wanting to be known

on identity, aspiration, and the badges we wear

I’ve always wanted to be somebody. As long as I’ve known, I’ve wanted to be known.

When I was younger, I was a competitive figure skater. I was good but not great — I never competed internationally. One year, I won my Regional competition¹, which landed me a spot at Junior Nationals, where I skated well in the first round and qualified for finals. Between rounds, a group of skaters was standing around discussing their rankings.

“What place did you get last year?” One asked another.

”Oh, 6th. You?”

“3rd.” They turned towards me.

“We don’t remember you. What place did you get last year?”

I was too embarrassed to tell them that the year before, I’d placed 2nd... to last.

But that year, I redeemed myself. I skated a clean performance in the finals and placed 12th nationally — and this is what I became known for, for a while. Years later, at a bar in college, I ran into a former skater who still remembered me. In my youth, I wore that modest achievement like a badge — it was, perhaps, my only source of pride. It made me worth something. I milked it in my college applications. I wore it long after it wore out.

We all want to be known for something. At least to our friends and community, if not the world. We want to be the cool one, the funny one, or the intelligent one. We want to be known for our quirks, our idiosyncrasies: the guy with the flip phone or the girl with the tattoos. And most of all, we want to be known for our work, our competencies. We all want to be good at something.

In college, I got really good at school. I scored a 3.95 in Economics and would have made the Dean’s List had I not chosen to take my final semester pass/fail². I wore this badge covertly (it would have been uncool to do so openly), but I took pride in the admiration from friends who ‘inadvertently’ found out. Academic excellence became something I was known for.

We collect pieces of identity like badges throughout the years, some fresh and shiny, others rusted from disuse. We acquire them from different arenas: sports or school or the arts. We display them prominently on our chests or discard them in shame. No one badge can fully represent a man, but we forget this, and we forget that we aren’t even the aggregate of all our badges, but rather, the thing underneath — the thing doing the wearing. Without our badges, we feel naked.

What are you known for? How do you want to be known? As a writer? A reader? Musician? Scholar? Or, perhaps, a friend, a lover, a member of the tribe? Do you want to impress people or instead, make them laugh? Do you want to give or to take? Love or be loved? Do you want to be? Or do you want to be known?

Being is physical, real, substantial; being known is illusory, imaginary, fiction. There is danger in confusing the two.

After grad school, I applied to medical school because I wanted to be known as a medical student — I didn’t actually care for the work, just the status and the title. I was brutally rejected, and honestly, I’m thankful for it. I would have been miserable. I did not want to be a doctor.

It’s undeniable that much of our self-worth stems from how others regard us. But to focus on image at the cost of substance is to misunderstand the ultimate source of personal power. Being known is but a shallow reflection of being. The moon to the sun. Even during an eclipse, when the moon blocks out the sun, we do not forget that ultimately it is the sun that sustains us, that gives us strength.

Being known is a chest full of badges. Being is the soldier underneath.

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Still, I’d like to be known for something, and on a global scale. Perhaps I’m still chasing the recognition I never truly achieved as a figure skater.

To be honest, this is partly why I write — I think my most likely claim to fame is the way I put words together on paper. I’ve tried music and that didn’t really work, and medicine didn’t work either, but writing… I have a good feeling about writing.

To the world, I’d like to be known for my clarity of thought, ease of communication, and sober grasp of the truth.

But to those I love, I’d like to be known as kind, funny, caring, and considerate. Someone with strength of will and openness of heart. Someone who shares his experiences and opinions honestly, without shame, without fear.

In other words, I’d like to be known as exactly who I am — a friend, a lover, and a valued member of the tribe.

1. which, in itself, was not a particularly heroic feat — my region was widely considered one of the weakest.

2. It was the start of the pandemic, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to take what effectively became an extended vacation.