My father was an entrepreneur.
For part of his career, he had a business partner. Something went wrong between them when I was still quite young, and I don’t really know what happened.
After that, my father went out on his own.
He had a small company. Just himself and one employee.
And he did very well.
He raised six children. We had a good life. We weren’t wealthy, but we didn’t want for much.
My father worked hard.
Very hard.
His business mattered enormously to him.
His work gave him purpose. It gave structure to his days. It gave him a place in the world.
And as he got older, I think he kept pushing retirement away for as long as he could.
Then eventually, he couldn’t anymore.
He retired.
And something happened that I have never forgotten.
Who Was He Now?
My father had a very difficult time after he stopped working.
He suffered from panic attacks and depression. He struggled mentally and emotionally in ways I had never seen before.
I watched this man I had always known as strong begin to lose that strength.
At the time, I don’t think I completely understood what I was witnessing.
I understand it differently today.
My father knew who he was when he was working.
He knew who he was as a businessman.
He knew what he was responsible for.
He knew what he was good at.
He knew what people needed from him.
He knew where to go in the morning.
But take all of that away…
Who was he?
I don’t think he knew.
And I don’t think he had ever really needed to ask.
Until suddenly he did.
We Ask What You Do Before We Ask Who You Are
It’s interesting how much of our identity can become wrapped around our work.
We meet someone at a party and one of the first questions we ask is:
“What do you do?”
And we answer:
I’m a physician.
I’m an attorney.
I’m an executive.
I own a company.
I’m an artist.
I’m a coach.
Perfectly normal question.
But none of those answers tells me who you are.
They tell me what you do.
And there is a difference.
For someone who has spent thirty or forty years building a career or a business, that distinction can become very blurry.
Especially if you’ve been successful.
You have spent years developing your mind.
You’ve learned how to solve problems.
Make decisions.
Lead people.
Produce results.
Take risks.
Handle responsibility.
You’ve built something.
Perhaps something extraordinary.
And there is nothing wrong with any of that.
I admire it.
But I wonder sometimes…
While you were building all of that out there, how much time did you spend getting to know the person in here?
The Outer World Can Be Very Demanding
I understand why it happens.
The outer world is loud.
It wants things from us.
There are meetings and deadlines and employees and customers and mortgages and children and problems that need solving.
And the outer world rewards us.
Promotions.
Money.
Recognition.
Titles.
Accomplishments.
People telling us we’re successful.
Our inner world doesn’t usually make quite so much noise.
It whispers.
And it doesn’t hand out trophies.
😂
So it’s very easy to spend a lifetime developing one while barely visiting the other.
I Think About My Father
I sometimes wonder what might have been different for my father if, long before retirement, he had explored that other part of himself.
Not because he should have worked less.
Not because his business was unimportant.
And certainly not because there was anything wrong with being proud of what he had created.
But because he was more than that.
He was a businessman.
But he was also a man.
A human being.
A heart.
A soul.
A person with fears and desires and beliefs and dreams and wounds and gifts that had nothing whatsoever to do with the company he owned.
Who was that man?
I wish he had known him better.
So Let Me Ask You a Strange Question
Imagine for a moment that I could take away your professional identity.
Not your money.
Not your home.
Not the people you love.
Just your work.
Your company.
Your position.
Your title.
Your professional accomplishments.
All the things you’ve achieved.
Put them aside for a moment.
They’re still yours.
We’re not throwing them away.
😂
But for the next few minutes, you can’t use any of them to tell me who you are.
Now…
Tell me who you are.
Not what you’ve accomplished.
Not what you’re good at.
Not what other people think of you.
Not your résumé.
Who are you?
Can you answer?
Maybe you can.
Maybe the question feels exciting.
Maybe it makes you uncomfortable.
Maybe your mind immediately starts looking for the “right” answer.
Or maybe something inside you becomes very quiet.
That’s interesting too.
You Don’t Have to Wait Until Retirement to Find Out
This is what I wish my father had known.
You don’t have to wait until the outer identity disappears before discovering the person underneath it.
You can become curious now.
While you’re still working.
While you’re still building.
While you’re still leading.
While you’re still accomplishing extraordinary things.
You don’t have to abandon the outer world to explore the inner one.
You can have both.
In fact, perhaps knowing yourself more deeply allows you to participate in your outer life more consciously.
Not because you’re supposed to.
Because you’re choosing it.
You begin to know which parts of your life are truly yours and which ones you’ve simply inherited or accumulated along the way.
You begin to recognize what your heart wants, not just what your mind knows how to accomplish.
And perhaps your work becomes one beautiful expression of who you are…
instead of the definition of who you are.
My Father Was More Than His Business
That’s what touches me most when I think about him now.
He was so much more than his work.
I wish he had known that.
I wish he had had the opportunity to discover who he was beneath everything he had spent his life doing.
I can’t give that opportunity to my father now.
But perhaps I can ask the question of someone else.
So I’ll ask you.
Take away the title.
Take away the company.
Take away the profession.
Take away the résumé.
Take away everything you have accomplished.
Just for a moment.
What’s left?
The real, authentic YOU!
And perhaps even more importantly…
Would you like to find out? ❤️