Expanding Identity: Lessons from ‘Master of Change’

“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

This age-old adage, typically associated with financial investments, resonates deeply with me. It goes beyond diversifying assets to mitigate risk; it serves as a powerful metaphor for spreading our emotional and psychological investments across various aspects of life. This approach to diversifying how we define and perceive our identities can safeguard us against life's unpredictability.

After reading Brad Stulberg's Master of Change, the concept of not putting all your eggs in one basket took on a new, personal dimension. Stulberg explores rugged flexibility, a resilience against life's changes. His application of this proverb to the realm of identity struck me the most. He argues that by diversifying the sources of our self-worth, we can develop psychological resilience. This perspective, introduced by Stulberg, offered a fresh lens to view my own multifaceted identity.

Eager to put this concept into practice, I embarked on a personal journey of reflection. I often get flustered when life's balance tilts, feeling overwhelmed when things don't go smoothly. Recognizing this pattern, I saw the value in proactively applying Stulberg's idea. I aimed to equip myself better for those inevitable challenging times. Could redefining my identity in broader terms help me stay centered? This introspection aimed to mute my inner critic's harsh criticisms, labeling me an 'underachieving loser' (my inner critic's words, not mine), before they surfaced during the next downturn.

Here's what I discovered, a surprisingly revealing and affirming list. It was a profoundly good use of 30 minutes, one that I heartily recommend. Below is a snapshot of my notebook, showcasing these 101 facets of my identity. Entries like 'I am a pancake chef' and 'I am a coreographer' represent unique strands in my identity's complex tapestry, extending beyond just my professional life and familial roles. This visual representation of my diverse self-identity serves as a personal reminder of my multifaceted nature and as a direct invitation to you, the reader, to embark on a similar journey of self-discovery. It's a revealing and enriching experience.

Looking back on this exercise, I had one more takeaway that I’ve been chewing on.

I’m a pretty regular guy. I’m not that much more interesting or worldly than anyone else. And I was able to look inward and define my identity in 101 ways without too much trouble. If I’m not that different than the next guy, that means everyone is this multi-dimensional. Everyone has more to them than meets the eye. Everyone has a sophisticated, interesting, and unique inner world.

Which makes me think of how reducing so many institutions can be.

Reflecting on my career, I realize that most companies I've worked for have only acknowledged a fraction of my dimensions. In public politics, individuals often get pigeonholed into categories represented by organized interest groups, overshadowing their identity complexity. And I’ll admit it, when I see people in public I have a hard time remembering that there’s more to someone than some of the obvious visible identifiers - like the sports team on their hat, their fashion sense, or their likely age. These reflections opened my eyes to the frequency with which we're condensed to just a sliver of who we truly are, whether in professional settings or broader societal contexts.

The exercise sparked a pivotal change in my thinking: I now want to proactively assume the complexity and nuance in every person. I now know, in very tactical terms, how to look beyond surface impressions and appreciate that everyone has a complex identity. By choosing not to unintentionally oversimplify others, I seek to creating a space where the person in front of me can bring their full self to the world.

Imagine how different the world might be if everyone contributed the totality of who they were. It’d be something.

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My new book, Character by Choice: Letters on Goodness, Courage, and Becoming Better on Purpose, is now out in pre-launch! I’m so excited to share it and proud of how it turned out. If you liked this post, you might find it a good read. You can learn more about the book here.

“Dawg, I can’t afford this anymore.”

These problems matter a lot to me:

• How do I be a good guy in a stressful world?

• How do I do my part to build a marriage of mutual respect, even though I have selfish tendencies?

• How do I show unconditional love and patience as a father, even though my kids need a LOT from me?

• How do I bend society to be a more trusting place - even though I’m just one person?

• How do I make the organizations and communities I’m a part of places where there’s a virtuous cycle of growth and development - even though I’m just one person?

• How do I bend society to have fewer people die by homicide or suicide - even though I’m just one person?

This problem has caused me the most agony in my adult life:

• How do I get powerful, influential people to tell me I’m awesome?

Honestly, I was ashamed of being vain and narcissistic enough to need others to tell me I’m awesome. For a long time, I deluded myself into believing that my ambition was wholly for the benefit of my family’s standard of living or the advancement of society.

Honestly, it wasn’t.

I know I shouldn’t be too hard on myself for being vain and narcissistic - I am human. But damn, over the course of my life, this problem has been so expensive. I was probably spending 20-30% of my emotion budget worrying about whether powerful people thought I was awesome.

That’s so expensive. That’s so much of my energy and emotion budget stolen away from more important problems. I just can’t afford that.

I’ve been struggling with this for at least a decade. Then, over the course of a few hours, I listened to a book during a long car ride that presented the question properly. Then, a decade’s worth of change happened in an afternoon.

The book I listened to was The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, and if you burn energy on unaffordable problems, I’d highly recommend it.

We can choose which problems in our life we give a lot of effort to. Once we have an honest catalog of what we’re spending our emotion budget on, it becomes much easier to say, “dawg, I can’t afford this anymore.”