Life is full of seasons. The challenge is understanding and discerning when we’re moving from one season to another. Sometimes we want summer to last, just like when we were kids and didn’t want school to start.
Remember Sunday nights and 60 Minutes coming on with that incessant stopwatch? You knew the weekend was ending, you had to get to your homework, and you knew dreaded Monday morning was right around the corner.
In life, it’s not always that distinct. Who are we when the way we’ve defined ourselves begins to change? Sometimes it happens subtly. Sometimes it’s dramatic.
For me, the external change was abrupt. I was told I was no longer needed by the company that had acquired my former company. I went from the grind of each day—the travel, decision-making, phone calls, deadlines, and everything that came with my job for so many years—to no more phone calls and no more deadlines from an outside source.
The deadlines were now driven by me, and strangely, that made things more unsettling.
So who was I? If I wasn’t defined by a job or a role, who was I without it? The job ended abruptly, but understanding who I was without it happened gradually.
Vanaprastha (spoiler: it’s not a destination)
In Hindu tradition, there is a concept called vanaprastha, traditionally the third of four stages of life. It follows the householder stage, when much of life is focused on family, work and responsibilities, and involves gradually withdrawing from worldly concerns and turning more toward contemplation and spiritual life.
I suspect I was already moving in that direction while I was still working. But today I recognize it more clearly. It means less to me to accumulate and acquire, to be somebody or something, or to be attached to a title. I’m just more comfortable simply being.
That doesn’t mean I’ve become a completely different person. I’m still competitive. I’m still intense and very logical. Those qualities are part of me. Maybe the difference is that they don’t have to drive everything anymore. There’s more balance.
Today, I get very cautious about attaching titles to what I do. When people ask me what I do, I usually give them the roles: “volunteer,” “medium,” “writer.” But those labels seem superficial. Those are things I do. Are they really who I am?
I struggle to encapsulate it in one phrase. Maybe I’m an instrument of peace.
It sounds very “woo woo.” Referring back to my corporate days, there’s the tactical level, and then there’s the big-picture strategic level. Maybe that’s the big picture.
Perhaps this means sitting with someone who is dying. Perhaps it means delivering a meal. Perhaps it’s giving a mediumship reading that brings somebody comfort. Perhaps it’s writing something that causes one person to look at life differently. Perhaps it’s simply how I try to show up for my family.
There’s nothing wrong with a job title or an occupation. But when that becomes the primary way we define ourselves, we can become attached to the role, and the striving can continue. Maybe that’s why the idea of vanaprastha resonates with me.
Eventually, we are stripped of many of the things that potentially define us. This becomes especially apparent as people approach their final days on earth. It makes me wonder whether the question eventually changes from “Who am I?” to “Who was I?”
That’s why I think there’s value in considering our own passing and even our own potential obituary. How would people describe me? More importantly, how would I describe myself?
Maybe we don’t need to wait until the end of life to ask, “Who was I?” We can ask a version of it now:
Who am I when the titles, roles and accomplishments are stripped away?
I don’t know that we ever arrive at a complete answer.
Maybe the value is in continuing to ask the question.
