The Power of Knowing Who You Are NOT

Years ago, one of my friends presented me with the exotic island paradox, a choice between two all-or-nothing situations:

1. Island of Knowledge: You find yourself on a stunning, tropical island with a magnificent library containing every book ever written. You'll have access to all the knowledge and stories imaginable, but you'll be completely alone.
2. Island of Connection: You find yourself on a different beautiful island, and this one is inhabited by a small, welcoming community of people. You'll have the opportunity to connect with others, form friendships, and share experiences, but you won't have access to the library.

Which would you choose?

Island of Connection vs. Island of Knowledge

Expecting at least a pause of consideration, I can still vividly remember the surprise on my friend’s face after my immediate response. It was easy because I'd experienced the essence of this choice firsthand while living in a six-hundred-person village in Taiwan. I knew who I was not.

Before Taiwan, I’d experienced a relatively sheltered existence when it came to all things Asia, let alone Taiwan. I grew up in a grilled chicken, boiled hotdogs, burgers, pasta, and pizza household. The most exotic food we typically got was hamburger casserole. In school, I studied to be an English teacher – the literature and writing kind, not the English as a foreign or other language kind. Other than the reading I did during my application and after receiving my grant, I knew nothing about Taiwan. But that’s why I chose it in the first place. I knew it would break my brain, or at least push it so hard I’d find the limits.

Community does not equal Connection

Shellshocked is how I felt for a good portion of my first year there, a year where I learned twice as much in twelve months as any two years of my life combined. In many ways, I felt part of a community. A native tribe adopted me from the outset, bringing me to meals every day, along with countless weddings, funerals, pig roasts, and community events throughout the year. While I felt community, I lacked connection, especially on a deeper level. I read a ton, I wrote constantly, and I longed insatiably for my friends back home – people that I thought could relate to my struggle with culture shock.

I was not on the island of connection, and it hurt daily, because that’s what I truly wanted. This was my early twenties.

A Decade for Defining Identity

I recently listened to Adam Grant ’s podcast, Work Life , and his guest was author Meg Jay , a clinical psychologist who specializes in working with young adults. Her book, "The Twentysomething Treatment: A Revolutionary Remedy for an Uncertain Age ," argues that the twenties are a crucial decade for laying the foundation for a fulfilling life. This decade goes beyond just exploration and experimentation – it's a time for developing essential skills needed for success in adulthood.

What I found most fascinating was when the conversation dove into the paralyzing pain of uncertainty. They discussed how that uncertainty can rob twentysomethings of enjoyment due to the struggle to find an anchor in the search for identity.

I viscerally felt this as I moved about untethered from anything familiar while living in Taiwan and was reminded of it while listening.

Unpacking Learnings 20 Years Later

The two years I lived in Taiwan did so much to shape who I am today that I continue to refer back to them on an almost daily basis. This is especially true after that podcast and a few recent books that called out the importance of understanding who we are not, including Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey and Outlive by Peter Attia .

While I’ve gotten lessons in understanding who I am not across my life, it’s different to hear it consciously acknowledged as a strength by others. When I was waiting tables in the Hamptons and Florida, drinking too much and sleeping too little, it did not feel like a strength. When I was working in dirty, frigid crawl spaces and sweltering attics as a plumber, it did not feel like a strength. When I was working for a company where nothing felt right, but I didn’t know what was wrong, it did not feel like a strength.

Finding out who we are not is a struggle, and the twenties were rough. They were an anomaly: so much fun, but also crippling with the pain of uncertainty, not knowing where the path would eventually lead. You want to trust the process, but it's a struggle.

As much as I love learning, an island of knowledge would be a personal hell without the opportunity to connect with others. I know this from experiences that have defined who I am not.

Identity's Impact on Professional Life

As I get older, I find that each year brings more lessons in who I am not, and it’s way easier to get the lesson and move on, so much so that I’ve come to embrace it. The more I carve off the pieces of who I am not, the more defined I become in my identity: who I am at home, at work, and throughout my life’s daily journey.

This self-awareness guides prioritization, defines communication styles, and shapes how I build relationships. Knowing who I am not empowers me to focus on what truly matters – fostering connections, building a fulfilling career, and ultimately, living a life that feels rich with meaning.

Knowing who we are not is like harnessing a superpower. It gives us the ability to understand when to say no to something good – potentially so good – so that we can say yes to something great.

What about you? Have you explored the concept of who you are NOT? How has it shaped your professional or personal journey? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

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Thanks again and have a wonderful weekend!

Gerry