Letting Go to Move Forward
How Embracing Change and Letting Go Can Lead to New Beginnings.
Who Am I?
As this year draws to a close, I find myself wrestling with one of life’s most profound and challenging questions: Who am I? This isn’t just a question; it’s a journey, a puzzle, and, at times, a labyrinth of introspection. Philosophers, thinkers, and dreamers have grappled with it for centuries. And yet, despite its complexity, it’s the one question we all must face.
For weeks now, I’ve been turning this question over in my mind, attempting to piece together a coherent answer. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to write, not because I lack the words, but because the essence of who we are is both infinite and elusive.
When asked, “Who are you?” most people respond with labels: their name, nationality, or profession. “I am Dennis Irorere, a Nigerian graduate.” But is that truly who I am? These labels are external, given by others. They don’t touch the core of my being.
Am I my body? No, because my body is something I possess. We say, “my body,” just as we say, “my name” or “my hands.” Am I my thoughts? My actions? My feelings? These are fleeting, ever-changing. Am I the sum of my experiences, the lessons I’ve learned, or the people I’ve met? Perhaps. But even these are transient.
Identity, I’ve come to realize, is not a fixed point but a constantly evolving process. It’s like a river—always flowing, ever changing, yet somehow retaining its essence. The question isn’t just “Who am I now?” but also, “Who was I then?” and “Who will I become?”
Think about it: Am I Dennis the “R guy” because I enjoy writing code in R? What happens when I dive into Rust or master Python? Does that new knowledge redefine me? And more practically, when Dennis the boy grows into Dennis the man, or Dennis the Nigerian relocates to Portugal, do I become Dennis the expatriate? Do these changes make me someone new?
This fluidity of identity challenges the notion of self. Who I am today is different from who I was five years ago, yet there is an inexplicable thread connecting both versions of me. It is this duality—constant change, yet a sense of continuity—that makes the question “Who am I?” so endlessly complex.
Finding yourself is a deeply personal journey. It’s not in books or podcasts, though they can guide you. The answer lies within. Yet, looking inward is no small task—it requires solitude, honesty, and the willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.
Earl Nightingale once said, “A person is successful if they know where they are, where they’re going, and are progressively moving in that direction.” By this measure, success is not about wealth or accolades but about clarity and purpose.
To know yourself is to know your values, your dreams, and your unique way of moving through the world. For me, it’s been an eight-year journey of asking, questioning, and rediscovering. And while I still don’t have all the answers, I’ve learned this: the process of discovery is more important than the destination.
We are, in many ways, products of our environment. The language we speak, the beliefs we hold, even the dreams we chase are shaped by those around us. As the saying goes, “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.”
This is both empowering and humbling. It reminds us to choose our influences wisely while acknowledging that we can rise above them. The question, then, becomes: Are we living the life we truly want, or are we living someone else’s script?
For much of my life, I’ve wrestled with this. I’ve felt the pull of societal expectations, the weight of tradition, and the whisper of doubt. But I’ve also come to see that being different—thinking differently—is not a curse but a gift. It’s what makes us human.
I’ve also learnt that being uncomfortable with the norm is often a sign of growth. It means I’m questioning, evolving, and striving to understand myself on a deeper level. And that’s a journey I hope everyone undertakes.
So, who am I?
I am a spiritual being, with an intellect that seeks understanding and a body that anchors me to this world. I am my beliefs, my values, and my relentless pursuit of growth. I am a child of God, a thinker, a dreamer, a friend, a partner, a brother, and a member of many families. I am a problem-solver, an enigma, and a work in progress. Ultimately, a good person.
I am guided by a desire to contribute, to learn, and to leave this world better than I found it. I am not afraid to make mistakes because they are the stepping stones of progress. Above all, I am someone on a journey—a journey to become the best version of myself, to live authentically, and to embrace the grace that carries me forward.
As I conclude this reflection, I turn the question to you:
These questions are not easy, but they are necessary. Take the time to sit with them. Let them challenge you, provoke you, and inspire you. Because the journey to knowing yourself is the greatest adventure you will ever undertake.
There’s a saying: “When the roots are deep, there is no reason to fear the wind.” But what if identity isn’t just about planting deep roots? What if it’s also about growing tall enough to bend with the breeze, to embrace the shifting winds of change?
Imagine your identity as a star in the sky—always in motion, yet fixed in its own orbit. Who you are now might feel like a point of certainty, but in the vastness of time, it’s just a moment. Right now, you are the person you needed to be to get here. You are also the seed of someone you’ll someday become.
What’s beautiful—and profoundly freeing—is the idea that there’s no final version of you. Who you are is relative to the context of your life, your belief and values, shaped by the relationships you hold, the choices you make, and the time you occupy. You are as much the sum of your past as you are the author of your future.
Ultimately, who am I? I am still discovering. And that’s not only okay—it’s exhilarating. Because life isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about asking the right questions. And right now, the best version of me is the version who dares to ask, who embraces the paradox of being both incomplete and whole. Right now, I am who I am meant to be.