Ever Ask Yourself, “Who Am I?”

Somewhere between misplacing my eyeglasses, misreading the signs, and misidentifying myself for about five decades, I began to suspect that this life thing wasn’t about “finding” myself in the mirror.

Turns out, it was about forgetting all the versions of me I thought I had to be while laughing as they crumbled into cosmic compost.

In true Taoist fashion, my path toward discovering who I truly am hasn’t been linear, strategic, or brandable. It’s been messy, unpredictable, deeply silent, and at times, so absurd I could only laugh.

I once thought “becoming myself” meant optimizing my calendar, decoding my enneagram, or assembling some spiritual IKEA identity kit. Nope. The Tao, ever elusive, whispered otherwise.

“The way that can be named is not the eternal Way.” — Tao Te Ching

Which is Lao Tzu’s polite way of saying: “Shut up and feel it.”

And so I did. I began to feel more than think. Wander more than plan. Observe more than assert. And in those gaps between the doing I caught glimpses of something real.

Those fleeting moments of being fully with the Tao. Like catching your own reflection in a puddle just before a truck drives through it. Perfect. Impermanent. True.

I used to believe self-discovery was about mastery. Now I know it’s about surrender.

That’s where the Bhagavad Gita gave me an uppercut to the ego:

“You do not know how to act because you do not know who you are.”

Krishna to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita

Oof. Guilty as charged. I was performing like a man who knew himself while living like a man desperately auditioning. But the Gita is not about guilt, it’s about waking up. And waking up isn’t some grand ceremony. It’s usually more like spilling coffee on yourself and realizing you were asleep the whole time.

And let me be blunt: this whole thing is an inner game. The Tao doesn’t ask you to be more. It asks you to be less conditioned.

The I Ching which is my go-to guide doesn’t lay out answers. It dances with your questions. Its 64 hexagrams aren’t destinations. They’re weather reports for your inner climate. And when I’m stormy, I consult it like an old friend who answers cryptically and wisely, kind of like a monk on mushrooms.

In the process of not arriving anywhere in particular, I’ve arrived at myself, over and over again.

Five Pieces of Wisdom When You Find Yourself Spiritually Asleep

💥 Start by forgetting your name.

Not literally (unless you’re on ayahuasca), but metaphorically. Forget the story you’ve been selling yourself. That story is often a marketing brochure, not a soul print.

💥 Take an unscheduled walk.

Preferably without your phone. Watch the trees instead of TikTok. Let the wind rearrange your thoughts. Nature is Tao’s favorite radio station.

💥 Question every should.

If your inner voice sounds like your high school guidance counselor, thank it and set it free. “Shoulds” are the potholes on the road to Ziran—your spontaneous, natural self.

💥 Feel your contradictions without fixing them.

You’re a divine mess. Own it. You can be both wise and petty, calm and chaotic. The Tao doesn’t care. It flows through all of you.

💥 Say no to the performance.

Your soul didn’t come here to audition. Take off the costume. Be the weirdo, the wanderer, the woo-woo whisperer. The world needs fewer filters and more frequency.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand: we’re all wanderers, moving from lifetime to lifetime, not to arrive, but to remember. The Tao isn’t a destination. It’s a direction. And self-discovery isn’t about sculpting an identity. It’s about shedding what never belonged.

So who am I?

Today, I’m a breath. Tomorrow, a breeze. And if I’m lucky, just one more fool walking with the Tao, grinning at the absurdity of it all.

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