Impatience is the graveyard of potential.

It begins softly. With a whisper, "Is this taking too long?" Then it grows louder. Maybe there’s a faster way. Maybe I should shift. Try something else. Something newer. What starts as curiosity becomes a loop. And soon, the seed is left behind before it ever touches soil.

This pattern isn’t new.

Chanakya once told Chandragupta, “A kingdom built in haste will collapse by the second monsoon.” In Indian gurukuls, students swept floors for years before touching a book. A potter would learn by watching his master’s fingers, not by shaping his own. The training was never just about skills. It was about stillness. About earning the right to create. To hold potential like a flame, and wait until the wind settles.

Today, this ethic feels distant. We live in a scroll culture. Apps refresh faster than thoughts. We chase followers before writing a second draft. Founders raise rounds before knowing their customers. Graduates seek leadership before learning followership. Reels replace raag. Marketing replaces meaning.

I once sat with a weaver in Kanchipuram. He showed me a half-finished saree and said, “Every thread has a rhythm. You rush it, it tears.” Then he paused and added, “Like people.”

Impatience looks like movement. But often, it’s displacement. You hop from idea to idea, place to place, mentor to mentor - searching for something that doesn’t exist outside. You already carry it. It just needs time.

Facts reveal the damage. Startups that scale too soon often implode. In 2022 alone, over 200 unicorns failed to sustain Series C funding. That’s not due to lack of demand but lack of patience. Learning curves were skipped. Processes weren’t built. Teams never stabilized. The rush to scale hollowed the core.

Even in art, we see this. Leonardo da Vinci took 16 years to complete The Last Supper. Tanjore painters spend 8 weeks on a single motif. Mehndi artists train their wrist for months before learning design. Every form of mastery, from sitar to sculpture, honours time as a collaborator.

And yet, we treat waiting as weakness.

A friend recently said, “I’m already 29. I need to do something big soon.” I asked him, “Why soon?” He went silent. Because urgency had become his identity. Somewhere between career fairs and startup expos, he had internalized that early meant worthy.

But the banyan tree doesn’t bloom at 29. It grows for decades before it shades even one traveler.

This post is for those who feel behind. Those who wake up in panic. Who scroll through LinkedIn and feel smaller with every post. You are not behind. You are building. And building, when done well, always feels slow.

Give your talent the gift of patience.
Let your ideas mature before you market them.
Let your skills deepen before you display them.

Because the world remembers those who endure. Not those who trend.

And when doubt creeps in, remember what the old potter said.

You rush it, it tears. Like people.