Part 2: The disconnect
How We Lost who we are
In Part 1, we asked: How can it be that in a world of endless choice and unmatched freedom, so many still carry a quiet ache? We explored the tension between inherited identity—received from tradition, faith, and belonging—and the modern push to construct identity from scratch.
Now, we need to turn to the unravelling. How did we lose the thread?
For most of our history, people were born into a story. A shared language of meaning. You knew your place—not as a limitation but as a grounding. Family, land, tradition, faith, community: these were not burdens to escape but roots to grow from. Your identity wasn’t something you had to invent. It was something you stepped into, shaped by a story bigger than you. We were people of belonging; when fully understood, the basis of an eternal, personal God, the value and dignity of all and creation, was present.
Then came the shift.
The Enlightenment elevated reason above revelation. A sort of awakening that untethered us and disconnected us from our original Raison d’être. The Industrial Revolution redefined people as producers, part of the machinery. Globalization loosened the ties of place and, with it, identity and narrative of origin. Modernism replaced meaning with mechanics and the experience. Postmodernism questioned whether meaning was ever real to begin with. And now—digital life offers options, but is primarily a great contributor to escaping or projecting life.
We gained autonomy, yes. But in the process, we lost much. Identity, purpose, and continuity.
We went from being part of a shared narrative to having to author our own, without map or memory.
Today, identity is curated, branded, and performed. Truth is relative, belonging conditional, and stability elusive.
We scroll for connection, yet feel isolated. We are told to be our foundation, yet many feel unmoored. The tools of freedom have, paradoxically, multiplied fragmentation. We supposedly have endless possibility—and yet very little peace. This unravelling isn’t only cultural. It’s personal. Many of us sense that something vital has been misplaced—not just belief systems, but meaning itself. Not just structures, but soul.
We don’t just need to go forward. We need to look back—not in nostalgia, but in wisdom.
What were the truths that used to hold us? What were the lies that needed to be challenged? And what might we recover—not to return to the past, but to reframe the future?
Because when the self becomes the sole hero and source of truth, it proves to be a fragile foundation
Because while inherited identity had its shadows, constructed identity has left many wandering. Perhaps what we need is not to choose one or the other, but to reimagine both: a rooted identity that still makes space for freedom. A shared humanity that honours uniqueness.
What we’ve often called an Awakening or Renaissance has, in many ways, deceived us. It promised freedom—that our lives are ours to create, define, and curate. A personal adventure with no deeper context than our own choosing. But when we place ourselves at both the beginning and the end of our story, something essential gets lost. Meaning evaporates. The story feels hollow. Because when the self becomes the sole hero and source of truth, it proves to be a fragile foundation—never enough to carry the weight of purpose.
The paradox is this: meaning was never meant to come solely from within. It exists beyond us—not as an erasure of who we are, but as the context that gives us significance. We were not made to be our own creators and sustainers. And in our attempt to reject all external authority, we’ve trapped ourselves in the smallest story possible—our own.
In Part 3, we’ll move toward that vision of re-weaving what was disconnected, and recovering a story that makes us whole again.
