The Thing You’re Great At Might Be Hiding in Your Teenage Self

“The thing you do obsessively between age 13 and 18, that’s the thing you have the most chance of being world-class at.” When I first saw this Bill Gates quote, my immediate reaction was, “Yikes.” Because between those ages, I was obsessively doing… absolutely nothing remarkable.

Sure, I was on the swim team—solid effort, nothing record-breaking. I was a cheerleader too, but let's just say ESPN hasn't called about the documentary rights. I worked hard, cared about my grades, and I was into math enough to eventually study engineering, but that felt more like practical diligence than passion. So, if teenage obsessions are supposed to predict greatness, was I already hopelessly behind?

But then I realized Gates might be onto something. Something subtler. Perhaps our teenage obsessions aren’t about the standout skills or accomplishments. Instead, they might be about our quiet compulsions, the ones we barely noticed at the time.

For me, that hidden obsession was curiosity. I was obsessively curious. The kind of kid who asked why so often my classmates would sigh audibly, even in subjects I didn’t particularly enjoy (like Social Studies and English). I constantly scribbled questions and reflections in the margins of my notebooks: tiny, barely legible notes about intriguing questions that nagged at me, the interesting ways teachers phrased ideas, or random thoughts that popped into my head mid-class. These notebooks weren't neat or structured. They were messy collections of scattered ideas, half-finished thoughts, and fragmented observations. At the time, it never felt like a skill. Just something I couldn't help but do.

Fast forward a couple decades, and what do I do now? I research, I teach, and I write. My life is driven by endless questions. In other words, I’m doing the grown-up, slightly tidier version of what teenage me did instinctively.

So maybe Gates was right, but not how we usually imagine. Teenage obsessions aren’t always about mastering chess at age 13 or becoming Olympic-ready at 17. Instead, they're about the things you couldn’t not do. The ones that came so naturally you never thought of them as “talents”. They just felt like... you.

When I think back to that chaotic, nerdy spiral notebook I carried everywhere, the one with calculus problems and half-formed thoughts, I realize it was the seed of something bigger. It wasn’t proof I was going to be great at anything. It was just proof that I was already following a thread, even if I didn’t know where it led.

And maybe that’s what this is about: not identifying your “calling” at 16, but noticing your tendencies. The patterns you kept returning to, when no one was watching. That version of you knew something.

What about you? Think back to your high-school self. What compulsive habits or quiet curiosities filled your days?

Maybe you were organizing your closet obsessively, mediating conflicts among friends, or rewriting movie endings in your head. Maybe you talked a lot in class—and now you’re paid to talk in front of rooms. Or maybe you were the quiet observer, the one who always noticed what others missed. That counts, too. Perhaps you didn’t realize it then, but your teenage self might've been quietly planting seeds of your unique abilities, hidden beneath the surface of all that adolescent noise.

Edge Thought of the Week

“Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” — Søren Kierkegaard

Take a moment this week and reflect on the seemingly insignificant things you spent countless teenage hours doing. Better yet, text an old friend and ask, "What was I weirdly obsessed with back in high school? What do you remember me always doing?”

Somewhere inside those teenage habits, no matter how trivial or random they seemed, there was a spark that never really went out. And if you're at a point in life where you’re thinking about reinvention or feeling like you still haven’t discovered that "one thing" you’re meant to do, revisiting the quiet compulsions of your past might be the exact perspective you need. Because sometimes moving forward starts with remembering who you’ve always been.