In Kannada, there’s a phrase—hane bara—that means “what’s written on your forehead.” Your destiny. The life that was meant for you. But maybe what’s written on your forehead isn’t an outcome. Maybe it’s a starting point.
Success in life should be measured by whether you meet or exceed your potential. To me, potential isn’t some mystical talent, it is the product of your opportunities and your values. Opportunities are almost always a combination of where you are raised, your financial situation, and family network. Values are the intangible lessons that you learn as you grow up. They teach you right from wrong, but they also dictate your priorities and how you should lead your life. These inputs shape what you can become.
We understand this instinctively. We admire rags-to-riches stories not simply because someone became wealthy, but because of the distance they traveled to exceed their potential. We look down on “nepo babies” for the opposite reason. Their achievements might be significant in absolute terms, but we sense the gap between what they were given and what they made of it, and we find it wanting. And we speak with a particular respect about immigrants who leave everything behind to expand their opportunities, carrying values like hard work to give their children a chance to exceed a potential that they themselves never had.
My father worked at a public bank in India, probably in the top twenty percent of income earners. We grew up in large cities: Bangalore and Mumbai. My parents raised us on hard work, frugality, and discipline: study well, stay well-read, save rather than spend, avoid unnecessary risk.
Given that inheritance, I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I finished my degree in computer science, moved to the US for an MBA, and built a career at Google and Amazon. I became a Director at Amazon leading over two hundred people. It looked like success, and in many ways it was. But if I’m honest, I have met my potential, not exceeded it. I followed the script I was given, just at a slightly higher altitude.
What feels different is now. I left Amazon to start my own company, something my inherited values would never have endorsed. Risk-taking wasn’t just absent from my upbringing; it was actively discouraged. I don’t know yet if this company will succeed. But I think, by my own framework, that’s not quite the point. By choosing to step off the path, I’ve already begun to exceed my potential. I’m not rejecting the hard work my parents taught me; I’m applying it to a risk they wouldn’t have taken. I’m building on their map, and then going somewhere there isn’t a line in my forehead for.
ani.space 