We often think of self-improvement as something we pursue in the outside world—learning new skills, advancing in our careers, or building connections. But sometimes, the real journey is internal, involving promises we make to ourselves that go unfulfilled. In this piece, I share my own realizations about the versions of myself I’ve imagined but haven’t yet lived up to, and how that disconnect affects not only my sense of purpose but also my relationships and peace of mind.

Through my work in medicine, I’ve had the privilege of seeing people at their most vulnerable, witnessing firsthand how much human connection and fulfillment matter. But in observing others, I also began to see my own unmet needs more clearly—the ways I’ve fallen short of my aspirations and the impact of not being the person I want to be.

Here, I explore what it means to finally address those unfulfilled parts of myself, to bring these versions to life and become someone others can rely on. It’s a journey toward authenticity, one that I hope can resonate with anyone who’s ever felt the gap between who they are and who they want to be.

Finding Meaning in Authenticity

I think I’ve found my purpose in life. I’ve always felt drawn to helping others, guiding them, and offering advice that brings clarity and support. Helping people find solutions to their struggles and lead meaningful lives feels like my calling. Maybe that’s why I chose to study medicine—it gave me a window into humanity that few other fields could provide. Medicine taught me to see people deeply, to feel their pain, and to share in their relief when good news arrives, or to simply reassure them when there’s nothing to fear.

In my work, I’ve been there for people during the darkest moments of their lives. I’ve stood beside them through fears of death, worries for loved ones, and the fragility of health. I’ve witnessed both vulnerability and resilience, connecting with people in ways that revealed parts of themselves often kept hidden. I’ve seen regret for time lost, for lives that felt empty and unfulfilled, and for the things left unsaid. Over the years, I’ve observed how age and illness amplify these anxieties—how people feel death drawing near and realize they lack the community or connections they now long for. They fear they’ll be forgotten, that their lives don’t matter to anyone, and that there’s no one to turn to in their moments of need.

This isn’t just something I see in others; I feel it too. Sometimes, I worry I’m not being the best version of myself. I fear I’m not as meaningful to those I love as I’d like to be. My wife sometimes feels I’m distant; my kids think I’m angry more than I am warm. My parents, who have given everything to me, deserve more affection and attention than I may have shown. I know I could be a better friend, a more present sibling, and a more skilled and confident colleague.

Yet, I also know that allowing these disappointments to fester creates isolation and distance from the people who matter most. It fills my mind with unfulfilled versions of myself—the one who finished that book, who learned that skill, who struck up that conversation, or who set out on that adventure. These “versions” are crowding my mind, nagging at me, demanding to be brought to life. They remind me of every promise left unmet, every truth half-told, and every boundary left unspoken. They become my critics, my inner “mob” that drains me because they are, in a sense, parts of myself that I neglected.

The hard truth is that I can’t ignore them. They’re creations of my own choices and actions—or lack thereof. The only way to quiet these voices, to find peace, is to start delivering on the promises I made to myself. I need to let these versions breathe, to bring them out into the world as real expressions of who I want to be. When I keep my word to myself—taking that course, setting those boundaries, showing love and attention to those around me—I build trust with my own inner “mob.” And as I become more whole, more centered, and more reliable, I believe I’ll find the meaning I’ve been searching for.

In doing this, I hope to become someone others can truly count on, someone who can offer guidance and support not just from a place of skill, but from a place of authenticity. I want to be relevant to my family, my friends, and my community. And perhaps, by living as fully as possible, I can find my own peace and share that with others who need it too.