Life Is Like a Kaleidoscope: Coming to Terms with Being a Polymath

Will the Real Ronda Please Stand Up?

For a long time, I've been trying to answer the following question: Which Ronda is the “real” Ronda? The organizational consultant? The performance person? The change practitioner? The instructional designer? The executive coach? The entrepreneur? The writer? The photographer? The songwriter? The aspiring DJ? The artist? The creative? The woman fascinated by personal transformation? The person who wants to talk about the unlived life?

In answering the question, "who’s the “real” Ronda?” , I'm arriving at a Different New Answer—all of them. I’m coming to the realization that I don’t need to cram every interest into a business model—a trap I've fallen into many times before. And I no longer feel the need to amputate parts of myself in order to present a professionally coherent identity—me, “buttoned up” and hyper efficient. Earlier this summer, I had a mini mental meltdown—one that forced me to take a little break and reevaluate EVERYTHING.

See, I’m finally accepting that I’m what one calls a polymath, aka “multi-passionate”, aka a “renaissance person”, or something of that nature. When I allowed myself to just think freely about anything and everything—particularly about how I intend to spend my remaining years—it occurred to me that I’ve spent much of my life thinking about my different interests and abilities as separate things.

Lately, I've started thinking about myself and polymathy as a precious gem—defined by the relationship among its facets. Each facet is just a fragment that reflects something different, but when masterfully shaped together, they form a brilliant, beautiful whole. This interconnectedness is how I view my own intellect, creativity, interests, and ultimately my identity.

A major aspect that I’ve struggled greatly with throughout my life has been trying (and failing) to fit all the multiple facets of ME into ONE box—one carefully, strategically designed life. And the box that has been mostly filled—the wolf that has been getting fed the most—has always been the "buttoned up" overachieving career part of me. I know I’m not alone in this.

How many times do we as children get heavily influenced (or outright TOLD) by well-meaning parents, educators, and others what path we need to take in life, in order to be successful? The next thing you know, there’s a wonderful colorful light inside that dims over the years, relegated to the position of “someday” in the to-do list of things to get back to later in life. 

The Beauty of the Kaleidoscope and How It’s Different From Being “Multi-Passionate”

One of my favorite childhood toys was the kaleidoscope. I gave you the “facet” metaphor, and now I’ll expand into how the kaleidoscope metaphor applies. This distinction matters to me. Being “multi-passionate” can easily turn into a list: “I like coaching and photography and organizational development and writing and music and...” That's a reality I’ve lived with but it’s no longer what I'm embracing.

Think about a kaleidoscope. It has multiple elements (facets) that, when turned, create something new through their relationship to one another. Inside the kaleidoscope, with each turn, the elements move, creating a completely different, unique, beautiful configuration. Nothing is added. Nothing disappears. The same pieces were there all along.

Philosophically, this is increasingly how I understand my own polymathy—and ultimately, my identity. One moment, my professional expertise may be most prominent. At another, it might be my creativity, entrepreneurship, writing, music, or curiosity. Nothing has disappeared. The configuration has simply changed. While this may seem cool, it can be both a blessing and a curse.

My professional disciplines have worked that way for years. I don't stop being a performance consultant when I’m coaching someone. My understanding of change management doesn't disappear when I’m designing learning. My knowledge of human behavior doesn't switch off when I’m thinking about organizational systems.

My creativity doesn't evaporate when I’m working in corporate spaces. And my business acumen and entrepreneurial spirit don’t go AWOL when I’m appreciating a beautiful work of art, listening to jazz, or capture a beautiful portrait. I’ve finally given myself permission to recognize that the kaleidoscope principle extends beyond my professional disciplines, and that my creativity affects how I see the world and how I solve problems.

• Entrepreneurship affects how I think about possibility and agency.

• Coaching affects how I listen.

• Organizational work informs how I recognize systems and patterns.

• Photography affects the way I notice what other people overlook.

• Writing makes me better at articulating meaning from abstract things.

• Music teaches me how to orchestrate diverse elements into a cohesive whole.

• Art helps me have a deep appreciation for humanity.

These life experiences affect what I understand about pivots, identity, reinvention, and tending to the unlived life. These aren't the competing aspects of Ronda. They're facets of the same whole. And I fully embrace the idea that when I keep turning the kaleidoscope, different facets become more prominent depending upon what I’m doing.

Understanding the Unlived Life vs. a Midlife Crisis

I think there's something potentially powerful here that goes well beyond “follow your dreams.” A lot of accomplished people spend decades becoming extremely good at the part of themselves that received the most reinforcement. They’re consistently rewarded for being smart, capable, educated, responsible, productive, professional, credentialed, accomplished, dependable “buttoned up” so naturally, that facet gets polished. And polished. And polished.

Meanwhile, the photographers, musicians, filmmakers, writers, artists, creatives of all kinds, the explorers, and the whatever-else-I-haven't-mentioned aren't necessarily gone. They simply aren't getting the same oxygen. The idea of the “unlived life" gives much more substance to this experience than the typical mid- to late-life existential crisis—the “YOLO, quit your job and move to Tuscany” narrative.

Someone could have built a genuinely good life and still recognize that they’ve developed one part of themselves magnificently while leaving other parts largely unexplored. That person doesn't necessarily need to burn down their career. They simply may need permission to become more fully themselves. The kaleidoscope philosophy asks: “What changes when you stop treating your multidimensionality as a problem to solve?”

You don't have to figure out how to make all the facets of yourself equally visible in every context. They're always there. You just turn the kaleidoscope. That’s a MUCH healthier proposition than trying to construct one giant box capable of holding everything simultaneously. Perhaps you’ll discover that your next chapter is a particular combination of facets that you’re not able to see from where you're sitting today. Turn. Look. Notice. Turn again.