Who am I?
better not to ask...
Maybe this is the first time you’ve read one of these,
maybe it’s the 100th,
either way,
it’s nice to meet you.
I’ve been sat here writing for quite a while now. When I’m not writing, I’m making stuff, and when I’m not making stuff, I’m thinking. When I’m at my best, all that thinking, making and writing line up together. When I’m at my worst, I hide.
My world is chaotic. I’m lucky to know that when I’m not doing these things it becomes even more so.
I’ve tried normal jobs. I still dream of them. I once spent a summer looking into cardboard boxes. I thought if I could find something that everyone needs and I could sell to them, then maybe I could fit in. Be the cardboard box guy. Get a factory. Nice car.
I can’t.
Maybe that’s because I’m dysfunctional. Sat a little too far from the teacher and a little too close to the microwave.
When you look in you might see a thin veneer of order. It’s an act. There is some balance point between me and the world, but it’s held together with tape and thread. Just like the idea of me. Whatever that is.
But over time, from scratching away at the world and myself, I have started to understand the river running underneath. And I may be wrong. But who isn’t.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is, I don’t exist. I’m just a set of actions trying to get somewhere, while also trying to not do certain things. And along the way I get distracted by things that taste good, smell nice, look pretty. And those experiences are as much me as the me that wants to get to the place, or that doesn’t want to do the things.
In fact, those me’s are more me than the person who ends up at the place I’m trying to get to.
In fact, I don’t know if I like that guy. All I know is that if I was him right now, I’d help me out. And he isn’t. So maybe he’s not such a good guy to become after all.
I think I’m trying to get a better view. Trying to see reality as best as I can. And that means getting better eyes, better feet to get there, better hands. And when I’m there, hopefully I’ll be able to make something to show you what I see.
And that’s it. That’s me. The labels, the skills, the actions, they’re just ways for me to walk around reality and take part. Play in the game with everyone. Costume jewellery, so you don’t think I’m crazy.
But, I hate to admit it, these are not decisions of a sane man. The cardboard box factory, that is a sane decision. That is logical. People need boxes. People don’t need someone to write whatever it is you are currently reading.
But here I am.
control
Do you get a say in who you are?
We all assume so, but it’s a privileged assumption to hold, one based on the idea that with some level of competence and communication the world will see you as you see yourself.
But it’s failed. It cannot. And for the most part, will not.
Even if it were to see you as you want to be seen, it would be a lie. Because you’re the only one that can see that.
The hampering aspect of looking at identity and our ability to mould it is that we are always at the mercy of the world. We are whatever it wants us to be. We can plug in, redefine our selves, cut off a limb and play the game. But if the waves turn, we will not be saved.
In fact, those most wedded to their identities, their sense of self, they will be the ones to suffer first.
Freedom is not some extrinsic set of conditions. It is a decision.
The bird can only fly because it is happy to leave the ground. We don’t realise how scary it is to leave the nest. But there was a day when every pigeon learned to fly. Maybe you’ll see them a little bit differently. Or maybe you won’t realise until you next go up a big building, and realise how scared you still are. Of being you.
We tie ourselves to our identity, to what we are. It gets harder over time, because we as humans are responsible for one another, for our kids, for our partners. But we, this idea of you and I, are not real. It’s language syntax. A way of communicating, so that in this marketplace, where we trade goods and energy to recover as we sleep, we don’t tear each other apart.
Like the animals we know we are.
direction
The self model of identity ends up with two solutions to navigating life.
We use them both all the time, interchangeably.
At any given time, we are either trying to be someone (goals), or being someone (values).
When we exert force on the world in pursuit of some goal, our ego identity is defined by this action. I am going to the fridge to get food. The more important the goal, the more discomfort we can suffer to achieve it. I will move to a new country. The more we identify with the goal while we pursue it, the more resource we allocate to its success. I will learn a new language. The more success and validation we get from the journey, the more this identity becomes permanent. I eat food from the fridge, I like to live in Italy, voila.
This goal-pursuant model is what drives a lot of the AI delirium at the moment.
Normally the discomfort of actually having to solve the problems we encounter stops us producing the things that aren’t aligned with us. Remove the discomfort of the work, introduce some polite feedback, and all of a sudden we have an enabler of failure — but with your best interests at heart. Surely. Right?
The second model is values driven. It can sound alluring, and what it lacks in force it makes up for in alignment, but it pays for that alignment with passivity. It’s the playbook of allocating time and resource to the things we value. I value food, so I go to work. I value nice food, so I do overtime. I value the people I work with, so I stay late to cover them. The nuance and the trade-offs are where the identity is formed. When we replace one value with another, we define ourselves by it. I prefer family to friends, health to decadence, freedom to success.
But we are passive when we pursue a solely values based approach. The only obvious way to be adherent to our values is to never challenge them, to avoid the chaos of modern life let alone the cities and complexities of ‘success’. For the monk on the hill or the devout of any faith it’s an easy choice - but there’s a good chance you won’t end up anywhere new.
Goals.
Values.
That’s it.
Both change who we are.
And identity is always a choice. Even the incumbent one you already have. It’s a decision every day to keep it.
The inertia is real.
But so is the discomfort of knowing you could’ve changed yesterday.
agility
If you couldn’t already tell, this change of direction has been more of an internal journey than an external one so far. Guess that’s the way it is.
Someone once told me that the benefit of being an artist isn’t the lifestyle, or the successes. It’s that you get the opportunity, throughout your life, to get a good perspective on who you actually are. What happens when you give yourself the ultimate freedom to create? What is it you end up doing? What is it they end up seeing?
Whenever I take these turns in my practice, to look at things a little differently, the first few weeks are always clunky. I watch parts of my identity shift. The work. The people I keep around me. The things I do. The ones who’ve been around longest understand that this is what it’s like. There have been times they’ve had to tell me it’s hard to keep up. But they understand, and over time I think they’ve all realised they just have to give me a little space to figure out what the next bit looks like. So I appreciate that.
I feel like I’m getting closer to something more structured. And maybe that’s the benefit of control, if you pick the right master it will treat you well. In the same way the cardboard boxes gave me some boundaries to stay sane. There’s a predictability in it I think I’ve been looking for. But I won’t know what the cost of that is until it’s done.
All this to say: I’m grateful there’s a little latitude, from everyone reading this and everyone in my world, to explore and take some time to figure out this next phase. To get somewhere more concrete and hopefully closer to what you came here for.
and closer to why I did too.
love you loads
r x