The Purgatory of Potential - How To Get Unstuck

Time feels heavy these days. The clock seems louder. An incessant metronome counting down, or maybe up. To what? To where? Post-graduation, the world is supposed to open up. You’re expected to be full of energy, focus, and drive. I feel paralyzed. 

No one talks about this part. The in-between. The purgatory of potential.

Goodbye looms behind my back like a shadow. In July my visa ends and I will have to leave Amsterdam, whether I am ready to or not. Each moment already feels like a memory. I am walking through remembrance, already reminiscing about my current state. I’m not just losing a home, but a version of myself. What happens when she’s gone? I’m overwhelmed with never-ending glimpses of future lives I have yet to live. 

I have had countless conversations about it with family, colleagues, and even strangers. What are you going to do? What are your plans? What’s your next step? Common questions that induce that sense of impending doom. My responses remain the same: I’m not sure, I’m still looking for work… Still figuring things out… I will probably be leaving soon. This relentless cycle has turned me into a broken record.

Comparably, conversations with friends follow a predictable pattern: we discuss future plans, contemplate moving away, panic, and then preemptively grieve each other’s absence. These conversations often end abruptly, we change the topic to avoid the inevitable. We’re all scared. We’re all stuck. Ironically, this feeling of being stuck in life transferred to paper: I felt stuck writing this piece. I realized I couldn’t process and explain all of this alone, but I didn't have to. My friends have been by my side through this, experiencing this state of ‘stuckness’ in their own lives. So, I brought it up again, this time as a shared reflection, a metaphorical conversation pit.

I asked them how they were feeling about what comes next. One admitted that for their entire life, the next step had always been clear. Things had always been planned out. But now that certainty is gone. The path ahead blurred. Strangely, the panic that should have come never fully settled for them. Instead, there is an odd sense of surrender: an acceptance that uncertainty is simply a part of youth, both freeing and daunting. 

Goodbyes, though, are inevitable. Another friend had the opposite reaction, openly admitting that they were panicking. When I asked why, the response stuck deep: because they knew all of us would be gone soon. We’ve been in this together for so long, it’s just my normal, something I know I take for granted. The comfort of what has been, the years woven into something solid, suddenly feeling fragile. We’re afraid of mourning each other the way we mourned old friendships. Someone echoed this sentiment, expressing that they didn’t want this group to just be a college friend group. That idea scared them. 

Amsterdam hasn’t necessarily been the peak of our lives. For some of us, it has actually been a rough era. So why should we only associate each other with this one period? We don’t have to be tied to a location or a phase of life. However, there is a quiet grief in letting go of these existing dynamics that feel permanent. This fear isn’t just about losing people, it’s about losing the familiarity of a world that has always been within reach. Now it could be reduced to a mere memory. 

We began to discuss fears of reverting to old patterns and the struggle to find motivation, about going back home and feeling stuck. We can build a new image for it though. After all, we’re still young. We tend to categorize and idealize certain stages in life. Someone mentioned how they loved sitcoms where people in their 30s are still living together or getting to know each other, and figuring out their lives. I agree, Sex and the City and Friends are some of my comfort shows. This made me realize that I’m also starting to romanticize my 30s like I romanticized my 20s. I want the security of knowing what is to come. A stable job, familiar surroundings, and home. More motivation. If this doesn’t happen in my 20s, it’s bound to happen in my 30s, right? 

Humans crave purpose. We need to feel like we’re moving toward something. Everyone seems to be going somewhere, but I don’t feel as ambitious as I once did. As I did throughout my studies. Is it a lack of direction or a change in priorities? One friend admitted they didn’t necessarily want a job, they just wanted to have money. I get it. After being worn down by an unnatural world that revolves around money, I’ve struggled to stay motivated. Searching for the perfect job and the right purpose is exhausting. I’m tired of ‘the hustle’. I just want to exist. I want to be in the same space as my friends, and my family. I want to have a healthy work environment, a comfortable home, and see the world. I think the challenge lies in redefining what motivation really means. The real question is whether or not we can redefine fulfillment. Should we pursue more or be content with just enough?

It’s uncanny, this liminal space we’re all shoved into at some point. I’ve been living uncomfortably in this space; caught between the life I’ve built and the one I have yet to construct. Big changes. They force us to confront ourselves in ways we’d rather avoid. Yet, there’s comfort in knowing I’m not the only one experiencing this stage. 

By the end of our conversation, something had shifted. What had started as a discussion filled with unease became a moment of connection and hope. Their humorous yet reflective take on everything made me feel more at ease. Talking to them normalized and validated everything I’ve been feeling. Maybe all it takes to get unstuck is to talk about it with someone else who is also stuck. Or to watch a coming-of-age sitcom. The weight of uncertainty still lingers, but at least we’re carrying it together. 

I’m on a plane as I write this. That’s probably why my words feel weightier, more pensive. Stuck between places and between times. Barcelona at 18:00. Amsterdam at 20:00. In the air, I’m untethered. And maybe this is the answer to this in-between. To embrace it, to find the meaning in the floating, the flux. Being stuck isn’t the end, it’s the beginning. The place where you pause, look around, and breathe, gathering yourself for the next stride. 

I’m unstuck.