I know myself pretty well by now.
I’ve had seven decades to work on the case, and I’m not exactly known for leaving a question alone.
I know what matters to me. What gives me energy. What drains it. What I want more of. And what I have absolutely no intention of putting up with again.
At seventy, I’ve accumulated a fair amount of information.
Preferences. Patterns. Opinions. A fairly detailed operating manual.
After more than two decades as an executive coach, I’m also pretty good at helping other people figure these things out.
I could probably create a beautifully organized PowerPoint presentation about the next chapter of my life.
I’d know exactly how to format it.
I just wouldn’t know what to put on the slides. Which may be part of the problem.
We spend years trying to know ourselves better. Our patterns. Our triggers. Our strengths. Our blind spots. The stories we tell ourselves.
All useful.
But I’m beginning to wonder if self-awareness can eventually turn into something else.
Self-definition.
“I notice this about myself” becomes “This is who I am.”
And once we decide who we are, we can get pretty good at proving ourselves right.
I’ve said for years that I’m not a joiner. It rolls off my tongue.
I love being with people. Well, many of them. But clubs? Committees? Organized groups? Not really my thing.
Case closed.
Except recently I found myself scrolling through Meetup groups near where I live.
Books. Walking. Museums. Films. Travel. Food. Conversation. Practically every interest imaginable.
Who knew?
Apparently, millions of people.
I found several that sounded genuinely appealing. Then I closed the computer.
Signing up was easy. Actually showing up required a separate negotiation with myself.
Suddenly there were emails I should answer. Things around the house that needed attention. And, of course, another episode of Lioness.
Somewhere in the middle of this, I heard myself say it again.
I’m just not a joiner.
This time I caught it. Is that true? Or was it once true?
Those aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Walking into a room where I know no one has never come naturally to me. It’s easier when I have a role. A reason to be there. Someone waiting for me.
A Meetup is different.
You walk in because you chose to. No assignment. No built-in place. No guarantee you’ll click with anyone.
For someone who says she wants more connection, I can be surprisingly resistant to the awkward few minutes that often come before it.
Maybe “I’m not a joiner” isn’t entirely about groups. Maybe part of it is not yet knowing where I’ll belong. And belonging rarely happens before you show up.
That got my attention.
Because we all collect descriptions of ourselves.
I’m shy.
I’m not creative.
I could never travel alone.
I don’t like parties.
Some are absolutely true.
There’s real freedom in knowing yourself well enough to stop auditioning for experiences you already know you don’t enjoy.
At this point, I have no need to discover one more time that yelling over loud music is not my preferred form of human connection.
We’ve earned some clarity.
But what else may have gotten filed under self-knowledge without really deserving a permanent spot there?
Maybe someone decided in third grade that they weren’t artistic because their drawing of a horse looked like a kitchen appliance.
Sixty years later, they still won’t pick up a paintbrush.
I have another one.
I don’t give dinner parties. Except I like having people in my home. I love conversation. I’ve hosted plenty of gatherings.
What I don’t love is cooking. Somewhere along the way, apparently, I turned that into a personality trait.
Who wants to spend three hours preparing a wonderful meal I could eat in three minutes in front of a Phillies game?
And last I checked, food can be purchased.
So maybe I don’t dislike dinner parties. Maybe I dislike making dinner.
This is not a major psychological breakthrough. But I’m increasingly fond of the small ones.
Then there are the stories we tell ourselves that are a lot more flattering.
Open-minded.
Easygoing.
A great listener.
Think of the person who considers himself a wonderful listener while his spouse has been trying to finish the same sentence since Tuesday.
Most of us carry around an internal portrait of ourselves. Some of it is pretty accurate. Some may have had a little help from the AirBrush app.
That’s the other side of knowing ourselves.
It’s one thing to question a belief that limits us. It’s another to question one we rather like.
Maybe I’m not quite as open-minded as I think. Maybe I’m not such a great listener. Maybe “I’m just being direct” sounds very different to the person on the receiving end.
Those are less fun. Probably more useful.
Lately, I’ve been listening for certain phrases when they come out of my mouth.
I always.
I never.
I’m just not someone who…
I don’t automatically argue with them. I just make them show their work. When did I decide that? Is it still true? And maybe the question with the most bite:
What do I get to avoid if I keep believing it? Feeling awkward? Looking foolish? Finding out I’m not particularly good at something? Walking into a room where nobody knows my name?
Sometimes the story is protecting something. And sometimes it’s just old. That’s what interests me.
Not reinvention. I’m a little tired of that word.
We talk as though we periodically toss out one version of ourselves and unveil a shiny new one. That hasn’t been my experience.
I’m still the girl who rode her bike everywhere. The young woman who became a television journalist. The woman who walked away from that career and built another one.
They’re all still here. They just don’t all get a vote on every decision.
Maybe our earlier selves leave behind more than memories. They leave rules.
I’m not a joiner.
I don’t give dinner parties.
I would never do that.
That’s just not me.
Maybe.
Or maybe the rule has been sitting there so long nobody thought to ask whether it still applies.
The unexamined life may be a problem.
I’m beginning to think the overexplained life has hazards too.
You can get so good at telling yourself who you are that you stop noticing when life starts giving you different information.
I know myself pretty well. I hope I always will.
I’m just less interested these days in turning that knowledge into a permanent job description.
I’ve spent seven decades becoming the woman I am. It would be a shame to assume I’ve met all of her.
About Jill Chernekoff
Jill Chernekoff is a seasoned executive leadership and communication coach, former Emmy Award-winning news anchor, and writer. She believes a good question can change everything, especially when we’re willing to ask it of ourselves. Visit her at chernekoffcommunications.com and on LinkedIn: Jill Chernekoff on LinkedIn.
