As far back as I can remember, I've loved the act of creation. I love having an idea and putting the work in to turn that idea into a concrete reality.
People always try to define me by my talents: I can code, so I should be a coder; I can write, so I should be a writer, I can act, so I should be an actor. But really, I acquired each talent as a means to an end, as a way to create an idea I had. Somewhere along the way, I began defining myself based on the things I've created. Instead of calling myself a writer or an actor, I talk about the play I wrote and directed. Instead of calling myself a coder, I show people the websites I've made. Instead of calling myself an astronomer, I show them the pictures I took of the Moon.
That's probably not healthy, but it's the reality of the person I've become; I am someone who values creation enough that I define myself by the things I've created—and occasionally judge others the same way.
Recently, though, I've noticed something about the things I've created: more and more, I'm allowing real things from my life creep into the things I create. For example, I model both the protagonist and the antagonist in a story after my own personality, I make them in my own image. In doing this, I learn more about myself—my true self, not the self I've defined myself to be. I see the ways I'm broken and the ways I do well. I've begun to take these instances of myself and shape them into teachable moments for others.
I realize now that I'm defined by my creations because I define my creations based on who I am. It's a recursion, a feedback loop of creation and definition that drives me toward personal growth and inspires me to inspire others. It moves my definition of who I am toward the person I want to be, and that is a good thing.