Lost in the Crowd

I moved to New York City when I was 20 years old. The size of the city was shocking. Endless. Walking the streets left me mesmerized and slightly disoriented.

After a few weeks, despite being surrounded by millions of people, I felt cut off. I saw people, but nobody saw me. I could do almost anything and get no response. No feedback.

I realized with nothing being reflected back at me, I didn’t know what to give off. I had lost something I never knew I had—a sense of who I was, based on how others responded.

Safely Within the Circle

I’d been around familiar people my whole life. Even when I went to college, I landed in a group of people with similar circumstances who quickly formed a circle around me. Within that circle, calibration was easy: put something out and gauge it by what comes back. A feedback loop that runs constantly and invisibly.

This loop is an effective mechanism. Subconsciously, we learn what’s acceptable to our peers. We’re not asking for direct feedback, but reliably receiving it. The internalized responses help us develop a sense of norms, and also how to express our individuality within them. 

This is largely how it works. It’s how we form a social identity.

The system works so flawlessly, it’s hard to even notice until it disappears. When we move to a new city for a job, or find ourselves in a room full of strangers, we leave the circle and the reflection stops. The mirror becomes a window—when you look, you only see what’s on the other side.

Playing the Room

Losing this reflection is deeply disorienting. We quickly realize how heavily we’ve been relying on the feedback. 

This brings to the surface a more subtle question: how much of what we think of as our authentic selves is actually just us responding to these reflections?

Do we tell a joke because we think it’s funny, or for the response?

Do we tell a story for the connection or the reaction?

Probably some of both. 

When the reflection is always there, the distinction matters less. It’s only when it’s removed that we have to question our motivations. Without the disruption, it just feels like you’re being yourself.

We are shaped by reflection, not defined by it.

Recognizing Reflection

Relying on this feedback loop isn’t a weakness. We do it from infancy. It’s why our idea of self changes as we grow—we start getting different feedback. 

The outburst that was tolerated when you were a toddler is reprimanded, or the joke that landed in your adolescence is met with sideways glances from your co-workers. The ability to perceive these signals and use them to adapt our behavior is how we find our place in society.

It’s also how we learn what makes us unique. We test the bounds of others’ reactions to learn where the responses don’t match who we think we are. Or we take pleasure in eliciting a certain response that we develop a knack for. 

The reflections start to actually reinforce when we think we’re at our best or when we’re not being ourselves. They become a tool for recognizing ourselves, not just social calibration. 

No reprimand or sideways glances required. 

Shaped, Not Defined

You’ve probably felt this at some point. My most dramatic experience with it was moving to NYC, but you probably recall a moment when you were a “fish out of water.” We use that phrase to describe being in unfamiliar territory, or not having what you’re used to having around you. Part of what feels unfamiliar is the silence—when the feedback from familiar people and places is gone.

Acknowledging this doesn’t mean that you are only what others think of you. But it does challenge the idea of self that exists without this reflection. Most of us live somewhere in the middle, knowing how we want to be perceived and using social feedback to decide if it’s working. 

Our perception of ourselves is filtered through the feedback we get from others. Shaped by reflection but not defined by it.

As always, thanks for reading. I’m truly happy you’re here. 

All the best,

Nate