It’s Sunday afternoon. I’m sitting on my sofa in something soft, with the late spring light doing what it does at this hour. And I’m doing what I love: inspired writing. This has always been my happy place where I get to be creatively expressed; it’s literally sustenance for my soul. No inbox, no makeup, and no one watching. For an hour or two, I stop performing, and time disappears.
The version of me who emerges in those quiet hours isn’t curated or impressive, nor is she useful to anyone. I “should“ be writing more concretely about my clients’ problems and the solutions I offer them, but here I am just sharing what’s on my heart and mind. This is the real me just flowing…
If this sounds familiar — if you’ve ever paused in a moment like that, caught a glimpse of the authentic you, and wondered where she goes the rest of the week — welcome to the club. A writer I follow, DAN KOE, astutely named this split. He observed that we all have two versions of ourselves walking around right now. The one who shows up at work, in the school pickup line, and at dinner with your in-laws. And the one who only emerges in those quiet, unwatched moments: the Sunday afternoons, the ten minutes before bed, or the early morning walk before the day claims you.
The gap between those two, he writes, is the most important problem in your life. And he calls it the Identity-Lifestyle Fit. It’s the same phenomenon as product-market fit that every entrepreneur and founder is on a quest to unlock, except the product is you and the market is how you live. Before you have it, you are “in a constant but quiet war with your own life.” After you have it, “the work you do feeds the person you’re becoming.”
I wrote about my own version of this inner incongruence just last month in Life is not a Dress Rehearsal…or a Performance. I realized I couldn’t think of a single time in my life where I’d let myself be entirely unperformed and unattached to my external-facing roles. I have been so conditioned to a way of being that isn’t truly me, I couldn’t even recognize her. I’m only starting to catch glimpses and close the gap as I build a business that reflects my ongoing personal evolution (what a gift!), yet those old programs are often still running.
So when I read Dan’s words, I let out a long exhale. There was finally a name for the friction I’d been describing in coaching and therapy sessions for years — the thing that’s actually kept me stuck in my own life since I left my corporate track almost three years ago. It’s also the most common experience my clients arrive with, even when they think they came to coaching for something else, like clarity on their next professional role. Just the other day, a brilliant client of mine who is making a career transition said, “I’ve been trapped in a performance.” Exhale again. It’s exhausting.
What has been my own friction has become my work I do with leaders: helping them close the gap between the life they’re performing and the life that actually fits, so that they can build a Vital Life. One where they thrive, not just survive, and where the woman on the couch and the woman in the meeting are the same person. The hidden truth is that congruence, not the cheap dopamine from more achievements, is the source of the peace and freedom we all want.
The Londoners have a phrase you hear over the loudspeaker every time the doors open on the Tube: mind the gap. Look down, see the space between the platform and the train, and step knowingly across it.
It feels like the most fitting instruction for this moment we are in. We are stepping from one paradigm to another, collectively and individually, and there is a real gap in between. You can pretend it isn’t there and trip, or you can see it clearly and step across with both eyes open. There is no final destination. There is just the train, moving, and you on it, getting closer to the version of yourself you forgot you were.
Practically, this doesn’t mean quit your job, move to another country, build a bunker, or make any other massive life change (even if some days that might feel like the most liberating thing to do). Nothing done from a place of fear reflects who you really are, anyway. And I’m not saying to entirely reject the utility of keeping one foot in the old world where the performative version lives. There are real challenges to prioritize: bills, bottom lines, competing schedules, and people who depend on you. Those adaptations have served a purpose — they are likely driving you towards high performance and earning you external praise.
Yet, standing on the platform without moving isn’t the answer either. We can’t deny the misalignment forever. Trust me, the noise will only get louder. The invitation is simply to acknowledge this version of you that you’ve shut down outside of those fleeting moments. Start getting acquainted with the woman on the couch on Sunday afternoon. What does she enjoy when no one is watching and no one is paying her?
Unlike Dan Koe, I don’t see the gap as a problem to solve. It is simply a decision to walk the path of remembering. And when you catch a glimpse of your true self, don’t look away. That’s the train pulling in to bring you back home.
Mind the gap. Then step.
With possibility,
Nathalie
You can read Dan’s full piece here: Why your life feels fake: an antidote to the life you were sold.