Who Were You Before the World Told You Who You Should Be?

There is one final thing my time at the farm has made me think about.

Who we were before we became so aware of who we were supposed to be.
 

I used to come here as a child to visit my Nana and Pa.

My brother and I would build cubby houses.

Climb trees.

Disappear into whatever little world we'd invented for ourselves that day.
 

At night, we'd wait for the kangaroos to appear.

I remember being wildly excited about having my hair sprayed one minute...

and then happily wandering around the farm in my pyjamas the next.

Apparently some contradictions begin early.
 

There was space.

Nature.

Imagination.

Freedom to play without wondering what any of it was for.
 

We weren't trying to optimise the experience.

Nobody was tracking our productivity.

We weren't wondering whether we were doing childhood correctly.

We were just children being children.
 

And all these years later, I've found myself wondering whether childhood sometimes leaves us clues.

Not because we need to become children again.

And certainly not because childhood is uncomplicated for everyone.

But because there was a time before we became quite so skilled at editing ourselves.
 

Before success had a definition.

Before adulthood came with timelines.

Before we knew which parts of ourselves were considered impressive, sensible, desirable or convenient.
 

Who were you then?

What did you naturally move towards?

What absorbed you for hours?

Where did you feel most alive?

What did you love before you started wondering whether it was useful?
 

Because somewhere along the way, most of us become remarkably good at adapting.

We learn how to function.

How to achieve.

How to be liked.

How to belong.

How to become whatever our environment rewards.
 

And adaptation isn't necessarily a bad thing.

It's part of being human.

But sometimes we become so good at becoming who we need to be that we lose touch with who we naturally are.
 

Maybe that's partly why certain places affect us so deeply.

Certain songs.

Smells.

Foods.

Landscapes.

People.

Rooms we haven't stood in for years.
 

Something in us recognises them before the thinking mind has caught up.

They remind us.

And perhaps becoming ourselves isn't always about adding more.

Sometimes it involves remembering.
 

I've thought about this recently while watching My Brilliant Career.

I loved it.
 

Partly because I recognised something in its fiercely independent heroine.

That resistance to simply accepting the life you're told you should want.

The ambition.

The creativity.

The desire to experience life fully.

The refusal to make herself smaller simply because a smaller version might be easier for other people to understand.
 

Perhaps that's why stories like that still resonate.

Because despite all the freedom many of us have today, there can still be enormous pressure to become an acceptable version of ourselves.
 

Not too loud.

Not too difficult.

Not too ambitious.

Not too emotional.

Not too independent.

Not too unconventional.

Not too much.
 

And adulthood comes with an impressive collection of contradictory instructions.
 

Be ambitious.

But relaxed.
 

Independent.

But not too independent.
 

Build a career.

Have meaningful relationships.

Travel.

Buy property.

Heal yourself.
 

Build wealth.

Be present.

And please do all of this while drinking enough water.

No wonder we're confused.
 

Maybe one of the bravest things we can do occasionally is stop asking:

What should my life look like?
 

And start asking:

What actually feels true for me?
 

Not what photographs beautifully.

Not what impresses other people.

Not what your parents imagined.

Not what your friends are doing.

Not even necessarily what you thought you would want ten years ago.
 

What works for the person you are now?

And maybe part of the answer is allowing ourselves to be more complicated than the identities we've created.
 

Maybe you're ambitious...

and deeply in need of rest.
 

Independent...

and deeply loving.
 

Practical...

and intuitive.
 

Social...

and someone who needs enormous amounts of solitude.
 

Maybe you love beautiful things...

and are also ridiculously happy with a fire to light, somewhere wild to wander and nowhere you need to be.
 

Human beings are complicated.

We're supposed to be.
 

Maybe maturity isn't finally deciding which version of ourselves is the real one.

Maybe it's having enough self-knowledge to let all the true ones belong.
 

I think children understand some of this instinctively.

They follow fascination.

They play.

They imagine.

They climb the tree because the tree is there.

They build the cubby house because it sounds fun.

They wait for the kangaroos because something about it fills them with wonder.
 

There doesn't always need to be a reason.

And perhaps that's something adulthood slowly trains out of us.
 

We become very good at asking:

What's the point?

Is this productive?

Where is this going?

What will I get from this?
 

Maybe every now and then we need to ask something else.

What makes me feel alive?

Not accomplished.

Not impressive.

Not productive.
 

Alive.
 

What did you love as a child that still exists somewhere inside you?

What environments bring out a version of you that you like?

What rhythms actually suit you?

What parts of yourself have you dismissed because they don't fit neatly into the life you've constructed?
 

Perhaps becoming ourselves isn't one enormous revelation.

Maybe it's a lifetime of tiny moments of recognition.
 

There you are.
 

The person underneath the roles.

The expectations.

The achievements.

The adaptations.
 

I've travelled a very long way since that little girl climbed trees here.

In every possible sense.
 

I've lived in different countries.

Changed.

Learned.

Lost things.

Found things.
 

Become versions of myself she couldn't possibly have imagined.

I don't want to go backwards.

But I'm beginning to understand that moving forward doesn't require leaving every previous version of ourselves behind.

Some of the things that make me feel most like myself were here all along.
 

Maybe that's true for you too.

Maybe you don't need to reinvent yourself quite as much as you think.

Maybe there are parts of you waiting to be remembered.
 

So perhaps the final question in all of this is the simplest.

Who were you before the world told you who you should be?

And what might happen if you invited a little more of that person back into your life?