I’ll be honest, I kind of hate the phrase “finding yourself”.

At its best, it’s a boring cliche. At its worst, it’s synonymous with privileged westerners jet-setting across the world to places where their self-serving spiritual tourism does more harm than good.

And yet, I also feel it’s a phrase and an idea that we can’t quite seem to do away with.

Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re thrust into our lives and our selves without an instruction manual.

Perhaps it’s the fact that we’ve all had the experience of feeling some part of ourselves that we didn’t know existed suddenly click into place, in the process, realizing that we are more than we had imagined.

Perhaps it’s that we’ve simply read Eat, Pray, Love (or in my case, Into the Wild) too many times.

Despite the cliche, at some level, the idea of finding ourselves rings true.

And if we want to achieve our potential, creatively or otherwise, finding and piecing together the scattered pieces of ourselves might just be a necessary part of the process of getting there.

But what exactly are we looking for when we set off in search of ourselves?

The idea of finding ourselves implies that we don’t quite know who or what we are. And if we don’t already know ourselves, how do we know what we’re looking for or when we’ve found it?

Mirror Images

The idea of finding ourselves implies an internal journey of discovery, development, and progression.

But that internal journey is often facilitated by an accompanying external journey.

This idea is a core part of the classic Hero’s Journey framework which has both informed (and been perpetuated by) much of modern storytelling as well as showing up in stories and myths across cultures for thousands of years.

As such, it’s no wonder that to some extent, we seem to have some innate awareness of this correlation between the external world and our individual internal worlds.

But if we want to take a more active, intentional approach in filling in the missing gaps in ourselves and moving closer to our potential as both creators and humans, it helps to view this external/internal relationship more literally and concretely.

Because if we know where to look, the external world is strewn with tangible landmarks that can help us triangulate, map, and navigate our abstract inner terrain.

Into the Cave

I’ve spent the majority of the past 8 years traveling in the geographic sense, visiting (and in many cases living in) more than 40 countries across 5 continents.

But I’ve also been traveling in an abstract sense–through books, podcasts, movies, music, essays, ideas, and more–for much longer.

Regardless the mode of travel, I regularly find myself stumbling onto places, art, ideas, and more that resonate in a way that feels as though they’re a part of me, separated at birth only to be rediscovered and reclaimed, and reintegrated now, decades later.

I like to imagine these pieces of myself in the world as something akin to quantum particles, separated but operating in perfect unison.

The first time I remember experiencing this particular sensation of resonance was on a multi-day hike on the west coast of Vancouver Island.

My friend Evan and I had set up camp at the end of the first of four days we’d be hiking.

While Evan napped on the beach in the late afternoon sun, I decided to explore our surroundings.

From our camp, the trail headed up and inland for a few Kilometers, bypassing the high, coastal cliffs before descending and meeting up once again with the coast later the following day. Because the tide was currently out, however, I was able to hopscotch my way along the rocky shore, out around the edge of our cove, and skirt up the coast along the base of the cliffs.

As I rounded the corner, walking a rocky tightrope between the sea and the rocks, the cliffside on my right unexpectedly opened up into a yawning sea cave.

The cave was big enough to feel expansive while small enough to feel intimate, maybe twenty feet tall, thirty feet wide, and forty feet deep.

I crossed the threshold and entered.

It was like stepping into a cathedral. The crashing of the incoming waves quieted, while somehow also becoming one with the rock walls, reverberating back and enveloping me from all sides.

I was awed.

This stumbled upon sea cave felt like home in a way I’d never felt before, and for an hour, I simply sat on the stone floor, stared out at the sea, and reveled in the alignment of person and place.

Landmarks Are Everywhere

While this experience was the first I remember, and to date, still one of the strongest, I’ve now had this resonant experience of finding a part of myself out in the world dozens of times.

Physical locations are a common source of resonance.

These locations may be grand and powerful, like the sea cave on Vancouver Island or the sea cliffs of the UK and Ireland. Rocky coastlines and the deep, relentless pounding of the surf always tend feel like home to me.

But they can also be small, mundane even.

A coffee shop that strikes just the right vibe, or a city park, or a certain random street corner.

They can also be places I’ve never been. A living room on Pinterest, or a kitchen in a movie or TV show. It often doesn’t take more than a short glimpse to recognize a bit of myself buried in a place.

But physical places aren’t the only places I’ve found myself.

Just as often, I’ll discover some part of myself in a song, video, book, poem, creative project, or even another person who may have more fully-realized and developed some trait that is nascent in me.

I’m sure the feeling of reunion with some lost piece of ourselves feels different for all of us.

For me it’s often a visceral kind of resonance in my chest or stomach, goosebumps, or welling up of emotion. Other times, it’s a sense of peace, quiet, and alignment.

Whatever the specific sensation feels like, once we recognize what that particular sense of resonance feels like for us and are able to attune ourselves to its frequency, these pieces of ourselves aren’t all that hard to find.

What’s harder is knowing what to do with these abstract data points.

Because what are you supposed to do with a feeling that some part of you exists in a sea cave, after all?

Note Pieces, Follow Patterns

Since I started thinking more intentionally about finding myself in the external world a couple of years ago, I’ve been collecting and cataloging them.

I dump notes, photos, and ideas of resonant pieces into a Notion doc and have a playlist of all the music that feels as though I could have been the one to write it. I’ve even experimented with creating mood boards comprised of various visual elements.

At times this collection is active and intentional, where I’ll scour Pinterest or Unsplash for imagery that resonates strongly.

More often, the process is passive, where I’ll stumble across something that brings on an unexpected visceral physical reaction.

The more I’ve collected and organized these data points, however, the more patterns have emerged.

Visually, I’m drawn to symmetry, reflection, and balance. I like geometry, landscapes, and natural colour palettes.

Thematically, I’m captivated by stories about time (especially time travel), portals into other worlds, and adventure to far-off places.

Characteristically, I love underdogs, rebels, and outsiders who find creative ways to persist and prevail against impossible odds.

As the patterns have become clear, so too has the feeling that the patterns have both existed, and heavily influenced my life choices long before I was aware of them.

Made plain, however, they’ve become a compass to create work, make decisions, and live a life that is more highly aligned with my unique interests, strengths, and perspectives.

This place of alignment is the place where all of our best creative work comes from. The things we’re most drawn to, it seems, are the things that–when channeled effectively–most draw others to us.

Which is why finding ourselves and recognizing the patterns is such a powerful tool.

Before we can recognize these patterns, however, we need to find the pieces that comprise them.

This requires us to venture out beyond our familiar borders, physically, creatively, intellectually, and more without judgment or expectation as to what we’ll find or where we’ll find it.

But find it we will.

These hidden pieces are already a part of us. But we often need an external mirror to catch the light just right and reflect back in such a way that we catch a glimpse of a side of ourselves we’ve never noticed before.

While they might not make sense immediately in the moment, each new mirror we encounter, each new landmark, each new anchor, offers us an opportunity–and an invitation–to understand ourselves more deeply.

I think TS Eliot said it best.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

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This article originally appeared in my weekly Creative Wayfinding Newsletter. Each issue is the product of a week of work, and contains something not available for sale.

A fresh perspective, a shot of encouragement when you need it most, and maybe even some genuine wisdom from time to time.

Each week, we explore a different facet of the question “How do we navigate the wilds of creating work that matters?”

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