all go through—I realized we’re just like that ship. There are parts of ourselves that, sooner or later, we have to leave behind for the sake of our overall well-being. The person you were ten years ago is gone. So is the person you were five years ago. Even the version of yourself from just a few months ago hasn’t made it here unchanged. Your ideas have evolved. Maybe your priorities have too. Some fears disappeared, others transformed. Perhaps you’ve lost people along the way—and, if you’re lucky, found new ones. You’ve learned things you never imagined existed. And you’ve let go of certainties that once felt unquestionable.

You’ve been replacing the planks of your ship.

And yet, you still say “I” as naturally as ever.

Identity isn’t something that stays perfectly intact. It’s the ongoing process of repairing the ship we are while continuing to sail into open waters. That thought has carried me through these difficult days. It reminds me that this moment doesn’t have to define me forever. That this exhaustion, however deeply rooted it may feel, doesn’t have to become a permanent condition. Maybe you’re going through something similar. Or maybe you did some time ago. It’s still uncomfortable. There are days when everything feels unbearably heavy. But I no longer carry the feeling that I’m condemned to be this version of myself forever.

I’d love to give you a formula for getting through it quickly and without scars.

There isn’t one.

The only thing I can honestly tell you is this: Time helps. Good people help even more. Even if it’s hard to imagine right now, there will come a day when you look back and barely recognize the person you once were.

We know what we are,

but we don’t know what we may become.

Take care.

— Álvaro

Want to learn more? Here are 3 related ideas to go deeper:

1. The Price of Wanting Everyone to Like You

2. You’ll Never Feel Ready to Grow (And That’s a Good Sign)

3. How to Get to Know Yourself Again When You Feel Lost

✍️ Your turn: Who has been one of those people who helped repair your ship when you felt you couldn’t keep sailing?

💭 Quote of the day: “I haven’t really changed. I’ve simply been pruned, and new branches have grown. My true self is still here.” — L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

P.S. I also offer 1:1 consulting to help you grow on Substack.

If you’re just starting out and don’t know how it works, or if you’ve been at it for a while but are stuck, this will help you. I’ll help you find your direction, position yourself as a leader in your niche, and build a system tailored to your needs for sustainable growth.

My credentials? Over 94,000 global readers in 2 years, 100% organic growth, with 250,000 monthly visits. All from scratch, writing all by myself in my spare time.

If you’re interested, email me at: jardinmental@proton.me