Who am I? This is a question I’ve been reflecting on more deeply since starting a course to become a prison visitor. As part of the course, we explore the concept of identity, and it’s sparked some fascinating conversations among the diverse group of participants. It’s interesting to hear the variety of views on such a fundamental topic.
We were introduced to a framework that attempts to explain identity through several components: "Corporeality," or our physical body; "Social Relationships," which encompass our connections to others; "Work and Performance," how we view ourselves in relation to what we do; "Values and Ideals," and how we shape them; and finally, "Material Security," or our sense of stability. While these aspects play a significant role in our lives, they don’t define who I am.
When I came into this world, I had no name and no awareness of any of these aspects. But I was alive. Over time, I began to experience life—first through my body, and then through relationships with others: parents, siblings, and eventually society’s labels of gender, race, and other distinctions. Work, values, and security came later. But does all of that add up to who I am?
Throughout my 77 years, each of these elements has evolved. My body has changed, my relationships have transformed, and I’ve lived in different places and held various jobs. There have been times of material abundance and times of scarcity. My values have developed over time as well. But the constant has always been me—something beyond the ever-shifting aspects of life.
For many, there’s a tendency to hold onto an image of themselves when they felt they were at their best, but I focus on a deeper understanding of who I am. I’ve come to see myself as an unfolding miracle. It all comes back to breath. My first breath signified my entry into life, and each breath since has sustained me. It’s an effortless, miraculous process that happens in the present moment. I can’t store it or control how many I have, and without it, I wouldn’t be here.
For me, the key to understanding who I am lies in that breath. I don’t rely on what others say or believe—I focus on knowing, based on my own experience. Becoming aware of my breath generates a feeling of deep gratitude. Everything I’ve lived, all the changes in relationships, work, and material security, are secondary to that simple, yet profound fact of being alive.
That recognition influences how I live now. I do my best to be conscious of this miracle, and it allows me to appreciate life fully. It’s a truth shared by everyone, and I try to recognize it in the people I meet. Understanding that we all share this experience shapes how I engage with others, particularly as I embark on this journey of becoming a prison visitor.
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