06/02/2026
I've been sitting with a question lately.
If I had been born into a different family, a different country, a different class, would I still be me?
If I'd grown up in a small village outside Nairobi, or in a wealthy family with the right connections already in place, or in a different era entirely, would I hold the same beliefs about what's possible for me?
The honest answer is no.
I think about this when I think about my brother Jim. We grew up in the same house, same chaotic parents, same starting point on paper. But Jim got labeled difficult early and ended up in juvenile hall. The institutions that were supposed to help him cemented something else into him entirely. He died at 22, found in a homeless camp.
The difference between his life and mine wasn't character or intelligence. It was who showed up for each of us.
Dr. Julie Smith talked about this in one of the most-watched interviews on Ali Abdaal's channel. Most of us are living from beliefs formed before we were old enough to question them. A hidden identity, quietly running the show.
Even now, I catch myself oscillating. Some days I'm certain I can do anything. Other days the fog rolls in. Who are you to do this. You're not there yet.
That voice isn't truth. It's residue from a story written early.
Identity isn't something you're born with. It gets written into you by your circumstances, the people who showed up, the labels that stuck, the rooms you were let into and the ones you weren't.
And because it was written, it can be rewritten. At the root. At the level where the original story actually lives.
Jim deserved that work. So do you.
I'd love to hear your version of this in the comments. What story was written early that you're still working to rewrite?
