You’ve probably done this. You’ve looked in the mirror, or just sat with your thoughts, and declared your intentions to the universe.
“I want to get in shape.” “I want to be a better partner.” “I want to start that business.” “I want to be happier.”
It sounds good. It feels like a plan. You’re stating a desire, and desire is the first step toward change, right? Well, sort of. But it’s also the step that allows you to stay exactly where you are, forever.
Because “I want to” is a statement of fantasy. It lives in the future. It’s a dream that requires no immediate action, no skin in the game, no identity-level shift. It’s safe, comfortable, and ultimately, a bit of a lie we tell ourselves to feel better about our inaction.
The real change—the gut-wrenching, life-altering, actually-means-something kind of change—doesn’t start with what you want. It starts with who you are.
Or more precisely, who you decide you are.
The Chasm Between "Want" and "Am"
Think of it like this. “I want to run a marathon” is a nice idea. It’s a goal floating out there in the distance. When your alarm goes off at 5:30 AM for a training run and it’s cold and dark and your bed is incredibly, profoundly comfortable, that “want” is about as strong as a tissue paper life raft.
It will get shredded by the immediate discomfort. You’ll hit snooze and mutter, “I’ll go tomorrow.” Because you want to run a marathon, but you want to sleep more right now. The "want" is negotiable.
Now, what if your statement was, “I am a runner.”
That’s a whole different beast. It’s not a future goal; it’s a present-tense fact. It’s part of your identity.
So when that alarm screams at you, the question is no longer, “Do I want to get up and run?” That’s a debate you can lose. The question becomes, “What does a runner do right now?”
A runner gets up and runs. It’s not a negotiation. It’s not about feelings. It’s about action that confirms an identity. To go back to sleep would create a psychological disconnect—a form of cognitive dissonance. You’d be lying to yourself about who you are. And our brains hate that.
“I want to” is external. It’s something you’re trying to acquire. “I am” is internal. It’s something you already are, and your actions are just proof of it.
One is flimsy. The other is foundational.
Your Brain is a Bouncer for Your Identity
Your brain has a pretty important job: to keep you consistent. It hates it when your actions don’t match your self-perception. This is a psychological principle that everyone from Charles Duhigg (The Power of Habit) to a million therapists will tell you is incredibly powerful.
If you see yourself as a “healthy person,” your brain will gently (or not so gently) steer you toward choices that align with that identity. You’ll feel weird not ordering the salad. You’ll feel an itch to move your body. Skipping the gym will feel like a violation of a personal code.
If you see yourself as “someone who is bad with money,” your brain will find ways to mess up your budget to maintain that identity. That sudden, irresistible urge to buy those ridiculously expensive shoes isn’t just impulsivity; it’s your brain proving a point to itself: “See? I told you we were bad with money.”
Your brain is essentially a bouncer at the nightclub of Your Life. Its main instruction is: “Let in only the thoughts, actions, and habits that match the identity of the person on the list.” The problem is, you are the one who writes the list.
When you say “I want to be healthy,” the bouncer (your brain) looks at the list, sees “Current Identity: Unhealthy Person,” and blocks the action of going to the gym. “Sorry, pal,” your brain says. “Not on the list. Doesn’t match who we are. Can’t let you in.”
But when you change the list—when you declare “I am a healthy person”—the bouncer has no choice. His job is to enforce the list. So when the temptation to eat an entire pizza alone arrives, the bouncer checks the list, sees “Healthy Person,” and boots that temptation right out onto the curb. “Not tonight, buddy. Doesn’t fit the vibe here.”
So, How Do You Actually Change Your Identity? (Hint: It’s Not Magic)
This is where people screw it up. They think you just affirm your way into a new identity. You stand in front of the mirror and chant “I am a millionaire! I am a millionaire!” while your credit card bill is smoking on the kitchen table.
That doesn’t work. It feels empty because it is empty. Your brain is a skeptical bouncer. It needs proof. You can’t just hand him a new list. You have to show him that the new identity is legit.
You prove it with action. Small, consistent, undeniable actions.
You don’t just declare “I am a writer.” You prove it by writing one paragraph every single day. After a month of doing that, your brain starts to go, “Huh, I guess we do write every day. Maybe we are a writer.” The identity solidifies through evidence.
You don’t just declare “I am a calm and patient person.” You prove it the next time you’re stuck in traffic. Instead of screaming and pounding the steering wheel (the action of an “impatient person”), you take a deep breath and put on a podcast. That single action is a vote for your new identity. It’s evidence for the bouncer.
James Clear, in Atomic Habits, nails this. He says every action is a vote for the type of person you wish to become. You don’t need a unanimous vote every day. You just need a majority. One small action is one vote cast for “I am that person.”
The process looks like this:
- Decide on the identity you want to adopt. Not the goal. The identity. Who is the person that would have the things you want? (e.g., not “I want a clean house,” but “I am a tidy person.”)
- Act as if you are that person, right now, in the smallest way possible. What is one tiny, five-minute thing a “tidy person” does? Maybe they make their bed. Or they never leave a dish in the sink. They don’t clean the whole house; they just do the one small thing that affirms their identity.
- Let the action solidify the identity. The action provides the proof your brain needs to update the list it gives the bouncer. Do it consistently, and the identity becomes fact.
The Uncomfortable Truth About “I Am”
Here’s the catch, the part that most self-development gurus gloss over because it’s hard. Adopting a new identity means murdering the old one.
You can’t be “a fit person” while still holding onto the identity of “the person who gets to laze around and eat whatever they want.” One of them has to go.
You can’t be “a successful entrepreneur” while clinging to the identity of “someone who avoids risk and prefers comfort.” You have to choose.
This is the hard part. This is why “I want to” is so seductive. It allows you to dream of the new without having to kill the old. It lets you have your cake and… well, you know the rest.
“I am” is a declaration of war on your current self. It’s you drawing a line in the sand and saying, “The old version of me ends here. This is who I am now.” And then you have to back it up with action, every single day, especially when it sucks.
It’s difficult. It’s uncomfortable. You will fail sometimes. But each action, each small vote for your new self, makes it a little easier. The identity gets a little more real. The bouncer in your brain gets a little more convinced.
Stop wanting. Stop dreaming about a future that may never come. It’s not making you happier; it’s just making you more anxious.
Instead, decide. Who are you? Right now. Not tomorrow. Not next year.
Are you a healthy person? Then act like it. Just for today. Are you a writer? Then write one sentence. Are you someone who deserves respect? Then set one boundary.
Your actions don’t define your identity. Your identity defines your actions. But the only way to change your identity is to start acting like the person you want to be.
So stop saying “I want to.” It’s weak.
Start saying “I am.” And then, for heaven's sake, back it up.