I know you are, but what am I?
I am a writer. That’s how I self-identify, sort of.
Well, I write – a lot – so I must be a writer, no?
Not so fast.
Who we see ourselves as being – self-identification – is at the heart of everything we do. It’s why some people fritter away lottery winnings, why some people can’t stop smoking, and why some people never achieve what they define as true happiness and contentment.
And why someone who does something, like write, for example, doesn’t necessarily see themselves as a writer. Not suggesting any names here, of course.
This is critical throughout our lives, but perhaps especially so in retirement, when we theoretically have more free time. If what we do in our “last quarter” flows from who we see ourselves as being, happiness and contentment are more likely.
The opposite is also true – if your primary focus is “What am I going to do in retirement?” rather than “Who am I going to be?” retirement will likely be confusing and frustrating, as it was for me at first, after I turned 60.
So, how exactly does all that work?
Of preachers and truck drivers
When we used to attend church, I was occasionally asked to conduct the service when the regular minister was away. This naturally included an opportunity to “preach” on whatever topic I chose—and I chose widely, believe me. But did that make me a preacher? Hardly. In fact, an old friend from my militantly agnostic younger years asked me whether I burst into flame when I entered a church building. Definitely not a preacher.
I also drive a truck – a mere pick-up, mind you – but does that make me a truck driver? Not so much. On the other hand, I drove motorcoach buses for a year as a pre-retirement gig but struggled with ever being called a bus driver, having transitioned from being a designated professional expert in property valuation to a position that definitely didn’t have that kind of cache.
Who is that in the mirror?
When writing this piece, I did an inventory of how I self-identify. At the top of the list were husband and father. These are absolutely foundational (even though my daughter is well into adulthood) and, frankly, nothing else even comes close. However, being a Ukrainian-Canadian is also a critical part of my self-identification, one that has manifested itself in numerous unexpected ways since the brutal Russian invasion of Ukraine just over two years ago. More on that below.
In addition, I am a proud Maritimer (despite having been born on the Prairies), a historian (as per my two degrees), a University of Alberta alum, an alum of my high school, a former coach, and a patron of the arts.
I’m also a little bit of a musician, a little bit of an outdoors person, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of a writer (or at least an essayist). Maybe. I haven’t yet decided, although my wife has given me full permission to self-identify as such.
There are other things, too, that are obvious parts of who I am, such as being a white heterosexual male, a senior citizen, and a privileged member of the first world. However, for me, these are add-ons, as I would never self-identify primarily as any one of those, even if others might see me that way. Self-identification is the key.
Growing pains
Unsurprisingly, self-identification changes throughout one’s life. Growing up, I was a kid with minimal self-confidence and a craving for acceptance and belonging. My father, being from Ukraine, made me participate in all manner of Ukrainian activities outside of school: the Ukrainian Youth Association, Ukrainian dance, Ukrainian school, Ukrainian mandolin orchestra, and Ukrainian wood carving.
To be sure, this did give me a sense of belonging (sooo much belonging…) and some of those people and activities (I still play mandolin and can speak, read, and write Ukrainian, however imperfectly) remain part of my life to this very day. However, to my father’s chagrin, I also wanted to play sports of various types, as I wanted this to be part of who I was becoming in my own birth country (he never saw any value in sports).
Eventually, in high school (Grade 10 in a Grade 10-12 school), I took a stand to forge my own path. I showed up for freshman basketball tryouts and made the team!
Finally - a sense of self
However, this was not nearly as impressive as it sounds, as there was room for everyone on this squad. We were almost all either poor players or had never played at an organized level. The coach was relatively young and new to the school, so I think he had little choice but to take us on and make a project of it, which he did.
I then played on the varsity team for my remaining two years of high school, although I was so far down the bench that the coach needed semaphores to communicate with me. Texting would have been better, but someone had to invent the cell phone first.
I didn’t care. The point is that I became a part of something that deeply mattered to me. My identity in high school was crystallized and firm—I was a member of a team and a basketball player (calling me an “athlete” would have been pushing it). This is who I was, right to my very core, and I wore it on my sleeve. Literally.
An alternate ending?
I carried this around with me in everything I did, both in school and outside of it, in both the school year and the summer. It’s how I self-identified and who I wanted the world to see me as. I loved being part of a team and playing the game – the fact that I wasn’t especially gifted at it (calling me an “athlete” would have been pushing it) wasn’t important. This is who I was in those days, right to my core, and I wore it on my sleeve. Literally.
Looking back at the first couple of months of Grade 10, before basketball tryouts, I hung around with some people at school whom we would now call “sketchy”. It was a vocational school outside of my home district, so there were all sorts of “characters” there and not many people I knew, so I gravitated toward some questionable groups at the outset.
I sometimes wonder what I would have done and who I might have become, had I not gone to those basketball tryouts or had there been a team whose roster I wouldn’t have cracked. I’m not 100% sure that the outcome would have been all that positive among all that “sketchiness”, at least not as positive as it turned out to be with me as a basketball player.
And still, to this day…
One of the best things to come out of that basketball experience is that I’m still in contact with most of those teammates (excepting the two who passed away young) from almost 50 years ago and had remained close to our coach until his untimely passing in 2023 at the far-too-young age of 75. To this day, we all proudly continue to identify as alumni of our high school and as teammates during those years.
That’s a part of my identity that I would hold on to no matter how old I might be. I even have the team jacket to prove it, and it still fits, more or less…
The working years: what really mattered then
In my working years, I was proud to be a designated professional and a small businessperson in two different fields over time. However, my avocations defined me more than my paid work ever did. I was mayor of a small municipality, a university senator (if only my mother had been alive to hear me called “Your Worship” and “Senator Iwanus”) and, most memorably, a coach of young athletes.
I identified deeply with each of these avocations. These were not just hobbies but extensions of who I was. I had a clear sense of calling and mission in each, and I think the things that call us reflect who we truly are. I am prouder of what the people around me and I achieved in those positions than I am of anything I accomplished in the working world. And I am so moved that the players I still stay in touch with call me “Coach.”
My wife, on the other hand…
In contrast to me, my wife has never had any issues with self-identification. She trained as a Registered Nurse (RN) in the early 1980s, before a degree was a requirement in her field, and she has considered herself a nurse, first and foremost, since that time. It’s what she still does for a living and is a part of who she is.
Later in her career, she also worked as a mental health therapist (and took great pride in calling herself that), obtaining a psych nursing degree and a national counselling certification. However, when she signed her name in the places that it mattered, it was always followed by the letters “RN”, with the degree and national certification almost an afterthought (the opposite was true for me – my master’s degree from the University of Alberta is an absolute point of pride and self-identification, so that always followed my name first).
In her mind, those accomplishments never achieved the same status or defined who she is as much as that beloved “RN.” A proud nurse: first, last, and always (and a gardener, a horticulturist, and a knitter—good thing nursing pays for all that (as well as my writing habit).
Once an educator…
When it comes to identity, especially later in life, the experiences of some of my educator friends are particularly interesting. Because most teachers start their careers early, “retirement” tends to come fairly early, too, meaning these professionals need something to do with that newfound free time.
Among almost all educators I know, “retirement” has meant entering some other pedagogical pursuit, such as substitute teaching (“no lesson plans, no extracurricular activities, no problem,” as one friend said) or a non-teaching educational position.
…always an educator
For example, my high school basketball coach, who became a dear friend as life went on, worked as an educational assistant for several years after “retiring” from teaching, while also coaching junior hockey. Eventually, he reached an advanced enough age that he had no choice but to move on from both.
Except that he never did, at least not psychologically. He often spoke to me of “needing a reason to get out of bed in the morning,” but didn’t find that compelling reason. Sure, there was always something to do around the house, but never a sense of who he was supposed to be. An educator through and through, he eventually passed away from a heart attack at age 75 while mowing the lawn, of all things. I’ll always wonder if he would’ve lived longer if he’d discerned that ever-elusive purpose in retirement.
The next generation
Self-identification fundamentally impacts our decision-making, not just in our jobs and careers. When my very intelligent and capable daughter went to university several years ago, she also worked at a pub, where she had many friends, lots of fun, and enough hard-earned income to keep her interested. Moreover, she took real pride in being an attentive and respected server, and that is precisely how she self-identified.
When she attended university, she never did make that identity transition: in her mind, she was a server giving university a try rather than a student (with all the commitments and potential activities that this might entail) who had a part-time job as a server. Irrespective of her reasons for doing so, she was done with university after a year, even though she did quite well there.
She now has over a decade of experience in her field (including working in some high-end establishments both in Canada and abroad) and is eyeing advancing in different leadership aspects of that profession. This suggests that being a professional server has never been just a job for her but a significant part of how she has always self-identified.
I do not doubt that, university or not, good things will come from choosing a path in which what she does is part of who she is. Not everyone is so lucky.
How to kick “the habit”
I once read an article about quitting smoking. For most people to be able to “kick the habit” for all time, it said, it’s fundamentally necessary to identify as a non-smoker. Not so for everyone, but for most. The way I understand it, “I am a non-smoker” sends a decidedly different message to one’s subconscious than does “I am choosing not to smoke” (to which the subconscious responds, “Do you mean for today? This week? This month? You’re not fooling anyone here.”).
My wife smoked for years and quit over a decade ago – she was one of the few who managed to do it on sheer willpower. However, if there were no physical or financial costs, she would still smoke because she enjoyed it. She has never identified as a non-smoker, but rather as a smoker who chooses not to smoke.
Cigarettes have never appealed to me, although I would love to keep smoking my pipe and the odd cigar. However, my lung health (two bouts of pneumonia and chronic, albeit well-controlled, asthma) says otherwise. Often, when I’m getting medical tests done, I’m asked, “Do you smoke?” I can honestly answer, “No,” as I haven’t touched tobacco in five years.
But if the question were phrased, “Are you a non-smoker?” I would have to answer differently if I wanted to be honest. So, like my wife, I guess I’m not really a non-smoker either, but a pipe and cigar smoker who chooses not to indulge. But, boy, would I like to.
And the winning number is…
Another example of the role of self-identification in our decision-making is the rags-to-riches lottery winner who fritters the whole thing away in record time. Stories of this are legion (one study says that 70% of lottery winners go bankrupt), and there’s a good reason: the winners don’t self-identify as people with money. People who know who they are when they don’t have the proverbial pot to pot to piss in become less sure of that identity when the gold-plated piss-pot makes its unexpected appearance and unimaginable options inevitably present themselves.
They often become profligate spenders or easy targets for every fourth-cousin-thrice-removed showing up at the door with cap in hand. They’ve just never had to think about themselves as the person not being the one holding the cap. They are people of modest means (if any at all) who happened upon some money rather than people who have money – even if it’s not millions – and know exactly what to do with it regarding investing, spending, and donating it. Once again: big difference in self-identification.
One of many stories of gain and loss
This story is a prime example and is particularly illustrative because the winner and her husband displayed great self-awareness and insight into their situation. In 2004, this Hamilton woman won $10.5 million in the Super 7. Half of it was gone by 2007, she and her husband having spent it on a large house (which they eventually lost in 2008 because it was mortgaged, believe it or not), several fancy vehicles, all-expenses-paid trips with friends all over the place, and various memorabilia.
They also gave a lot of money to family and “friends,” believing in their hearts that they had an obligation to share at least some of that wealth in various ways with those less fortunate.
Eventually, all this woman had left was several hundred thousand, which she wisely (at last) placed in a trust for her children from prior relationships for when the children turn 26. In the meantime, she and her husband returned to living paycheque to paycheque in a rented house.
Lessons learned
At the point where there was very little of the $10.5 million left, the woman said, “And that was the time for the fun to stop and to just go back to life (my emphasis).” She added that her life had more purpose than when she was always “shopping”. The husband added, “I lived like this my whole life, I never was rich,” he says. “We grew up like this, so we’re used to it.”
These people scraping by with very little money knew who they were before winning the money and who they still were when the adventure was over. They got a ridiculous windfall and treated it precisely that way – not as a ticket to long-term security, which is likely the way someone who had at least some money would have treated it – but as a means to play around and live someone else’s life for a while.
Like most people, my wife and I occasionally bounce around what we would do if we won $100K, what we would do if it were $1 million, and what we would do if we won $10 million or more. We always conclude that we would keep doing what we’ve always done, just more of it, because that’s who we are
Except for my suggestion to buy into a professional sports team if the winnings were over $10 million. My wife says a hard “no” to that…
Moving to New Brunswick
Almost six years ago, not long after I’d turned 60, my wife and I moved from Alberta here to New Brunswick – for her to be closer to family and for me to fulfill my dream of living next to the ocean.
Check and check. This little Acadian fishing village on the Northumberland coast is everything I hoped it would be, and then some. I knew this was where I wanted to be but hadn’t yet figured out who.
Most of the activities and opportunities I identified with in Alberta were not options here. Part of it was where we chose to live (off the beaten path), and part was COVID delaying exploration opportunities. However, in my case, it was also a series of false starts on some things that simply didn’t turn out as planned.
So, at age 60, who was I supposed to be as a come-from-away New Brunswicker?
Russia invades Ukraine
Then, on February 24, 2022, Russia began its brutal full-scale invasion of Ukraine, and my whole world changed. The invasion affected me very deeply, both because Ukraine is my ancestral homeland and because I still have family there. Moreover, I’d studied Ukrainian history extensively as both an undergraduate and a graduate student. Handy thing that, as it turned out.
Now, there have been some Ukrainians in New Brunswick for several decades, but nothing like the organized, educated, and fluent multi-generational diaspora that exists elsewhere in Canada.
Suddenly, my knowledge of Ukrainian language and history was not only part of my identity, but something that the people of New Brunswick badly needed. Damned Russian invasion broke my heart, but it gave me what I’d been missing since we moved here, namely a sense of mission and purpose.
Opportunities to contribute
While working for the Government of New Brunswick in an unrelated department, I was asked to do a series of lectures on the situation in Ukraine for government employees at all levels. The Government had initiated a program that matched government job openings with Ukrainian newcomers who had those specific skillsets and needed someone to provide background information.
With my master’s degree in history and my ability to give presentations in (my tortured) French, I was likely the only person in the province who could do that. I also had the opportunity to assist in producing a video that attracted many dozens of Ukrainian newcomers to the Miramichi region of New Brunswick, and I wrote and spoke extensively on the subject.
Despite the distasteful reasons behind these opportunities, they allowed me to meld who I was – my self-identification – with what New Brunswick needed me to do.
The final chapter?
In the wake of those opportunities, I discovered that writing gave me a sense of purpose and mission. Since I turned 65 last year, my mission and purpose have been enhanced by a sense of urgency, so I have been writing prolifically in a couple of different fields.
Returning to my original question, does that make me a writer?
After all, I don’t make much money at it at this point in my journey and have only a handful of regular readers right now. So, have I earned the right to use the same descriptor as those who have done it all their lives and actually make a living at it?
I think the answer is yes, at least, in the same way that an amateur guitarist is indeed a musician, even if he or she is no Eric Clapton. After all, I take a disciplined approach to writing, I write for many hours most days, and have even published a book that sold reasonably well in its targeted niche. That sounds like being a writer.
So what I am doing now in the “last quarter” coincides very well with how I self-identify.
So next time someone asks, “Now that you’re retired, what are you doing with your free time?” I’ll hold my head high, look them in the eye and say, “I am a writer.” And I won’t even look away when I say it.
At least I’m pretty sure I won’t.
One of the best things I have ever read! Got me thinking, WHO AM I? Who do I think I am? To be perfectly honest, I HAVE NO IDEA! Never thought about it before. How do I identify myself? I don’t. I have several titles, a mother, a sister, a wife, a nurturer, an advisor, etc. You made me realize I don’t identify myself as any of those even though those are things I am known to be. Well, when I figure out who I really am, you will be the first to know😉
I appreciate that so much, Karen. It’s a process, that’s for sure, and I’d love to hear over time how that all changes for you. Might make for its own interesting blog post!
Many interesting points to ponder. For the last 10 years plus, I as well, have not been tempted in have a cigarette. The question of “Who am I?”, never really thought about it, been told many times over the years, “What I am”. To ask oneself “Who am I?” is to question, if you have made a difference in someone’s life. Your accomplishments in helping, teaching and mentoring other people all over the country, shows that you have made a difference to those who seek knowledge and want to learn. The one word you always use when talking to me is greatly appreciated. The word I refer to is “Friend” and I am say honored to call you my friend. Quote from Grey Owl- Men become what they dream… you have dreamed well. To you and the Misses, Take care, stay well.
Wow, Jeff – I’m absolutely blown away. Maybe you should do a guest post on here yourself. Trust me when I tell you that I’m just as honoured to call you my friend as you are me. You made all the difference for me when I first moved here to NB and I’ll never forget that kindness. We’ll talk soon.