I couldn’t help but wonder…when did “Who are you?” become a job interview?

Not the kind where you sit across from someone in a stiff chair, but the everyday version. The one that happens in passing. At events. In line for coffee. In those in-between moments where two humans meet and, almost instantly, one offers up a perfectly packaged version of themselves.

“Hi, I’m so-and-so, and I do this.”

Clean. Concise. Doors are barely closed before the pitch is complete. And I admire that. I really do.

There’s something wildly impressive about people who can distill themselves down into a sentence or two. Like they’ve cracked some code the rest of us are still staring at. They know exactly which parts to present. Which version of themselves fits neatly into the world. It’s efficient. It’s polished. It works.

And then…there’s me.

I’ve always felt less like an elevator pitch and more like…a quagmire. A beautiful, layered, slightly confusing, always-moving quagmire.

Yes, I have one name. That part is straightforward. But what I do? That’s where things start to unravel a bit.

Because what I do isn’t linear. It’s not something you can tie up with a bow or slide into a LinkedIn headline without it feeling like you left half of yourself out in the cold. And if you’ve been reading these “Me to You” pieces for any amount of time, you already know — I am in a constant state of motion.

Doing. Creating. Thinking. Reworking. Building. Questioning. It’s not chaos to me. It’s just…life.

You’ll never hear me say, “Life is crazy right now,” or “I have so much going on.” Not because I don’t — but because I don’t know any other way to be. This rhythm, this pace, this constant forward motion…it’s home. In fact, if you asked me to stop, to sit still for too long, I’d probably smile politely while internally spiraling.

Stillness, for me, isn’t peaceful. It’s anxiety wearing a quiet outfit.

And yet, the irony for someone who is always doing, I often feel like no one really knows who I am…or what I do.

At least not in the way the world likes to define those things. But lately, I’ve been asking myself — what if that’s not a problem? What if that’s actually the point?

Because when I think about the people in my life — the ones I admire, the ones I’m drawn to — I don’t define them by their titles. I don’t lead with where they live, where they went to school or what their business card says.

I say things like: They’re kind. They’re ambitious. They’re competitive in a way that makes you want to rise, not retreat. They’re funny. Witty. Thoughtful. They see the world with curiosity, or sometimes with a guarded lens that tells you they’ve been through something. They look you in the eye. They’re a hugger or they’re not, and you know that within seconds.

Those are the things that stick. Those are the things that matter. So I started wondering…what would happen if we introduced ourselves that way?

Imagine it. Two people meet. They shake hands — not with a rehearsed pitch, but with something real.

“Hi, I’m Lisa. I’m someone who will probably ask you a lot of questions because I’m genuinely curious. I move fast, think faster, and I care deeply about the people in my life. I’m figuring things out as I go, but I’ll show up fully while I do it.”

No job title. No bullet points. No elevator required. Just truth.

It sounds almost absurd, right? Slightly uncomfortable. Maybe even a little too honest for a first interaction. And yet…wouldn’t it be refreshing?

Maybe that’s why I can never remember what someone “does.” Or why I rarely ask unless it’s relevant to the moment. It’s not that I don’t care — it’s that it’s never been the most interesting thing about them.

I care more about how they exist in the world than how they earn a living in it.

So maybe I’m not bad at defining myself. Maybe I’ve just been answering the wrong question all along. Because if identity isn’t a title, a role or a perfectly crafted sentence…then maybe it’s something far more fluid. Something that shifts, expands, evolves. Something that can’t quite be contained between the moment the elevator doors open…and the moment they close.

And honestly? I’m starting to think that’s exactly how it should be.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.