Identity

Four photos. Four moments. Four versions of me: reader, grad, exec, author. 

And yet, they’re all the same “me,” just wearing different hats along the way.

It starts in kindergarten.

I can still feel the excitement of that morning — slipping into my new red-and-grey uniform, smoothing the crisp white terylene blouse, standing in line for school photos. The instructions were simple: “Pick something on the table for your picture.” I chose a book. Not because I could read (I couldn’t!), but because I couldn’t wait to learn. And because the pictures inside felt like tiny windows into a bigger world.

Fast-forward to another moment etched in memory: picking up my cap and gown for my McGill graduation photos. A Bachelor of Commerce in Marketing and International Business — it sounded creative, global, full of possibility. I believed it would give me a chance to shape the world… somehow, someday.

Years later came the corporate era.

“Do you have any photos we can use for the RBC Economic Update webinar with our Chief Economist?”

“No,” I replied, half-laughing, half-terrified. “I never went to school to be a talk-show host.” The truth? I felt completely intimidated. The Chief Economist. The Canadian landscape’s brightest minds. Me… hosting. And yes, apparently I needed a photo shoot. I still remember that moment — 2,000 people logged on (pre-podcast days!), staring at my face on their screens while I tried to look like I belonged there.

Then came the fourth photo — the one I resisted the most.

The “author photo.”

Everyone said, “You need one for your book cover.” But it had been thirteen years since I had smiled for a camera. Thirteen. I was happy staying invisible.

So I did what many of us do when we’re unsure: I went on LinkedIn, found beautiful author portraits by photographer Bénédicte Brocard, sent a connection request… and hoped. She accepted. Then she invited me to her monthly portrait day.

“What background do you want?” she asked. Oh no. Another existential identity question.

My whole writing journey has been a long, tender excavation of who I am beneath all the roles: marketer, leader, mother, partner, seeker. As a marketer, I know how much a background, an outfit, a colour palette can signal a “brand.” But what was my brand as an author? What was I trying to say?

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just wrote a book I hope people will enjoy.”

So I packed a suitcase full of clothes — every possible version of myself — because I couldn’t decide who I wanted to be on camera. You’d think that after writing an entire memoir about identity, this part would be easy. It wasn’t.

But then, as the light makeup was being applied, something softened. I remembered what I had forgotten:

I am who I am. 

Not the labels. Not the titles. Not the expectations. Those identities are helpful — even necessary — as we grow, navigate life, and find our communities. But underneath them all, there is a constant “me”: the same soul, connected to all other beautiful souls, shaped by lifetimes of experiences, choosing to be here, now, fully alive.

And with that, the fear dissolved.

My grandmother Nany’s mantra rose in my memory: “Que sera, sera.”

Good photographers don’t take your picture — they let your truth shine through.

 Thank you, Bénédicte, and all portrait artists who know how to capture a soul in a single moment, illuminating who we’ve always been.