Who

Identity is a fluid, unconscious thing. It changes with age, with experiences…it’s shaped by so many factors, many of which are beyond our control until it’s too late to understand or stop them. It’s said that who we “are” is generally established by the time we’re ten or twelve years old–the basic pattern of our behaviour and methods for relating to the world. We will grow past this and find and discover new things about ourselves and the world which alter our perceptions, and therefore our responses and utlimately, our personality; but the brick and mortar of the foundation is laid down very early, and much of what happens to us during our childhood is beyond our control. Parents’ decisions, religious background, political environment–all shape and mould the person we identify as “ourself”. 

Perhaps identity is a reactionary thing; a response to the world, a mental location around which everything else is oriented. Perhaps it is an awareness of relativity, of one’s relationship to the world in regards to oneself, and without it, events, circumstances, the environment of habitancy, all lose cogency. Such a thing would seem heavily dependent upon language. Without the tools to form a mental environment, to distinguish “me” from “them” in binary terms, the self might break down somewhat, lacking terms to define itself or elaborate on its “being”. 

It seems like the most tangible avatar for this identity would then be our name. It is a word that transcends all barriers, and remains the same in any language, regardless of translation. A token, an emblem that represents and heralds our awareness of ourselves and of others for us, and around which swirls our ever expanding, but always fixed, identity.

The name itself would seem irrelevant, only a sound, a few syllables. But its fixture in our minds must be paramount, and its origination–either derived, bestowed, inherited, contrived–would also seem important, for that acquisition must be a part of our mental environment, our awareness of self, the history of “I”. Without a name, then, identity is somewhat lost. Perhaps moreso to ourselves than to anyone else, for that established mental home is stripped of title and bearing. 

Identity can be seen as your network of values, what makes you unique and different from others, what you define yourself as. What better term for all of this than your name? Nothing is more unique, no matter how many others may share your name. It is the appellation to your consciousness. Think of the many histories and stories and tapestry that comes to mind when hearing the name “Napoleon.” Or “Cleopatra”, “Xerxes”. They may well have been “Ned,” or “Cleo”, but they weren’t.

Those were their names, and they wouldn’t suffer to be called anything less. Those names evoque an awareness, an identity, distinct from all others, fixed in place and time and arrangement in history–a persistence that rolls forward endlessly. In a similar way, but perhaps on a smaller scale, so too do our names. From homework, to resumes, to first dates and introductions, they are our envoys to the world, and from that first moment of meeting remain the position around which all further encounters are arranged and attributed. 

Just a few thoughts tonight before I head to sleep. It seems fascinating how much such a little thing can mean.