How to improve myself ? A Personal Reflection on Identity, Self-Development and Personal Growth

If there is one question that has shaped both self-development and philosophy for thousands of years, it is this: Who am I?

Few ideas have echoed through history with such enduring power as the ancient Greek invitation: “Know thyself.” These words, engraved on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi and later embraced by Socrates as a way of life, express one of humanity’s oldest and most profound questions. More than 2,500 years later, the search for identity remains at the heart of personal growth, self-discovery, and the pursuit of a meaningful life.

We have built civilizations, explored space, developed artificial intelligence, and created technologies the ancient Greeks could never have imagined. Yet the most important question has remained unchanged:

Who am I beyond my achievements, my career, and the roles I play?

Philosophy searched for the answer through contemplation. Perhaps the question itself has never changed. Only the language we use to explore it has evolved. Psychology explored it through human experience. Neuroscience now investigates how the brain constructs our sense of identity. Yet the question remains exactly the same.

More than two and a half millennia have passed. We have built civilizations, explored space, developed artificial intelligence, and created technologies the ancient Greeks could never have imagined. Yet, in the midst of our modern world, the question remains unchanged.

Perhaps today it is even more relevant than ever. Never before have we defined ourselves so strongly by what we do, what we own, and the image we project to others. The question “Who am I?” has never changed. Only the language we use to search for its answer has evolved. Philosophy sought it through contemplation. Psychology explored it through human experience. Neuroscience now investigates the mechanisms through which the brain constructs our sense of self. Yet the question itself remains timeless.

Sometimes I wonder who I would be if, overnight, I lost everything I have built.

What if I no longer had my profession? What if no one read my books anymore? What if every diploma, every photograph, every achievement, and every round of applause disappeared in a single day? Who would remain?

For many years, I believed that identity was built upon achievement—on what we accomplish, what we prove, and how others perceive us. Perhaps this is one of the greatest illusions of modern life.

We define ourselves by our profession, our position, the number of followers we have, our athletic accomplishments, the books we publish, or the business we build. Without realizing it, our identity gradually becomes attached to success.

Success is, by its very nature, unstable. A business can fail, a career can come to an end, beauty changes with time, children leave home, the body grows older. And then we are confronted with a question that few of us dare to face:

If all of these things disappeared, would anything of me remain?

Neuroscience suggests that identity is not a fixed object hidden somewhere inside the brain. Rather, it is an ongoing story the brain continuously creates about who we are. And like every story, it evolves throughout life, shaped by our experiences.

Perhaps that is why, during periods of profound change, people find themselves saying, “I no longer recognize myself.” Probably, because the story they have been telling about who they are no longer matches the reality they are living.

I have noticed this in my own life. There were years when I identified myself with my profession. At other times, with performance. At still other times, with the different roles I played. Looking back, I now realize that each of those identities was merely a chapter—not the entire book.

In recent years, I began writing fiction inspired by real-life experiences. I thought I was writing about my past. Instead, writing forced me to confront a question I had quietly avoided for years:

Who am I when I no longer need to prove anything?

It turned out to be one of the most liberating questions I have ever asked myself. Because I slowly discovered that there is a part of me that exists independently of both success and failure. It remains unchanged, even as circumstances, roles, and the world around me continue to change.

Psychology speaks about the importance of having a stable sense of identity, especially if we want to navigate life’s transitions without losing ourselves.

The more our identity depends on external validation, the more fragile it becomes. The more it is rooted in values, character, and meaning, the more resilient it grows.

I have come to believe that one of life’s most important journeys begins the moment we stop asking,

“What else do I need to achieve?”

and begin asking,

“Who do I choose to become?”

The second question is more about presence, about living consciously and authentically.

I am beginning to believe that the most important thing we build in life is our identity. Because identity shapes our decisions, it shapes our relationships, it gives birth to courage. And perhaps most importantly, it becomes the foundation of inner harmony.

Perhaps the true journey of life is not about becoming someone new, it is about gently removing, one by one, all the roles we have accumulated until we rediscover who we have been all along. These days, I no longer ask myself only how I can become more successful.  Instead, I ask a much simpler question, one that is infinitely more demanding:

Who am I when no one is watching?

For me, the answer to that question has become more valuable than any title, award, or public recognition. Because success can be lost, yet a person who truly knows who they are can never be lost.

Writer and Literary Journalist

Sydney, Australia