In today’s world, materialism shapes our identity more than ever, defining how we see ourselves and how we want others to see us. We tie our worth to careers, possessions, and social media likes, chasing external markers to feel whole. But this pursuit leaves us hollow, as true identity lies not in what we own or achieve, but in the unchanging soul — the silent, eternal ‘I’ beneath the noise. My own journey to understand this began with a childhood gift that promised to make me someone special.

On my 11th birthday, inspired by my dad’s campfire cooking, I asked my parents for a cast-iron oven — the kind you use to cook a nice peach cobbler, with hot briquets on both the top and bottom.

When unleashed, the cast-iron oven is the only show in town. And the person responsible for the cooking, the one with that hook to lift the lid, who always says, "Just five more minutes" whenever anyone asks how much longer — that person is the star of the show.

I wanted a cast-iron oven because I thought it would make me look like a grown-up, mature beyond my years. I wouldn't have understood this then, but I wanted to attach my identity to this thing. I wanted people to say, "That's the kid who owns a cast-iron oven," whenever I rode my bike down the street. I imagined other kids admiring me for owning such a grown-up tool.

My older brother's birthday is just two days after mine, so we always shared a birthday party with our friends and family where we opened our presents together.

I opened my gift first — a cast-iron oven, just as I’d begged for, despite my parents’ skeptical questions. It was heavy, black, and unremarkable. My friends stared, unsure what to say. Then my brother unwrapped his gift: a sleek, remote-controlled car that could go anywhere and do anything.

When my oven sat unused while we played with my brother’s car, I felt a pang of disappointment — not in the gift, but in my hope it would make me special.

My childhood desire for a cast-iron oven reflects a universal human tendency to seek identity through possessions, a tendency that persists into adulthood.

Our careers, networks, bank accounts, and possessions become the lenses through which we define ourselves. We want to win and grind, yes… but more than anything else, we want to be seen as someone who wins and grinds.

If we can attach ourselves to something others find worthwhile, maybe we’ll become worthwhile ourselves. LinkedIn posts boasting of 80-hour workweeks, the events we attend, or our latest victories aren’t just updates — they’re pleas for validation.

In a materialistic world, titles and status offer a sense of progress, but they leave us chasing a hollow version of worth. We mistakenly tie our identity to these things, but true identity lies in the unchanging soul, free from transient desires.

This struggle isn’t new. In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates saw the body as a trap, pulling us toward temporary desires like wealth or fame. He argued our true self is the soul — unchanging and free from external needs. Today, he’d see our curated LinkedIn profiles as distractions from that deeper identity and urge us to seek the soul’s quiet truth.

Jesuit priest Anthony de Mello refers to this as the difference between “I” and “Me.” “Me” is the persona — our thoughts, feelings, roles, culture, and memory. “I” is the unchanging observer — silent, watching, free. “Labels belong to ‘me,’” he writes.

When a LinkedIn post flops, “Me” feels worthless, but “I” remains steady, watching without judgment. Our lifelong battle is to separate “I” from “Me,” freeing ourselves from the suffering of external validation.

With artificial intelligence, materialism, and social media shaping our attention, redefining our sense of identity is urgent. This is the first installment of a series exploring that journey. In the following, we’ll dive into ways to separate ‘I’ from ‘Me’ in a world obsessed with status and likes.

What would it look like to define yourself not by what you own or achieve, but by the unchanging ‘I’ within?

Try this: for one day, pause before posting on social media or chasing a status symbol, and ask what your ‘I’ truly values.