Nicole Grant is a poet and science fiction writer. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their four fur babies. 

She can be found on Threads, Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube.

Welcome to Issue 4 of Subtext! This issue is a bit of two-for-one with the poem “Action Potential” by Nicole Grant. Not only do we have the text of the poem, but this was also performed at her first poetry reading! If you click through the Instagram link, you’ll be able to listen and watch her performance. I recommend you do so if you haven’t, probably before you even continue reading this issue.

Have you listened? If not, that’s okay. But let’s start getting right into it. From the beginning of this piece, it’s apparent that this is about imposter syndrome, self-doubt, about gaining confidence, and embracing art. The poem begins with a powerful statement and question:

Action
Potential
What is the key
Differential?

It’s the title of the poem, it’s repeated throughout, it’s a battle cry, a call to action, a question: “Action / Potential.” I love how this plays several ways with the next line “what is the key / differential?” This one word, differential, plays so much with the idea of action and potential. In mechanical terms, a differential allows wheels to rotate at different speeds. Differentials also perform similar function in clocks. So, in purely mechanical terms, I love how differential ties back to potential (and not just the sound of it, but the sound is wonderful). It lets that potential come out equally and be applied where and how it needs to be.

Differential also works with the adjectival definition which has a variety of attributed meanings, as defined on Wiktionary:

1. Of or pertaining to a difference.
2. Dependent on, or making a difference; distinctive.
3. Having differences in speed or direction of motion.
4. (mathematics) Of or pertaining to differentiation or the differential calculus.

So, looking at action and potential, what is the key difference between them? Didn’t think you’d be getting a semantics lesson in this issue, did you? But that first stanza ends up asking a very important and pointed question: what is the difference between action and potential? And this loops in the differences in motion, speed, and even the mathematical definition of an infinitely small change.

This is an incredibly deep and philosophical beginning to this poem, and I haven’t even made it past the first stanza yet. The “key / differential” will be different for everyone, I think. That’s just how it works. But action is clearly the actual doing of something. Whereas potential is simply that. It is the possibility of something happening, but the action hasn’t happened yet. I also just made the connection to the physiological idea of action potential. Which, if you are unsure (like I was), is the change in potential in nerve or muscle fiber. Put simply (after much reading on Wikipedia), action potential is the “first step in the chain of events leading contraction” of muscle cells. Or action potential “provoke[s] the release of insulin.” Action potential is the first step, the first impulse, the first firing that triggers a greater reaction.

Semantics and physiology (and some mechanics and mathematics, too!). Who knew. And surprise(!) this is why I call this column Subtext. Because there’s so much layered in and contained in even the simplest phrases and words in poetry. There is no other form of writing and language that is this condensed. Poetry is the complete distillation of ideas. Now that’s some potential.

So, that first stanza sets up the conceit of this poem: the grappling of every artist of what they do and doubts that can arise. Artists place pieces of themselves out there: on display to the entire world. The movement to action from potential. The trigger that makes the difference from potential to action. Now, Nicole already found the trigger. She wrote and performed this poem and addressed her doubt and imposter syndrome head on. She held the potential and she turned it into action. That’s the key, the doing. Taking that first step of pen to paper, the first keypress, the first word spoken. And then:

If I submit myself
To rejection,
Will they understand
Tone or Inflection?

Be greeted with indifference?
Fall as hard as Icarus?

Once potential turns to action, Nicole addresses what happens afterward and the doubts that even hold the entire process back in the first place: “submit myself / to rejection.” Writing a poem can be simple enough. But sharing it? Performing it? Placing it out there for the world to hold and feel. That takes courage. And all artists face that, though it gets easier as you gain confidence.

But this is Nicole’s internal dialogue with herself as she battles with the self-doubt. What’s worse? Is it rejection and dislike, or is it indifference? The fear of the reader and the audience understand what we mean in our words and our phrasing and tone when we perform or read. Indifference can hurt more, because at least rejection or dislike is a response.

And then my favorite line of this poem: “fall as hard as Icarus?” This is a name I’m sure we’re all familiar with, and the story. Flying too close to the sun and his feathers melt off and he falls to his death. It’s a warning against hubris. That we can fly in the face of gods with no reproach. And we know the Greek gods were not forgiving or kind when they felt slighted.

Imposter syndrome tells us we aren’t worth it, that we aren’t good enough, that we are overconfident in our abilities, and we are a sham. Imposter syndrome tells us there is no difference in hubris and confidence. That if we take pride in what we do, we are arrogant. So, it cripples our self-confidence. It fills us with self-doubt. It really poisons us against ourselves. And I love how Nicole thinks about this and addresses this throughout her poem. That Icarus line is just so good in how it pulls all those feelings together and combines them into a single line, a single image.

Action
Potential
Always on my
Mind. All
Ways to see through
The fog of doubt.
A few stand anew.
Taller than before,
Will I be the one
You see from the shore?

I love how Nicole circles back to the “action / potential” here again. How, even with doubt and fears, she still thinks about the action potential. Looking for “ways to see through / the fog of doubt.” But even as we work through the self-doubt and find the ways to see through that fog, more doubts come in to fill the space of the ones we’ve tackled. Such an appropriate image and description of it: fog. Because fog obfuscates and obscures. And it fills gaps and voids. So even if you manage to punch a hole through the fog, it will fill itself back in. And true to that, doubts come back: “a few stand anew.” Even as Nicole defeats her doubts, new ones come into play, and they grow more pronounced; they are refreshed and renewed.

I have to admit here; I originally misread this next part as I was writing this up. I missed the comma and thought it was a period. So, I saw “a few stand anew. Taller than before.” I read the taller line as referring back to the renewed doubts. But, with the comma, that all changes. How much meaning can be influenced and altered by simple punctuation (which is honestly why I started using it in my poetry to begin with; topic for another time). Keep in mind, this was my error. I typed the stanza out instead of copying it over and made the mistake of typing a period. Noticed when I was at the end of this issue, and I was reading back through Nicole’s poem.

So, this changes a bit of how I originally read the last lines of this stanza. I was responding under the impression that the doubts had grown taller than the speaker in the poem. So, that question of “Will I be the one / you see from the shore?” was overshadowed by taller doubts. Instead, it’s the question of if she’s gained enough confidence, to be standing taller, to be seen over her doubts. But it’s still very much unsure. She could still be overshadowed by her doubts.

Here, Nicole tackles the idea that our doubts will erase us. They will consume us and be all that anyone can see. Think to a time when you were filled with doubt. It’s usually easy for someone to see your doubt. It can be the way you phrase a comment (sometimes as a question when it should be a statement) or the way you carry yourself (or don’t). Doubt can take over and be a cloud over you. And if your doubts grow as you continue to fuel and feed them, they can tower over you and obscure you.

Choke on my words
Tongue biting back
How will I know
If I’m on the right track?

Confidence or hubris?
I don’t know what to do with this!

This is one of my favorite parts of Nicole’s performance. The emotion she puts into the “I don’t know what to do with this!” when she yells it. These stanzas build to that almost primal yell, and it gave me shivers when I heard it the first time. You can feel the emotion of these words, spoken out loud or read quietly in your mind. I briefly mentioned sound before, but it really plays into these two stanzas. The rhythm and pacing power you through these lines, with the rhyme and the short syllables of the words. The hard sounds of “choke,” “back,” and “track” drive you. The doubt holds you back. Again, Nicole returns to the idea of “confidence or hubris,” circling back to the line about Icarus. That last line, the primal yelling into the void: “I don’t know what to do with this!” is the culmination and turn and climax of this poem.

It takes all the rage, all the doubt, all the fear, and it condenses into a single line that pours out that doubt in an exclamation. Not a question. Notice it’s not a question. It’s the shift. It’s the action potential. The first firing of an impulse that culminates in turning potential into action.

Action
Potential
One way to find out
Here goes nothing,
Fuck you self doubt.

If you listened to Nicole’s performance of this poem, you could hear the shift and see the change of her demeanor when she gets to this final stanza. After the explosion of emotion from the penultimate stanza there is a calmness here. It’s like the moment in an action movie where the hero has been losing, beaten down, and at the lowest of the low. But then the switch flips. You can see the set of their jaw, the set of the shoulders. You can witness their physical transformation as doubt and despair melts away. The gleam in their eye as they stand straight and tall against the villain.

This final stanza is seizing the potential and turning it into action. It is the action potential firing that impulse for the muscle to contract. It is the difference. The infinitesimally small difference between action and potential. That small spark that converts one to the other. “One way to find out / here goes nothing.” All the questions, doubts, and fears melt away. Well, are at least pushed away. Because there is only one way to find out. And she takes that no longer hesitant step, gaining confidence as she moves forward. She will be the one you see from shore, tall and proud. “Fuck you self doubt” is a powerful and fitting final line to this poem.

Nicole, I’ve enjoyed watching your journey into poetry and just how quickly you’ve leapt into it. This is a powerful poem and a powerful performance, and it covers a very relevant and important topic that I think virtually anyone reading this can relate to: imposter syndrome and self-doubt. I look forward to reading (and watching) more of your poetry as you keep kicking self-doubt’s ass.