potential is the greatest hiding place there is

And I'm finally done hiding. An introduction to my next chapter.

When I was young, the word I grew up hearing was: Gwen has a lot of potential.

I was precocious and articulate, so I already thought I was hot shit. I had no idea what the adults meant by that. What did you mean I “have” potential? Aren’t I already living it?

It wasn't until this week that I finally understood what that phrase truly means.

I love to work

Career, calling, vocation, purpose — these terms were all interchangeable for me, because I always insisted on doing things that were high-impact and aligned with who I am.

When I was 22, I won $100K in a global hackathon, got depressed and dropped out of university. That same year, I started hosting dinner parties for strangers. That eventually became my first baby, Tribeless, an empathy training company that I ran with my then-partner for seven years. Around the pandemic, I felt a deeper spiritual calling. I enrolled in astrology school, graduated full ride, and became a full time astrologer. I started this newsletter. I never stopped working.

I am ashamed to say that even though I have spent years “working hard”, I never once actually set an actual direction for myself.

My deeply mutable nature meant I was always just going with the flow. Empathy dinner parties were working out? Well, I guess we should build a company around it! Have a deep affinity for astrology? Well, I guess I should build a career around it!

I wish someone had told me that I’d get good at anything I pour my heart and soul into. I think this is true for many of us. You can literally do anything.

But the true core of your heart — the dream you have secretly nurtured since you were a child — that is so fragile, so precious, it’s easier to build a life adjacent to it without ever having to live it out.

It felt so much safer to just float in the abyss of ‘potential’, never truly committing to anything.

We all have that one dream

That isn’t really a dream, not really.

You know how when you’re young, you know what you love to do most? You’d spend all day just doing it, being it, living it. For some kids it was performing, sports, dancing. For me, it was obvious from the start:

I would pad downstairs in my little feet and curl up on the couch, my nose in a book, for hours at a time. I started wearing glasses when I turned six, because I read so much. Checking out fifteen, sixteen books at a time from the community library and finishing them all within the week.

When I wasn’t reading, I was writing. Doodling. Drawing. Speaking. Singing. Hosting little shows for guests when they came to visit. Playing pretend with my younger sister.

Always, I was working with imaginary worlds of my creation.

I was never lonely. Because I had my mind.

When I grew older, the sensitive little artist in me disappeared. She turned to other means to justify her worth: clubs, achievements, tangible accolades she could pin to her chest that meant something to this society. No one cares how many books you’ve read or how many mornings you’ve savored. Tell me instead how much money you made last quarter?

But those were the metrics that never mattered to me. House, car, Prada. I didn’t care for brands or tech or nice things. I could live in an old house with parquet wooden floors and creaky doors and as long as it was close to a park, I would be happy. Then I’d immediately bash myself over the head for even thinking that because, why are you so lazy. We have big dreams over here! We have POTENTIAL!

Earlier this January, I attended a vision boarding workshop for the first time. It was the first time I’d ever given proper thought to the kind of life I was building for myself. I’d gone through so much change the past year and a half: leaving my relationship, getting diagnosed for ADHD, moving into a place of my own, starting over in my 30s. This was a fresh start.

As I stared at the blank paper, the same phrase kept circling in my mind:

I have been creating for a long time. The little artist in me never went away. She just put on a blazer and an adult smile and told herself that as long as we were flexing our creative muscles writing Substack for work, designing on Canva for work, making podcasts for work, that was ok. But in keeping up with the Joneses on social media, I lost sight of the big picture. I was pumping out fragmented pieces of a puzzle instead of producing one cohesive tapestry that can stand on its own.

And then there was the other piece. The hiding piece.

You know I have shared openly and honestly here for many years. About burnout, relationships, estrangement, all of it. But there was one thing I didn’t realize I was doing: I was hiding behind my mystical persona. I locked myself into the box of astrologer so that my words would only touch people who were spiritually inclined. I thought that would keep me safe. Instead, it limited me.

Eventually, I felt my hands were tied. The box had become too restricting. I didn’t want to use my stories to illustrate what was happening in the cosmos. I wanted to focus on bigger, truer, more universal human topics. The things I have been saying and living into all along. My true purpose, and the right use of my voice.

To share my stories, and give others permission to live into theirs.

I realized that when I hide behind mystical or vague language, I am actually hiding my true power.

So this is me, attempting to take the veil off my words, and tell you exactly who I am and what I’m here to do.

I’m Gwen Yi.

At my core, I am an artist, a writer, a thinker, and a deeply influential soul.

I am here to tell stories. Not just any stories. Stories from my life where I was faced with difficult situations, deeply human situations, like estrangement and burnout and grief, and I have to use my wisdom, my values, my understanding of how things work to figure my way out. Sometimes, those things are spiritual or mystical in nature. But this is no longer an astrology newsletter.

Instead, this is a human newsletter, told through a lens only I can share: Me.

We will explore the questions that have shaped my life, that hopefully also shape yours:

Can we love without abandoning ourselves? Can our creativity serve a calling? Can our bodies tell the truth before our minds do? Can our relationships be repaired after they’re broken? Can we come home to ourselves? How do we come home to ourselves, over and over again?

The body of work I dream of building will show you exactly how I think, create, and build my life the way I do. It will reflect my values of authenticity, integrity, joy, empathy and respect. It will reveal why I approach business the way I do, my relationship with creativity and the creative process, and why I believe it is so important to build communities of care within our own lives. It will highlight the practical ways I have built a thriving, solid core within myself, despite all the turbulence life has thrown my way, how I hold myself through seasons of becoming and change, and keep a steady, optimistic mind as I do.

This is the work I have done on myself these past 32 years.

I now recognize this as what I am uniquely here to share.

The potential from my youth was exactly this: it wasn’t for me to have all the answers. It was to show how I lived my way into the questions.

I hope you’ll join me for the ride.

Love,

Gwen

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I have a very special creative project - the first I’ve ever done for myself - brewing. It will be available exclusively for the community here, so if you enjoy the direction I am taking, sign up to get first dibs and cheer me on.

GWEN YI is a writer, mentor and guide exploring what it means to become our Whole Self. She is currently building a body of work around these questions through essays, conversations, and 1:1 coaching. She lives in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. You can find her work at gwenyi.com.