K., managing director
She was the first real mirror I ever had. The kind of mirror that hurts to look into. When I met her, she was barely older than me, yet she seemed light-years ahead. A smart, confident woman leading a successful business — with the same degree I had. And she was beautiful. Charming, even. There I stood in front of her, clutching the edge of my pants, waiting to see whether I measured up.
I did. But I was incredibly jealous. It took a long time for that uncomfortable feeling to change — first into curiosity, and then into a genuine desire to learn. It was impossible to resent her, and honestly, there was no reason to. Her honesty was paired with kindness. She guided more than she commanded. If I made a mistake, she helped fix it. I never had to panic around her.
Others did it for me. People irritated by her apparent perfection. In that workplace, she seemed flawless. Brilliant at her job. Clear-headed with everyone she worked with. And beautiful to look at. I envied her relentlessly, right up until the moment I decided that I could never achieve anything like she had.
“It wasn’t a healthy attitude, but at the time it saved me from resenting her. It kept me from blaming her for what I couldn’t do. How could I have succeeded in anything when I hadn’t even tried? When I hadn’t even been in similar situations? I didn’t want success. I didn’t reach for anything higher. It never occurred to me that I could. I assumed success was a privilege some people were born into.
Maybe I thought it came from money, or exceptional talent.
“She made it? Sure. She started off in a better place… Her parents own a successful hotel. What about him? Well, he’s just a genius — finished two years of college in one.” I used excuses like those to soothe myself. And they worked. I crawled into the comfortable role of someone who can only go so far, as long as they’re hardworking and clever. I was both. I just didn’t know that would’ve been more than enough — if I had actually wanted something.
Maybe K.’s greatest advantage was that she didn’t believe what I believed. She simply lived her life with the luxury of knowing her strengths. She saw what she’d achieved. Why would she limit herself? Why would she imagine barriers that weren’t there? It never crossed her mind to see impossibility. I was right about one thing: being good isn’t enough. You need something extra. At least a determined will. And a bit of faith.
Meanwhile, I often looked back from the finish line and thought, All right, fine, I reached the goal and even succeeded… but come on. Wouldn’t it have turned out much better with money, beautiful clothes, and perfect teeth?
After spending a lot of time talking to K., something finally clicked. She wasn’t “better” than me — she simply didn’t measure herself against others. She didn’t search for excuses to explain why she shouldn’t go further. Those absurd thoughts never even crossed her mind.
That realization hurt the most. Because it wasn’t my circumstances, or my finances, or my environment that built the suffocating little cage I lived in.
It was me. Only me.