In the first and second grades, somehow I was convinced that when I grew up, I would be the world’s best grocery store cashier. When amused adults would shake their heads incredulously and sigh down in my direction, I’d add, “Oh, and I’d be a hairdresser on the side too. The world’s best.” The life of a full time cashier/part-time hairdresser—that was the dream.

From the time we’re very young, everyone always asks us this question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It confronts us in classrooms, on playgrounds, in our favorite picture books and movies, even in doctors’ offices, and it slips out of the mouths of teachers, friends, friends’ parents, our parents and the list goes on. The question is always about what we want to do, not who we are.

Let’s talk about this—even if people were to lead with the question, “Who are you?” we’d start by stating our name and title, the role we have in society. If a random person came up to me in the grocery checkout line—perhaps as I contemplate my lost dream of the cashier life—and asked me about myself, I’d state that I’m a student. That’s easy because it’s my contribution to society; it’s what I do. I wouldn’t tell said person, “I’m a short, 20-something with less than mediocre driving skills. I’m not the best cook and I’d be lying if I told you I’m working on it. My heart’s too big for my own good. Sometimes I use gym workouts as an excuse to watch the world blur away. I like cats.” No, we lead with what we do.

One problem with society putting such a strong emphasis on job titles is that people make judgments about our values, or about who we are, when we state what we do. For example, as soon as someone asserts him- or herself as a lawyer, the associated assumption is that this person is highly competitive, shamelessly intelligent and the furthest thing from modest. People argue that because novelists aren’t paid generously, they must do this work out of passion. But this doesn’t mean they’re the most sincere of people; I know plenty of writers who are just as conceited as any business professional is portrayed to be. Sure, often times it takes a certain type of person to take on specific roles; however, people are more than their jobs. Because at the end of the day, the suits, the barista aprons, the construction hats come off and what’s left is a person with a name, a face and a heart filled with values.

This leads to another problem. With such an emphasis on the professional world, when do we have the time to enrich our souls? When do we have time for our passions? That’s why it’s so important to love what we do, to find a job that lets us explore our passions, because after that job is gone, we’re still left with that devotion.

But what happens when we lose our jobs? The average person feels useless, feels lost because their sense of purpose has been yanked from where it had been rooted and growing. In the event that we get fired, when all the work we’ve done to get to where we are becomes irrelevant, we’re caught in a limbo. And when we’re pushed back into the treacherous waters of job hunting, there’s nothing more frightening.

My mom has worked for J.P. Morgan Chase in HR for over 28 years. For the record, she does more than dealing with letting people go, but in her long years of experience in the matter, she’s seen it all. “People’s jobs are engrained in how they feel about themselves,” she said. “Self-esteem is linked with their jobs, so if you go to work everyday and that’s your livelihood and where your satisfaction is derived, that’s why you feel lost without it.”

Although I’ve never had the experience of being fired from a job, I can compare such a feeling of loss to when I quit gymnastics after 14 years. When my gymnastics career—yes, career—came to an end right before I started college, I went through a loss of identity. Coming to college is hard as it is, but having that extra level of instability made me feel even more lost and uncertain. It was like taking out a block from a Jenga tower during a game—a substantial piece of my foundation had been removed, which left a gaping hole.

So, in this title-obsessed society, how shall we live our lives? First, we should focus on the values that we obtain from our professions so that if stripped of a title, we’ll realize that the skills acquired from this position are still engrained in us. For instance, I took what being a gymnast taught me—the discipline, dedication and mental strength—and applied it elsewhere. I focused on creating a strict gym regime for myself; I figured out how to tackle college courses with the same drive and work ethic. I could no longer call myself a gymnast, but I came to realize that the title meant nothing in retrospect when the values were still there.

We should remind ourselves that we are more than our titles. We make these titles what they are by sticking with our principles gained both in and outside of the workplace. Think of our jobs as a glass and our traits and values—what we’ve learned and experienced as people—are marbles that we’ve place into this glass. If the glass was taken away, we’d still be left with these marbles, we’d just have to find a new structure to house them.

We should also focus on other roles we play in society—not just job positions. Duties we have in relationships define who we are just as much as our work titles do. Take my mom—she is a Senior Vice President of HR at Chase Bank. But Julie Brodsky, Senior Vice President of HR at Chase, also functions as a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife and so on. Titles may vanish, but family ties are everlasting—that’s why it’s so dire for our self-esteem and wellbeing to focus on both aspects of our lives.

So, we should change the conversation. Instead of asking the question, “Who do you want to be when you grow up?” or “What do you want to do?” people should start asking, “Who are you?” That would get first and second graders to really think beyond their aspirations, and instead of instilling the notion that they must strive to be someone better than who they are, we would be encouraging inner confidence. Instead of saying who they want to become, they should be inspired to combat the question of who they want to be with, “Who I am right now.”

Here are the things I know for sure: I am a student. But I’m also a daughter, granddaughter, sister, cousin, niece, girlfriend, friend, peer and so on. I’m a curious soul with a tendency to get carried away. I like patterned scarves and rings that look antique and I am the kind of perfectionist who is never satisfied with my creativity. I’m a writer, and at the end of the day, I’m most certainly not a hairdresser or grocery store cashier.