There was a time in my life, and for a time it felt like my entire life, that I was an “athlete.” Or more specifically, I was a “swimmer.” Being a swimmer meant so many things. The constant tiredness from sleep deprivation, early morning practices, and overtraining. The physical and mental fortitude required to train and compete in such a grueling sport that never seemed to have an “off season.” The camaraderie that inevitably developed from spending an absurd amount of time with the same group of people. There was more, positive and negative, and all of it defined who I was. It was my identity.
And then, at the end of my freshman year of college and coming off my most successful season of my life, I got injured. As months passed, and eventually years, and I never regained that prior form, I began to question my identity. I had not just been a swimmer. I was a pretty good swimmer! If I wasn’t that, who was I?
Still being in school, I had a pretty good off the shelf answer at hand. I was a student! This redefinition changed how I approached my studies. I changed concentrations (what Harvard calls majors because, you know, Harvard). I wrote an honors thesis and got a 4.0 my senior year. I aced the LSAT and got into law school. In law school I worked for incredible professors and got to be one of five students selected to spend a year abroad getting a master’s degree at Cambridge. This student identity was working, until it wasn’t.
As much as I loved being a student, eventually even I had to graduate and move on with my life. Then who was I? What would I be? Again, there was a ready-made answer. The consulting firm McKinsey & Company recruited on campus. I became a McKinsey consultant. I wore the dark slacks and blue button downs that are the consulting uniform. I traveled out on Mondays and back on Thursdays and purchased the requisite black Tumi bag to travel with me. I maximized hotel and airline points, and did all the other things a consultant does.
Again, until I didn’t. And so it continued.
Now who and what am I? Am I an entrepreneur? Am I an author? A husband? A father?
No. I am me. I am Andrew McConnell. I am a person who has studied, who has competed as a swimmer, who writes (like what you are reading), who starts and runs companies, who loves his wife and daughter with every ounce of his being and who deliberately and consciously works to demonstrate that with acts, not just words, and a much longer list of things I have done, am doing, and will do.
All these labels are things I do, but they are not who I am. I am no longer defined by labels, even if no one else ever defined me that way, and it was, oh so ironically, all in my head.
It makes me think back to Scott Adams’ (the creator of Dilbert) section in Tim Ferriss’s Tools of Titans. Scott says:
If you want an average, successful life, it doesn’t take much planning. Just stay out of trouble, go to school, and apply for jobs you might like.
But if you want something extraordinary, you have two paths:
1) Become the best at one specific thing.
2) Become very good (top 25%) at two or more things.
The first strategy is difficult to the point of near impossibility. Few people will ever play in the NBA or make a platinum album. I don’t recommend anyone even try.
The second strategy is fairly easy. Everyone has at least a few areas in which they could be in the top 25% with some effort. In my case, I can draw better than most people, but I’m hardly an artist. And I’m not any funnier than the average standup comedian who never makes it big, but I’m funnier than most people. The magic is that few people can draw well and write jokes. It’s the combination of the two that makes what I do so rare. And when you add in my business background, suddenly I had a topic that few cartoonists could hope to understand without living it….
….Capitalism rewards things that are both rare and valuable. You make yourself rare by combining two or more “pretty goods” until no one else has your mix.
Scott is referring to the potential economic rewards that accrue when you don’t limit yourself to a single label, and that can potentially grow as you add more “ands” to who are and what you can do.
I, however, would argue there is something far more valuable than money to be gained from this approach: you don’t just find yourself, but you also get the opportunity to define and create yourself continuously and proactively.
The only label that should matter is to be YOU, whatever that means. A life’s ambition, and perhaps its purpose is to define that, and to make it as meaningful and impactful as possible.
Bye bye labels.