It would be impossible, I think, to reach this point in my life without at least once or twice questioning who I am and why. Oh, sure, there's the easy answers: I'm my parent's child, my children's mother. But I'm thinking of the other questions: am I an honest person? Am I compassionate, funny, a good friend, a deep thinker?
Before I answer, let me explain why it's on my mind today. Roughly three months ago, a friend was in an accident. Now, mind you, I've never met this person, only read his published works and exchanged emails and chat posts with him. I don't know if he considered me his friend, but I considered him mine. His name is Richard Bach.
In the accident, Richard suffered a head injury. There was doubt for a while that he would live, and once it seemed he was safely on this side of life, there were questions as to how much he would regain of himself. Eventually, he recovered physically enough to move to a rehab center, and recently was staging a hunger strike to be allowed to go home. I don't know if he's made it home yet.
One of his children posted a comment on Facebook, which I am paraphrasing, since I can't find the original. He said his father didn't know who he was, and had forgotten most of the philosophies about which he had written. This confused me at first, because I was pretty sure the same child had posted that Richard remembered who he was, and remembered his children. But in thinking about it, I suspect that what the son meant was that his father no longer knows what it means to be Richard Bach.
I know that personality changes are often a by-product of TBI's, or Traumatic Brain Injuries. Once gentle loving people can become hostile, rude, withdrawn. Personality changes are also sometimes a by-product of a near-death experience, although that usually is a change for the better.
It all makes me ponder the idea of who I am. If I look at myself, I find flaws, lots of them. I'm not 100% honest, although I try to be. I'm a sucker for a sob story, I have too much faith in the people I love and too little respect for the rest. I'm not careful enough with my money, my time, or my love. But I always thought these were traits that were born within me, set in my genes, just like my inability to lose weight and keep it off. But if a TBI can change a personality, cause someone to forget a life's work, then what really makes us us?
For most of my adult life, I believed that my body is just a vehicle for my soul, that my soul is eternal, and that I chose this life for the lessons I needed to learn. I believed that who I am is who I will always be, and that although I can learn new things, (and unlearn some old things) I can't change my basic 'me-ness". Now I question that. Now I wonder if all along, I've been wrong.
The more I think about it, the more confused I get. If our basic personality really isn't set in stone, then what excuse do I have? I've told myself for so many years that I'm not an extrovert, that if I could be a hermit, I would be. I don't like crowds, loud noises or pushy people. And yet, having written a book and self-published same, I know I may have to develop a thicker skin, and reach outside my comfort zone if I want success. Is that part of the problem? Do I unconsciously not want success because it would force me to change? Can I be a hermit, and a best selling author at the same time?
What do you think? What governs our personalities, where does our self-ness really reside? Can we ever really lose it, and if so, is it possible to find it again?
