Who Am I?

A few weeks ago, the start-up that I’d been working at for the past year and a half folded. It didn’t come as a major shock; this had been somewhat expected for quite a while, but after jumping from thing to thing for the past few years, I’m back at square one for the first time in a long time, thinking about what’s next. This is a place I’m oddly familiar with, but it’s strangely different this time around. It’s a feeling that used to be filled with stress and anxiety and uncertainty, and is now only exciting and fun and filled with potential and opportunity. It’s no longer a problem to solve, it’s a fresh, blank canvas to get started on.

Whenever I’m at a crossroads, though, I turn inward. That usually means I turn to writing, because when I’m feeling like things are uncertain, that’s when I’m the most comfortable. When I don’t know what to do, I write. I shit you not, I have multiple 20,000+-word Google Docs and Apple Notes that’ll never be seen by another human. Sometimes, I’ll write about where I currently am in life. Other times, I’ll write about where I plan to be. I’ll write about what I intend to accomplish and what sort of impact I’m going to make. I‘ll write down long lists of things that I’m grateful for, or sometimes it’s positive affirmations. I vision board, I analyze my biggest heroes and inspirations, and occasionally I’ll even script out the next chapter of my life as though I’m storyboarding a screenplay.

Today, I’m writing like Beanie Man in 1998 — Who Am I? And I’ve decided to do so publicly this time, in hopes it inspires others to do the same.

I should warn the reader in advance; I’m about to toot the shit out of my own horn. Along my journey, I’ve noticed that a lot of people have a tendency to feel offended by someone else’s self-assuredness. I try to be empathetic to that fact, as I never want to make someone feel anything less than great, so if this is you, now might be a good time to stop reading. I recently made a vow to stop dimming my own light for others. So, toot toot!

Who am I? Two years ago, I’d write about the positive changes I’m making, who I’m becoming, and who I plan to be. Five years ago, I’d probably write mostly complaints, frustrations, and negativity. Today, I feel confident in my ability to explain who I am. This might take a couple of words, though.

I’m honest. I don’t think that’s an easy thing to be, either. Even just admitting that I’m honest is difficult, honestly. I am, and I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not. In fact, I don’t lie, which may sound like a morality brag, but actually has a lot more to do with the fact that I have a pile of dogshit instead of a human memory bank. I can’t possibly keep track of lies with the operating system I’ve been bestowed, so to make life a lot easier, I just don’t do it. Honesty is a lot more than not lying, though. A big part of it is speaking the truth. Honesty means saying things that are sometimes hard to say, and trusting that the universe will always reward the truth over the easy.

I’m secure. I know who I am and I live every day completely as myself. That includes flaws, by the way. Or rather, that includes what’s considered “flaws” to some. I’ve come to realize that a “flaw” to someone else may, in fact, be a quality about myself that I really love. An ex-girlfriend once told me that I’m over-sensitive, to which I replied “I know. Thank you, I love that about me”. Then she blocked me. Everyone is different, but I’m secure in who I am, I’m happy about who I am, and I love me, imperfections and all.

I’m healthy. Both mentally and physically. Mentally, I’m controlling my mind and my thoughts rather than letting them control me. For a long, long time I was absolutely NOT in control. Any sort of emotions or feelings resulted in what can best be described as a panic. I’d feel overwhelming stress, anxiety, and insecurity, and I’d let that take over my whole entire being like a Venom Symbiote. Now, I’m in the driver seat, baby! I can shift my focus, understand my emotions, and act free of unhealthy insecurities. Meditation is a wildly valuable skill in this regard, by the way. So is journaling, art, breathing exercises, reading, and exercise. Physically, I’m, like, really fucking strong. And what’s crazy is I have the ability to get a whole lot stronger, too. In fact, I’m working on that. But I’m grateful that, despite some aches and pains, everything still works and I challenge my body’s limits on a daily basis. I’m having a fun time with this earthly vessel that I’m renting.

I’m funny. I’m still figuring out my voice and my message, but I think I’m “make a career out of it” funny. If I want.

I’m successful. And get this; I’m just getting started! I genuinely live my dream life; I have everything I need and I enjoy everything that I do. I am everything that I love, and that’s an awesome feeling. I’ve also accomplished some impressive shit; I’ve done a lot and deserve my flowers while I can still smell them. Someone recently told me, in a complimentary context, that I’m “gonna be a legend”. I took offence to that. I am one.

I’m not important. Nothing is, really. It’s all just life; it’s not that serious. I’m no better than anybody else, and I’m positive that nobody is better than me.

I’m patient. Both with myself and with others. I’m willing to put the work in to reach a result that I’m happy with, and I allow for mistakes and learn from them. I also believe that any sort of growth or progress requires a slew of patience, whether it’s personal or somebody else’s. Being in a rush never leads anywhere productive. On the other side of that coin, I’ve developed the ability to set boundaries when patience is no longer a viable option. That’s something I’ve struggled with in the past, and a skill I’m grateful to have developed.

I’m a leader. Not by the definition that I always thought a leader was, though. I always envisioned a leader as someone who’s good at telling other people what to do, and I’m admittedly not a good delegator. However, I’m a leader because I lead from behind, rather than from the front. I lead by example. Tim Duncan never shouted at teammates or gave any memorable, roaring speeches, but he won five NBA championships because every single one of his teammates loved him and followed his lead. Or better yet (staying on the basketball subject), I’m a point guard in life. I distribute. I make people better. I set things up. I connect dots. I put people in positions to succeed. I get joy from making others look good. I know I’m not Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant, but I’m Tim Duncan AND Jason Kidd, motherfucker.

I’m an influencer. Or at least that’s what my therapist always tells me, which consistently makes me cringe. Influence is an interesting word, because a person who influences, is an influencer, right? Only, the term “influencer” elicits such a vapid, self-aggrandizing image in my own head, so much so that saying “I’m an influencer” feels gross. I picture the try-hard Instagrammers and YouTubers and people who strive to be famous without really understanding why they do what they do. Couldn’t be me. You know what? Fuck it. Let’s take the word back. Things should mean what they mean, right? I use my influence to positively affect others. I‘m an influencer.

I’m reckless. I know this and I love this. The only way to know where the line is, is to cross it. I think that’s why I’m so attracted to comedy, because it’s all about testing where the boundaries are and finding out what’s over the line. I strongly believe that nothing good ever came from being too careful, so as long as you approach each situation with empathy, kindness, and compassion, I say go ahead and be a dirtbag, too. Shoplift from big department stores. Drink where you aren’t “allowed”. Run with scissors. Today, I applied for Unemployment Insurance and bought myself a hot tub.

I’m curious. I’m always hungry for new thoughts, ideas, subjects, adventures, and things. I love to learn, and I love to expand my ever-meaningless base of knowledge. You know what’s crazy? I used to hate school; I was a mediocre-at-best student who got passing grades reluctantly. Now, I stay in several nights a week just to read up on stuff that I’m interested in. And when it comes to interacting with others, I am officially retired from talking about the weather.

I’m comfy. I love comfort. And I think I make other people feel comfy, too. I think I’m safe, secure, and someone people can trust. By the same logic, I think I’m reliable, I’m dependable, and I’m always punctual. My word means something to me, and I take it very seriously.

I’m an artist. This one took a while to admit, actually. I’ve always loved to create, be it writing or painting or videos or stand up or whatever else pops into my head, I’ve always been adamant about expressing myself through creativity, but the term “artist” always felt like something I had yet to earn. It dawned on me about three years ago, though, that this isn’t just a hobby or something that I enjoy. It’s something that I need to do. Salvador Dali was once asked in an interview what he’d do if his artistic instruments were taken away and he no longer had any paints or brushes or canvas to work with. The interview asked this in a sort of condescending type of manner, essentially saying “Ok, but what about a REAL job?” Dali, unbothered, easily replied something to the tune of “I’d cut myself and paint with my own blood.” First of all, Salvador Dali is hardcore. Second of all, I couldn’t agree more. Everything I do in life must be art.

I’m fun. That’s the driving force behind the vast majority of my decisions. I ask myself “does that sound fun?,” and then I let that answer depict my choices. If a normal compass is directed towards magnets in the North Pole or whatever the hell, then my compass is directed towards fun. Of course, my fun isn’t the same as everyone else’s fun, but MY fun is typically what guides me.

I’m emotional. Some people may even see it as being emotional to a fault. I’m a Cancer, what can I say? I mentioned the ex-girlfriend who blocked me for being too sensitive earlier, and I’m sure more than a few others would agree with her. I’m not perfect, and it’d be foolish to assume that it’s always the other person’s fault things don’t work out. It’s more likely nobody’s fault, and the lesson is in compatibility, not strengths or weaknesses. I do find that a byproduct of living freely, living true to yourself, and having a passion for expression is that you sometimes end up making people uncomfortable. You end up having a hard time seeing where someone else’s boundaries are, and just because you don’t have your own, you end up violating theirs. I can totally see how I’m sometimes too much. On the one hand, I want to be careful about respecting other people’s boundaries, but on the other hand, “careful” seems to go against my core beliefs.

I’m happy. I’m aware that life means balance, and there’s an equal amount of good and bad in any given context. However, I’m grateful that I have the ability to focus on what I want to. I get to reaffirm myself. I get to grow. I get to be grateful. I get to add value. I get to live the way I want to live and be the person I know I am. I’m happy, because I choose to be. And I also know that being happy requires a fuckton of work, focus, dedication, and often times, struggle.

I am conscious. I’m aware that I’m a sum of my thoughts, my memories, the people I’ve met, my experiences, the information I’ve learnt, and everything that I love. I am the total of all of that, and at the same time, I am none of that. When I meditate, I like to envision a chair in the back of my head that I call the “Soul Seat”. It’s an old wooden chair, not even a very comfortable one. The first few moments (sometimes minutes) of any meditation always starts by weeding through all of those things I just mentioned, like a thick swamp up to my waist, until I can reach the Soul Seat. There, I take a seat behind it all, and just observe it. It floats by, in front of me, but not a part of me. I can look at it, without being it. I am the soul, above all else. At the end of the day, the only thing that any of us are is pure consciousness. Our names, our appearances, our personalities, our preferences, and everything that I just said I’m a sum of… those are details about me, but those aren’t ME. The only thing that is ME, is my ability to know that I’m me. I am not Dr. Tyler Lemco. I am not a writer. I am not a man. Those are details about the human me, not who I am in a cosmic sense. Because I am my conscious self, and nothing more. Quite frankly, that’s the most unique thing in the universe.

And most of all, I’m a person who overshares online, apparently.

I recommend trying your own “Who Am I?” practice. Sharing it is definitely optional, but even just listing out headers in point-form, with or without elaboration, will likely help affirm things that you already know deep down to be true. More often than not, all we need is a little reminder.