Being a Unique Thread: finding identity outside the myths
Last week we debunked the lie of rugged individualism—the idea that if we work hard enough we can do everything for ourselves, by ourselves, and create the best/freest/coolest life imaginable out of pure sweat and determination.
(If you missed last week’s post, catch up here)
But if we are not capable of such glorious, idealized independence, what’s left for us?
If all I am is a thread in a tapestry, what’s the point of me at all?
As someone who has battled major depression for a decade and a half, my brain has come up with some NOT NICE answers to that question in the past. So before you have an identity crisis at the thought of never being special, powerful, or free again, let’s break this down into clearer terms.
What makes you...you?
Your body is given to you—it assembled itself according to its little nucleotide blueprints while your mom hung out eating crackers (or at least that’s what I did while pregnant.)
How you use your body is a part of you. The rate and regularity with which you walk, run, unicycle, scale cliffs, knit afghans, paint murals, teach cross-fit, or lounge on the couch is your decision (within your body’s capabilities.)
Your job is given to you (unless you are self-employed), your field of choice is a part of you.
Your clothes were made for you, your aesthetic is a part of you.
Your money is given to you (within employment agreements or otherwise), where you send it next is a part of you.
Your traumas happened to you, your coping mechanisms and healing pathways are parts of you.
Your language is taught to you, your communication style is a part of you.
Your values, your choices, your treatment of others, your conversational quirks, and your likes and dislikes are what make you.
This may seem obvious, but we receive daily messaging to the contrary: that our jobs and productivity levels are the most important things about us.
After all, when we meet someone new in the US, our customary first question is, “What do you do?”
What we really mean is, “What is your job?”
The amount of money in your bank account, the number of tasks you accomplish, any notoriety or acclaim you receive, making your mark on the world, etc., all of these are capitalist metrics that have pretty much nothing to do with the real you.
Your health, size, or present state of overwhelm have nothing to do with it either.
I am as much myself at 120 lbs as I am 165 lbs, and my partner doesn’t become a less talented musician when he has a cold.
Emotions come and go. Sadness, overwhelm, anger, loneliness, are all as much part of the human experience as digesting food, and are never an indication of a character failing. At worst, a processing failure can occur, in which case—just like chronic indigestion—it’s time to get help from medical professionals. But having big feelings doesn’t define your worthiness, any more than having big jeans.
Notice these are all transitory, or external factors. We’re looking for attributes that are always yours, ones that don’t change based on societal pressures, money markets, or stomach bugs.
Why does knowing the real you matter?
When we strip away all that has been given: external pressures and inheritance both, we find ourselves.
Once we find ourselves, we begin to understand what we have to offer.
My living in an apartment instead of a house has little to no bearing on my makeup as a human being.
The fact that if given all the time in the world (or only 40 seconds) I will spend it writing, does.
Knowing that it’s much easier for me to befriend people’s pets than the people themselves, that I actively chose to become a parent, and that I would much rather wear clothing that resembles layers of flea market blankets than a finely tailored suit jacket, all help me to be of greater service to others.
“How?” You might ask, particularly about that suit jacket thing.
Because growing an intimate acquaintance with my own true character allows me to have realistic expectations of what I’m good at, and what I should let others in the web handle.
When we clear away all the bonkers expectations which cultural narratives of Go-Gettum-ittude have instilled in us, we have space to enjoy letting people help with things that are outside our innate zone of genius.
Example? I PHYSICALLY CANNOT BE IN CHARGE OF YOUR NETWORKING EVENT.
DO. NOT. CALL. ME. I am not your guy for anything to do with cocktails, strangers, business cards, or synergistic hybridization whatnot. If I try to knuckle down and force myself to handle that kind of work anyway, I will end up hyperventilating under a table, you will lose all your money, and I won’t even be able to say sorry because of the gasping and tears.
I can also bond with your cat who doesn’t usually like anyone, make a stellar meal-plan menu for the week, and entertain the hell out of small children for several hours straight. (I do voices and everything!)
This is what I’m good for. This is the point of me.
Despite not being able to do everything all the time, I still matter, and I contribute many valuable things.
Now that I think about it, I can’t do most things:
Welding!
Physics!
Spelling “Connecticut” without spell check!
But the handful of things I can do matter, and I contribute many valuable things.
As do you.
Knowing what makes you a unique thread allows you to embrace your own powers, work with your tendencies to shape a life that suits you perfectly, and welcomes other people’s gifts that make your world richer and easier than it would be alone.
Special. Powerful. Free.
All yielded by understanding what’s yours and what’s real, vs. what we’ve been told.
Let’s review!
If you’re concerned about what having IKEA furniture as a grown adult says about you as a person, the answer is: it says NOTHING. Societal expectations are transitory and therefore unreliable as a measuring tool.
If you’re concerned that accepting help means you’re defective and weak, INCORRECT. Accepting help liberates you to do the stuff at which you are authentically, intrinsically brilliant.
If you’re concerned that without the metrics of status, accomplishments, and money your life is meaningless, NERP. You are inherently valuable regardless.
The only things that ever really mattered are the things you would do if you had all the money…that you’d still do with no money. These are the things you do whether or not anyone compliments you or gives you credit. Many of them you may not even notice you’re doing everyday. The actions that hint at your truest self are things that—like a bird singing—you just do: easily, joyously, and well.
Those facets of being are what make you an absolutely wondrous, sacred, unique thread in the tapestry of humankind.
You never had to do it all.
You’re enough as you are.