What is my entelechy?

Surfing on Reddit, which is not that useless after all, I saw the post about feeling a failure in life. It made me question. Did I feel that way? Not yet, but I feared. Reading those stories, that got thousands of karma to their authors, I had angst.

I was not doing bad in life, but the feeling that it was not enough persisted. I had ignored those whispers of "you could have gone further" or "you could have done more" inside of me. Those adults on Reddit did the same. They were not unhappy, just their glasses of life were not full. These people were not haunted by failure, but by the ghosts of potential, of what they could have done but did not. It must hurt, especially in the long run.

Nothing changes in a moment, but fear makes it possible. Fear of not reaching my final entelechy, my best and most developed form outlined by Aristotle, has been fueling my inner drive from then on. I could not imagine nothing worse than feeling a failure at the end of your own life, the one you were a painter of. So, I work. I exchange my comfort to grind. It gives me some meaning.

The essay needs to end with a banger, so the question I asked myself after reading a mere subreddit was: If you can not use your limited resources to get maximum gain, what a future economist are you?