The Perils of Identity (Part 2)

I’ve always envied people who have passions or strong ideologies or who are specialists in their field. I see them as fortunate in that they can place their identities in something concrete. They may even willingly succumb to tropes that broadcast their membership to their particular group: fitness freaks in their lycra and ponytails fed through caps; hipsters with their long beards and craft beers; corporate junkies from the 46th floor in razor sharp suits and poker faces.

But what if you’re like me? What if you are into a little bit of everything but not entirely passionate about any one thing? 

For years I have nurtured a secret fear of being thought of as boring, dull, or colourless. To counter this anxiety I have previously gotten busy learning French, boxing, and tango. I’ve always done my best to stay informed of current events and seek a balanced understanding of the world today in the hope of speaking semi-intelligently about issues affecting our lives. I have forced myself outside of my comfort zone on many an occasion for the sheer value of doing so, e.g. quitting everything and moving to Rome. These things are character building, no doubt, but are they identity-building?

Like many people last year, I was temporarily out of work due to the pandemic. The government’s JobKeeper subsidy provided some economic security but also the luxury of examining alternate versions of me. Who could I be if I wasn’t in the design industry? During the fifteen weeks I was removed from my job, I found that I was never bored; lonely, yes, but never bored. I read a lot, exercised more than I ever have (which is not a lot, believe me), and started writing.

I felt more like me than I had felt since returning from Rome in 2013. It was like being in early retirement, a stage in life when many people feel lost in the absence of a job to define them and structure their days. For me, it was liberating. I realised only then that my work life and my inner life exist on separate planes, and that identity is a precarious concept, one that could be limiting if applied incorrectly.

I did not cease to exist when I had no job to go to, no friends to hang out with, and no places to visit. The simplest things that have always provided me pleasure over the years sustained me.

Last year I was able to purely be me, no tags. And, guess what? That was just fine.