No, seriously. This isn’t an attack. It’s not a self-help prompt. It’s a question. Do you actually know who you are? And even if you think you do, are you comfortable with it?

We get told constantly how important “knowing yourself” is. But what does that even mean? I know I like ice cream, action movies, music, art. I know I put my pants on one leg at a time. But does that mean I know myself? Or is this one of those “if a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it…” type questions?

Because here’s the rub: who I think I am and who you think I am might be two very different people. Family, coworkers, random strangers, the server I forgot to tip… what if their version of me doesn’t line up with mine? What if I think I’m a decent human and they think I’m a complete dick? It’s possible, right?

Hovering Outside Yourself

At 53, you’d assume I’d have a rock-solid understanding of who I am. To some degree, I do. I know my bottom line. I know which hills I’ll die on and which ones I’ll walk away from. But I also have days where I feel like I’m hovering just outside my body, looking back at my bipedal meat husk, wondering: who the fuck is this guy?

Uncomfortable silence. Yep. Just me? Cool.

Anyway…

The Identity Loop

Sometimes it feels like we’re all in a constant Pursuit of Happiness loop. Am I where I should be? Doing what I love? Living with purpose? Or am I just wandering into the kitchen forgetting why I came in, staring blankly into the fridge, or yes, walking out to the car without pants on.

I hate saying this, but fine, here it is: imposter syndrome. Gross. I need a shower. But it fits. At work, I rarely feel it. I’ve been doing this for 30 years, I know my shit. But outside work? The simplest moments can trigger it. Like I’m doing life wrong.

The Truth I Do Know

But if I strip it all down, there are things I do know about myself. I thrive on helping people. It’s my love language. It’s driven me most of my life. On some level, yeah, I like to feel useful and needed. And beneath that? I just want to be liked. Accepted. There, I said it.

Humour is my other tell. If I’m scared, nervous, or embarrassed, I’ll crack a joke. Hell, I’ll crack one when things are totally fine too. But it’s a shield.

And even with all of that, the questions never stop: Am I doing enough? Am I scared to try the thing I really want? Am I practicing what I preach? Some days I want to burn it all down and just make lattes in a beach shack. Maybe that’s my calling. Who knows.

So Who Are We?

Maybe the point is we never really figure it out. We’re fluid. Evolving. Contradictory. Funny, sad, scared, strong, insecure, all at once.

So who the fuck do we think we are?
Maybe we’re not supposed to have an answer. Maybe the asking is the point.

Can you relate? Or, am I sucking on dream sticks?