Hello.
Me, in New York City juuuust as the sun is starting to set
In this inaugural article I thought that it might make sense to take a moment and introduce myself. So, hi! It’s me. My name is Adam. And I think that there is a good deal of power in an introduction—because there is a good deal of power in a name. There’s a lot of history to back this up… whether you’re looking in ancient wisdom literature or in the folktales of modern times (think Rumplestilskin). But history aside, names define us.
Our lives are composed of a litany of stories, experiences, and thoughts that all jumble together in some sort of way to make up our identities. And our identities have a label—our name. And while an introductory blog post is not quite the place for a full autobiography to give you the full definition of myself. I wanted to share a slice of my identity to let you get to know a bit of me—a bit of Adam.
I essentially grew up on my family’s small Midwestern farm. I was the 4th generation of my family to have been on that land, and it meant the world to us. I was raised with the cycles and rhythms of small agricultural life and its inherent tensions. On the one hand, it often put life in perspective in a way that allowed me to understand how ephemeral and fleeting life often is. I learned early on, that while sad, the conclusion of life isn’t terrible, it’s merely one piece of a far greater puzzle. At the same time, I very early on developed a deep love of growing things. Cultivating life for the not just sake of food and income but because doing so was beautiful and when done well and with care, that cultivation could be exquisite and meaningful.
The foil to much of this was that I was also plagued with numerous health struggles, and often faced limitations on exactly how much of life I could enjoy. When those moments arose, however, I explored a world of learning and my imagination. Perhaps my family’s greatest gift to me was the gift of curiosity. My grandmother and mother always welcomed my questions no matter what they were. And they not only answered me, but they taught me. They didn’t just give me information and then carried on with their day. They stopped what they were doing and explained things, encouraging further questioning along the way. And if they didn’t know the answer, they took me along as we both figured out the answer—which meant that I was well versed in utilizing encyclopedias from a weirdly young age.
When unleashed upon the family farm, I spent my time running through the woods near the farmhouse. My imagination ran wild as I climbed trees, got covered in mud, and tried to industriously damn the little creek that ran through the property. I inevitably broke every rule that my mother had put in place to keep me healthy and upright. And I often broke all those rules under the direction of my grandmother (much to the chagrin of my mother), which offered me another powerful dichotomy to grow up with. Negotiating the tension between safety-insuring, cautious order, and free-wheeling experiential joy has long been a guiding principle for me.
“We learn to walk, then run, and inevitably we tumble. But with some practice, support, and care, we also have the ability to learn how to walk and then run once more”
All this produced a young man who devoured college life. Hungry for experience I went out of my way to learn anything I could get my hands on. If there was a festival, I went. If there was a concert, I got a ticket. I studied abroad, I learned a language, I suffered, and I succeeded. And with my foundations planted firmly upon all that the family farm gave me, I learned resilience. Back on the farm, I would run, fall, get up, and keep going. And truly the rest of life has been much the same. We learn to walk, then run, and inevitably we tumble. But with some practice, support, and care, we also have the ability to learn how to walk and then run once more.
I have since walked the streets of London, hiked the ancient hills of Judea, meandered through the markets of Istanbul, and explored the concrete jungle of Manhattan and in each and every step, I found the creativity of existence and the possibilities for so much beauty in life. I have worked in communal leadership roles as well as in the healthcare industry. I have numerous degrees and certifications and through everything I have learned and experienced, I am continually convinced that a human being can do anything. We can destroy and we can create. We can hurt and we can heal. And I have devoted my career to helping others cultivate their capacity to create the lives they most want.
So, now it’s your turn. What is your name? And better, what is the definition of your name? What fleshes it out? What experiences, thoughts, lessons and and and have come together to create you? And better still, what are the words and statements that come from all those thoughts and experiences?
If you’ve never had the chance or taken the time to write the definition of you, right now is the perfect opportunity. If you’ve taken the time to read this article, then you have the time to take just an extra few seconds to start to jot something down. Give it a try! And if you might be interested in investing a bit more time into this, keep reading to discover a convenient practice that will help you define yourself—I guarantee that its one investment that will definitely pay off.
Who Are You?
Take out some paper and a pen. (You could type this, but going screen free helps calm your sympathetic nervous system and lets you connect to what’s most important.). And then start by grounding yourself.
Notice your breath and notice your body. How are you feeling? Are your shoulders tense? Are you tired and slouching? Try not to judge what you notice. Simply observe. Just take a moment to check in with yourself and notice how you are.
Allow your eyes to gently close for a moment as you consciously slow and deepen your breath. You can do this for as long as you like or as long as you need to feel more calm and settled. This would be a perfect time to also consciously offer some purposeful relaxation into any areas of your body that felt tense or in need of a little help. Within your mind’s eye, see or envision your body relaxing and your mind opening up.
We are all authors of our lives, how do you want to fill the pages of your book?
Once you feel settled and grounded, purposefully pick up your pen and notice how it feels in your hand. Notice its weight, its texture. Maybe try doodling a bit on your paper and notice how it feels to write. Allow this to connect your calm/grounded state to the more physical task of thinking and writing.
And think about your life (if you can remember it) from ages 0-5. Do you have any big memories that stand out? Where were you? How did you often feel? How would you summarize those years of your life? Most importantly, how would you describe those years of your life to someone you love? Briefly answer in some way—if full prose is too much, then try phrases, associated words, or even pictures.
Move forward to ages 5-10, and ask yourself the same questions. There are no hard and fast rules to this practice, so if other (or more helpful) questions arise for you, answer those as well.
Repeat this process for ages 10-15, 15-20, 20-30, 30-40, and so on. The more time and care you wish to invest in this exercise, the greater the rewards. This can be done for a few minutes in one sitting, or you could easily transform this to a weekly practice, tackling one age bracket per week. The important part is to reflect and consider. Remember the formational events, experiences, thoughts, and feelings of your past and consider how they have formed the person you are today. You may find new reasons to feel proud of yourself, or you likewise may unearth wounds that could use some TLC. Regardless, once you are done, you will have crafted the definition of you—and its one that will continue to be written with each new step you take.