I am not a has-been. I am a will be.

The words of Lauren Bacall, “I am not a has-been. I am a will be,” resound like a defiant cry against time, against doubt, and against the voices of those who would consign a soul to the past. They remind us that true spirit is not measured by what once was, but by what still can be. The world is quick to place labels, to declare that a person’s glory is behind them, that their season has passed. But Bacall, with fire in her voice and unyielding dignity in her being, declared that her story was not finished. To be a will be is to proclaim that the future is yet open, that possibility still shines, and that the soul never ceases to create.

A has-been is one who is chained to yesterday, who allows the achievements or failures of the past to define the whole of their life. It is a title spoken by cynics and the small-hearted, who see no value beyond fleeting fame or momentary success. But to be a will be is to claim authorship over tomorrow, to insist that the best work, the truest self, the deepest purpose still lie ahead. Bacall herself, an icon of cinema from the golden age of Hollywood, could have been trapped in nostalgia, remembered only as the young starlet beside Humphrey Bogart. Yet she refused such confinement. She continued to act, to speak, to inspire—proving that a life is not ended by the fading of youth, but renewed by the resolve of the spirit.

History offers us echoes of this same truth. Consider the great Cato the Elder, who in his later years, after a life of service in Rome, was dismissed by some as too old to shape the destiny of the Republic. Yet it was in his final season that he thundered in the Senate with the famous cry, “Carthage must be destroyed.” His persistence reshaped Roman policy and altered the course of history. Though many may have thought him a relic, he proved instead to be a will be, showing that as long as breath remains, purpose can blaze anew.

So too in the modern age did Nelson Mandela embody this truth. After twenty-seven years in prison, the world might have declared him finished, a man swallowed by the past. Yet he emerged not as a broken “has-been,” but as a will be, destined to lead his people into freedom and to inspire humanity with the power of forgiveness. The years behind him were not chains, but preparation; the years ahead were his triumph.

This is the essence of Bacall’s wisdom: the spirit must never surrender to the tyranny of labels. Life is not static, but ever-flowing. A single chapter, however glorious or tragic, does not define the book. The present moment holds the power of rebirth, and the future holds treasures yet unseen. To declare oneself a will be is to rise each day with renewed purpose, to reject the voice of despair, and to embrace the unending journey of becoming.

The lesson is clear: do not let the judgments of others imprison you in the past. Do not call yourself finished when the fire of desire still burns within. Each sunrise brings the chance to be new, to create, to strive, to contribute. The only true has-been is the one who has abandoned hope, who has ceased to dream. But the one who continues to reach forward, no matter the age, no matter the trial, is forever a will be.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: when the world whispers that your time is over, rise and declare with the courage of Bacall, “I am not a has-been. I am a will be.” Speak it until your heart believes it. Live as if the greatest part of your story is still unwritten. For indeed, as long as you draw breath, you are not what you were—you are what you are becoming.

If you would live this teaching, begin today by setting your eyes not on what you have lost, but on what you can yet gain. Choose a new challenge, a new dream, or a new act of service. Let it remind you that your life is still unfolding, still capable of greatness. In this way, you will silence the past and awaken the eternal truth: you are not a shadow of what was—you are the bright flame of what shall yet be.