Who am I when I’m not Miss Warm and Inviting?
Do you ever feel like you’re putting on a show?
Or worse— that you’re so used to putting on a show that you’ve forgotten who you are “off stage”?
I was just speaking with a potential client from California. She’s a highly talented thirty-five year-old who could pursue almost any path she wants. She’s creative, intuitive, warm with people, driven, and big-hearted. But what drew her to coaching was the uneasy question that bubbles up for all of us: who am I, really? Am I more than the roles I play?
Who am I when I’m not Miss Warm and Inviting? she asked.
Who am I when I’m not acing my goals at work?
Who am I when I’m not creating something beautiful?
Who am I when I take off all the costumes that I wear in my various roles?
These are questions that felt all too familiar.
When $#!% Got Real
As some of you may know, I experienced a pretty significant turning point in my life. I was pursuing religious life (read: convent) when I came down with some severe illness. I flew home from Rome in a wheelchair, never to return again.
I spent the next 18 months being shuttled from doctor to doctor. But the more difficult part was being “stripped.” Kelly, the kind-hearted servant, the “holy” one who prayed four hours a day, the dreamer, the passionate one, the achiever— was now bed-ridden most of the time. I was so weak I could hardly move, speak, or think. Who was I when all of those identities were stripped away?
I don’t believe our identities can be distilled into a neat glass jar. “Here’s me! I am one part spiritual seeker, one part curious student, and two parts passionate dreamer.”
We are far more dynamic and nuanced than that.
Words both help and hinder. It’s the same conundrum when speaking about God. Words can tell us what the divine is like, but can never fully encompass his nature. If you think you have understood God, it is not God you have understood. (To paraphrase John of the Cross.)
Might we say the same for us?
Being in One of Those Body-Switching Movies
One lesson I learned during my time of illness was that my identity does not depend on what I do. I thought I knew this prior to illness, but apparently the Universe saw it fit to make sure I knew it in my bones. I did not have the strength to smile, most of the time. I could not engage in much conversation. I could not focus enough to pray (which was distressing after the rigorous prayer life of the convent!). Instead, I just was.
This felt incredibly discomfiting. Unless you have experienced something similar, it is difficult to relate the sensation. It’s like one of those movies where the main character wakes up in another person’s body. It doesn’t feel like your own. You don’t have the same skills or muscle memory or perhaps even language. You try to express yourself and foreign words come out of your mouth. You don’t understand yourself, and all who knew you don’t know what to make of this new incarnation of you.
Who is Kelly? Who is she when she’s not the buoyant, feisty, quirky woman most people know her to be?
The answer to this question came from an unexpected place.
Oak Trees Are Better at This Than Me
Nature often teaches me important lessons about life. One such lesson came while pondering a oak tree outside my house. It’s a robust tree that stretches its arms high into the heavens. My life at the time had been filled with a lot of striving. Striving (verb): the opposite of what a tree does. We humans are the only ones who can feel angst and anxiety and work SO HARD at doing the opposite of who we’re meant to be. Not so with trees. They are exactly who they are meant to be. And they do so with such effortless authenticity! None of this silly forcing and pushing and stress that typifies the life of the modern human. I’m exhausted just writing these words.
Life is meant to be much more effortless and free-flowing. Learn from the oak tree. My oak does a perfect job of being a tree: it grows, drinks in the sun, turns colors, shed leaves, and eventually dies in accordance with its treeness. When the word “tree” was spoken into existence, everything implied by that word – the firm and flexible trunk, the chlorophylled leaves, the need for water and sun and soil – are part of what it means to be “tree."
What, then, does it mean to be “Kelly”? When you were spoken into existence, what was intended by your name? What was the divine trying to express about himself? And how do I live up to that richly nuanced meaning?
In other words: What does it mean to be authentically (and effortlessly) you?
The divine spoke us each into existence. Have you ever pondered what he is trying to say through your existence? What was he trying to say? What part of himself is he trying to express? Seeing the myriad of people and creatures that exist gives us a peek at the vastness of God. Don’t you find it curious (and not a little hilarious) that the same Being spoke the Dalai Lama, your crabby sister-in-law, and the therizinosaurus into existence? (Look it up: it’s a thing!) What, pray-tell, is he trying to express?
Filling in the God-Speak
I don’t have words to hand over when asked “who is Kelly Deutsch?” The best I can do is live life with you, as authentically as possible. That means being in tune with my deepest desires and subtle movements. It can look different based on my energy levels (amazing how much that affects our behaviors), the environment (I definitely reign in my “weird” at work), or how grounded I am. My sense of humor is much more rambunctious when I’m with friends who share the same “funny.” My warm tact is in the forefront when I’m presenting to the leadership team at work. My fiery passion blazes when talking about my dreams for wholeness, or for drawing people into a deeper, more authentic life.
I believe all of these connotations were intended when God spoke the world “Kelly” into existence.
Yet even without them—even when I cannot laugh or present or turn to you with fire in my eyes—I know I am good. I am loved. I, like you, am an expression of the divine.
I am Kelly.