Identity Crisis Check

Our family was on a long road trip through the Great Basin Desert. Kelly was driving. I was half-asleep in the passenger seat, and our four kids were stretched across the back, when something caught my eye.

Movement.

Out there—nothing but sand and rock for miles—was a tiny animal on the side of the road. Kelly slowed the car and we pulled over. As I opened my door, I saw the tiniest baby puppy with matted tan fur and the sweetest smoky black muzzle, definitely still in its infancy.

We didn’t have a plan. But we do have hearts and we couldn’t just drive on.

I immediately went into rescue mode. I was going to save this thing, go home a heroe and we'd all live happily ever after.

The puppy had a different storyline in mind.

It bared its teeth and growled, backing away. Realizing this was not going to be a grab-and-go situation, I turned to my resources for some type of bait—rational thinker that I am—and boy did I come up strong. I found a Slim Jim.

What creature lost in the wilderness could resist a Slim Jim?

I was about to find out. This poor puppy was more shaken than I thought. As I peeled the jerky stick open and crouched low, inching closer, this baby held its stance unfazed. Didn't even sniff the air.

As discouragement began to set in, I turned to Kelly, who had been trying to get my attention. He was locked in on something over to our left. That's when I say it. Another puppy.

Same coloring. Same size. And unfortunately, the same nasty attitude.

Within seconds they teamed up, ran under a sagebrush, and kept growling from their bristly fortress. With four kids in the car who didn't currently have rabies, we were beginning to feel there was no safe way to rescue these puppies.

After considering several possibilities, we dejectedly got back in the car and drove away.

I was ashamed and disappointed for several hours and many miles. And then it hit me.

Those weren’t puppies.

They were coyotes.

We were slow to the realization, but they knew all along exactly who, what, and where they were. Even in their infancy. They weren’t lost in the desert, they owned the desert.

And no strange lady with a Slim Jim was going to convince them otherwise.

Nature Isn’t Up for a Vote - Identity Crisis Averted

Each human is born from a unique equation—nature and nurture. DNA and environment. Biology and culture.

Here’s what fascinates me: 99.9% of our DNA is the same. Between any two humans, only about 0.1% differs. Under a microscope, the difference between you and anyone else is nearly indiscernible. We are overwhelmingly...alike!

And yet.

That 0.1%? It feels pretty vast, doesn't it?

You are unique. Original. You come wired with strengths, preferences, instincts, and traits that have nothing to do with your culture, family, friends, or followers. That’s your nature and it makes up a significant part of your identity.

Here’s where we go wrong—we consult the community to define it.

Community is nurture. Your village is environment. Nature has nothing to do with them. If you want to understand your nature, you have to be in a quiet enough space to hear yourself think, away from that noisy nurture.

So next time you sense an identity crisis coming on, take time to write down things you notice about yourself that are natural—what energizes you, what drains you, what you love, what you avoid. Knowing who you are is critically linked to your productivity.

Identity is realized in quiet moments. Check with the universe, with the heavens. Check with yourself.

It’s not change we need to avoid, it's the pull to compare.

You are not a lost puppy waiting for someone else to define you.

You might just be a coyote.

And no stranger with a Slim Jim gets to decide who you are.