26 Mar More Than What I Do
Before I give a talk, I’m usually asked to send a short intro to the event organizer.
I have a folder on my desktop labeled “Biosketch.” I open it and scroll through the versions I’ve saved over the years until I find the most recent one.
Before I click to open it, I pause, noticing the earlier versions in the folder. Each one capturing a different stretch of time. The roles I stepped into. The responsibilities I held. Titles added, replaced, removed as my work evolved.
I open the file and start making a few edits. Then I click on something, and everything disappears except the header with my name.
For a moment, I just sit there, looking at the empty document. My name, and nothing else.
The cursor blinks.
I notice how quickly my mind tries to fill the space below it. The credentials. The experience. The shorthand I use to explain it. It’s so automatic, the way I reach for what I do as a way of saying who I am. It’s useful in helping people understand my work and why I’m there.
But staring at the blank page feels different, because none of that is actually there.
I hit undo and the words come back, just as easily as they disappeared.
I read through the familiar lines again, thinking about how easily what we do starts to stand in for who we are. We build it, refine it, learn how to explain it.
But it’s only part of the picture. The part that fits neatly on a page.
And over time, even that part shifts. Roles change. Titles come and go. The things that define our work don’t always stay the same.
If all of that were set aside for a moment, the titles, the degrees, the roles we name when someone asks, what would be left?
It would be something less easy to list, I think. More like the way we move through the world. The things we value. The way we show up with people.
I found myself sitting with that for a minute, looking at my name at the top of the page.
Just my name.
And wondering what, beyond the things I do, I would want someone to know about me.
I wonder what that would be for you, too.