Identity Crisis, Part 1: Who Do You Think You Are?

Oct 16

4 min read

An Essene Life Mantra

Dr. Kenn McSperitt

Who are you—really? Beyond your name, your career, your accomplishments, and the roles you play, is there something deeper that defines you? In the opening installment of the Identity Crisis series, Dr. Kenn invites readers to explore one of life's most profound questions through the lens of ancient peace traditions and personal evolution. This thoughtful Essene Life Mantra challenges us to reconsider the labels we wear, the identities we defend, and the possibility that our truest self has been there all along, quietly waiting to be discovered.

I'd like to begin tonight with a question. It's a question that's usually not asked kindly. In fact, you've probably heard it during an argument. Maybe you've even said it yourself.

"Who do you think you are?"

It's an interesting question. Because underneath the frustration---underneath the emotion---it's actually one of the most important questions a human being can ask.

Who do you think you are?

Take a moment and answer it. Not out loud. Just to yourself. Who are you? What came to mind first? Your name? Your occupation? Your role as a parent? A husband? A wife? A Christian? An American? A teacher? A musician? Maybe your personality. Maybe your accomplishments. Maybe your failures. Whatever came to mind---I'd like you to notice something. Almost everything we use to answer that question is something we've attached to ourselves. Very little of it is who we actually are.

Think about it.

When you introduce yourself to someone, what's the first thing you tell them? Your name.

"Hi, I'm Kenn." Simple enough. But here's something fascinating. You weren't born knowing that name. Someone gave it to you. Before that---you had no idea what to call yourself. Then someone spoke a sound---and eventually you answered to it. Over time, that sound became you.

Isn't that remarkable? A collection of syllables became your identity. Not because the sound itself had power. Because you gave it meaning.

I've been thinking about that lately. Because it seems like we spend much of our lives collecting labels. Our name. Our family. Our hometown. Our profession. Our education. Our political party. Our religion. Our nationality. Our generation. Our successes. Our failures.

Before long, we've built an entire identity out of things that, one by one, could disappear. If you retired tomorrow---would you stop existing? Of course not. If you moved to another country---would you become someone else? No. If people forgot your name---would the real you disappear? Again---no. Which makes me wonder---how much of what we call identity is simply clothing we've forgotten we're wearing?

I've noticed something over the years. Whenever someone criticizes one of our labels, it often feels as though they're criticizing us. If someone insults our profession---our church---our political party---our favorite team---our hometown---our family---we feel it personally. Why? Because somewhere along the way---we stopped wearing those identities---and started believing we were them.

The ancient peace traditions had a fascinating way of looking at this. They suggested that most of our suffering begins with mistaken identity. Not because identity itself is bad. But because we become attached to temporary things and mistake them for our deepest self.

I've often used the image of an actor. Imagine an actor playing a king in a movie. During filming, everyone calls him "Your Majesty." He wears the robes. He sits on the throne. People bow before him.

Now imagine filming ends---and he refuses to take off the costume. He goes to the grocery store wearing the crown. He demands people kneel before him. We'd probably say he's lost touch with reality. Why? Because he confused the role---with the person.

Maybe we do something similar. Only our costumes are different. "My career." "My title." "My politics." "My religion." "My wealth." "My reputation." "My social status." None of these are wrong. They're just roles. They're costumes we wear for a while. The trouble begins when we forget there's someone underneath them.

One of the reasons I've spent so much time talking about personal evolution is because I don't think we're here merely to improve our costumes. I think we're here to discover the person wearing them. That's a very different journey. Because costumes change. The actor remains. Jobs change. Relationships change. Bodies change. Opinions change. Life changes.

So perhaps the better question isn't,

"What do I do?"

Or,

"What do I own?"

Or,

"What group do I belong to?"

Perhaps the better question is simply, "Who am I when all of those things are stripped away?"

That's a little uncomfortable, isn't it? Because most of us have spent our entire lives answering the easier questions. The external ones.

I've noticed something interesting. Children don't spend much time worrying about identity. Watch a little kid. One minute they're an astronaut. The next they're a pirate. Then a dinosaur. Then a doctor. Then a dragon. They're constantly changing roles. But they never confuse the role with themselves.

Adults, on the other hand---often spend decades protecting a role they've forgotten is temporary. Maybe that's why children laugh more. Maybe they instinctively understand something we've forgotten. Life is meant to be experienced. Not defended.

I've come to believe that identity is much like a backpack. It's useful. You can carry things in it. It serves a purpose. But it was never meant to become your skin. The problem isn't having an identity. The problem begins when identity starts having you.

Next time, I'd like to explore where those identities actually come from. Because I think you'll discover that many of the things you've called "me"---were handed to you long before you ever had a chance to choose them.

Dr. Kenn Challenge

Until we meet again, I'd like you to notice how many different labels you use to describe yourself. Write down ten answers to the question: "Who am I?"

Then look at your list. Beside each one, ask yourself: "If this disappeared tomorrow---would I still exist?"