What’s the difference between who you are and what you do? Can you become someone new by doing something new?
I ask because I’m reconsidering the extent to which our actions define us. Many people believe in a static, universal sense of self, but we also often describe our identities in terms of our professions and avocations. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; I admire people who establish their identities through practice.
After all, doing something today (or not) informs what we have to say for ourselves tomorrow. Consider Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” thing. The day after that he says that soliloquy, Hamlet will either be the guy who honors his father by killing his uncle, or he’ll be the guy who wimps out and fails to meet the moment.
Of course, most of our decisions aren’t that dramatic, but don’t we still judge ourselves by what we do and don’t do? Will we ask that person for a date? Dog for a raise? Leave the law firm to start making candles to sell at the farmers market? Isn’t taking action what distinguishes people for their commitment to their art, profession, or craft?
People who have dedicated their lives to one pursuit or another deserve our respect, especially when their accomplishments and/or longevity sets a standard that inspires others to follow. I love knowing that Jiro dreams of sushi and Norman is the ultimate authority on vintage guitars.
But people who become what they do are also vulnerable to what happens when they stop doing it. Who will they be then?
I’ve done a lot of stuff in my life, but I don’t identify with every activity. Especially not those with their own established culture of belonging, because I haven’t earned it. The one exception is service to learning.
I live to learn. When it comes to specific professions, skills, or hobbies, I’m more of a tourist than a native or even a resident. I’ve surfed, but I don’t consider myself a surfer. I’ve golfed, but I am definitely not a golfer.
But I’ve been a lead learner throughout my careers as a journalist, a college professor, a management consultant, a high school teacher, and (I feel like I might be forgetting something, but whatever – the important thing is that I modeled learning and helped others do likewise, no matter what my job title might have been at the time).
The moments when I’m learning out loud are the moments I feel like I’ve arrived somewhere. When I write, I’m a writer. When I teach, I’m a teacher. I just gave another keynote speech at a conference and when I looked at the audience looking back at me, I definitely felt like a speaker. I have a harder time admitting this one out loud, but when I draw or paint I feel like I’m an artist.
The beautiful thing about learning is that acquiring new skills or mastering new concepts invites us to try on different hats by design. Open-Source Learning champions the benefits of walking in the shoes of the masters. As Kirby Ferguson put it in his wonderful Everything is a Remix series, “Copying is how we learn.”
Some of the people we consider to be the most original, creative geniuses began by imitating their role models. Bob Dylan’s first album contained 11 cover songs (I think they were mostly Woody Guthrie’s). Hunter S. Thompson created his own personal genre of writing (Gonzo Journalism) and slammed the door so hard behind him that no one else since has tried it without seeming like a poser. But when he started out, Thompson typed out pages of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby to get the feel of writing a great book.
I love that. I believe that we are the products of our life experiences, whether we claim them as our identity, or we take away a memory or two, or we learn what we never want to do again. This enrichment, this lifelong flavoring of our neuroplasticity soup, is why I have said yes so often in my own life. Yes to leaving law school after one day to pursue a Ph.D. in management and education policy instead. Yes to bicycling the Col du Tourmalet during the Tour de France. Yes to teaching high school English. Yes to visiting a student’s family in Mongolia and trekking through Tibet. Yes to SoCal skiing in the morning and surfing in the afternoon. Yes to speaking at the Royal Geographic Society in London. Yes to one more date, the night I made dinner for the woman with whom I will spend the rest of my life.
Speaking of London, I have occasionally sought out experiences that I first read about in stories because I wanted to know what the experiences might have felt like. The streets of London are an insanely great place for that because every stone is so rich in stories.
I first visited my great aunt and uncle in London when I was thirteen years old. I went to the museums and cathedrals, but the streets were the place for me. Abbey Road. Downing Street. Savile Row. Carnaby Street. The Strand. I was amazed by the knowledge of the black cab drivers. I wanted to walk in the footsteps of Jack the Ripper’s victims. More than anything, I wanted to put my hand on the building where Sherlock Holmes lived. My father was so patient as I paced back and forth along Baker Street, looking in vain for 221B.
My second favorite example of personal transformation is Jimmy Santiago Baca, who was born with rattlesnake poison in his blood and shapeshifted from illiterate to convict to social justice poet. (Read Immigrants in Our Own Land.)
But I myself lived the grand prize on a drizzly London night in 2000.
I was in London on business and I had a free night. I had just left a friend in Piccadilly Circus, where we’d watched Guy Ritchie’s movie Snatch. Two years later Warren Zevon would appear on David Letterman’s show to announce he had cancer and remind us to enjoy every sandwich – but on that day, just like the day I stared into an empty coffee cup in Los Angeles, listened to an air conditioner hum, and felt like a desperado under the eaves, I wasn’t concerned with real life and death. I became a character in a lyric.
I was literally walking through the streets of Soho in the rain. I was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook. I don’t even like beef chow mein, but by now you know where this is going.
On that night, for just a few moments, I was a Werewolf of London.
Learning forms new neuronal connections. It literally, physically changes our minds. If you’ve read this far, you are no longer the same person who opened this email. What will you do / become next?
Have you ever sought out an experience that you knew would change you – or at least be good for a story? Drop me a line – I’m curious!
Curiosity is worth practicing. That’s how we get better at it. When it’s done particularly well, curiosity can be elevated to an art form. Curiosity makes life worth living. I am literally Curious AF. And now you can be too! Click HERE to unlock your free membership subscription.
Here is a taste of what I’m reading, watching, and thinking about.
What I’m Reading –
I get a lot of offers to contribute articles for journals that I’ve never heard of. This is a growing and disturbing trend. From The American Council on Science and Health: “Behind the polished facade of peer-reviewed journals lurks a growing epidemic of junk science — propped up by predatory publishers, ignored conflicts of interest, and research so bad it refuses to die, even after retraction.” The sad, classic, funny, but also sad (again), and best example of this market is the acceptance and publication of the intentionally off-putting paper entitled, “Get me off Your F*cking Mailing List.”
How Cool is THIS? –
For years I created opportunities for high school students to talk with people over 60, because that happens exactly never anymore. In a small Japanese town, a genius has bridged the intergenerational divide. From boingboing: “Children are trading cards featuring local grandfathers instead of Pokémon, turning ordinary community members into neighborhood celebrities.
“The ‘Ojisan Trading Card Game’ in Kawara, Fukuoka Prefecture, has transformed 28 middle-aged and elderly men into collectible characters, complete with stats and special abilities. As reported inTokyo Weekender, the game has doubled participation in town events as children eagerly seek out these real-life heroes.”
Quote I’m pondering —
I saw a werewolf/ With a Chinese menu in his hand/
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain/ He was
looking for the place called Lee Ho Fook's/ Gonna get a
big dish of beef chow mein
– Warren Zevon
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David Preston
Educator & Author
Latest book: ACADEMY OF ONE
Header image: Julian Simpson on Unsplash
