Self-construction in the solitude of self

Photo by Steve Johnson from Pexels

Today I spent a little time doing some reflection on my identity. I don't mean in terms of a group identity -- I mean who I am in a comprehensive and individualized way.

Who am I?

Few questions matter as much as this -- and few are as hard to answer completely.

If viewed from how others perceive us, we see only slivers of ourselves.

To my mother, I am her daughter.
To my boss, I am a hard worker.
To my neighbor, I am talkative when engaged.
To my other neighbor, I am just shy.
To my former supervisor, I am directionless.
To my colleagues, I am ambitious.
To my cousin, I am wild.
To my other cousin, I am responsible.
To my friend, I am logical and rationale.
To my other friend, I am a bleeding heart.
To my partner, I am the only one who really matters.

I am all of these things at least some of the time -- but none of them all of the time. Except of course, I will always be my mother's daughter. This is an ascribed status, meaning it is what it is without me or anyone else having any control over it. I did not "achieve" it nor create it. I did not self-construct it.

But of course my mother has plenty of other more malleable perceptions of me too. She sees me sometimes as hard-working, sometimes as directionless. She sees me sometimes as wild and sometimes as responsible. She sees much of the complexity of who I am. And yet, she still does not see all of me. She does not know my darkest moments. She does not know me at my worst.

Indeed, the solitude of self is immense.

It is in this space of solitude of self that the construction can begin -- or rather the deconstruction and reconstruction. I know who I am, but I do not hold -- am not capable of holding -- all of my various attributes in my mind at all times.

Like linguistic code-switching, I identity code-switch depending on the context. Am I the wild and rebellious one who is the life of the party? Or the contemplative introvert who just wants to be left alone in her hermitage? I pick and choose depending on who I am with -- but also on which self I feel like expressing at that moment.

I used to be okay with this. Lately, however, it's been plaguing me with a sense of discontinuity. A sense of fractures. Like as if I am just bits and pieces glued together by circumstance and whim.

What I have been working on today (and many other days lately) is to put the bits and pieces together in a mosaic -- where each element is glued together intentionally and thoughtfully. Where the complexity is evident, but the design is not random chaos but coherence.

In this coherence, I hope to find strength and resilience -- for the basic structure will be solid and well-known to me. It will be of my own careful design. It will be authentic and genuine at the same time that it honors a maturation of self: I can choose to let some identities subside into my youth. I need not be forever imprisoned in a Kantian self-imposed immaturity.

From this, I will emerge.