i like this question

one of the major roadblocks to figuring out i was trans is that a lot of my self value and perspective of the world was rooted in being a woman

the night i realized that wasn’t true, that i wasn’t a woman, that i probably had never been a woman, was truly incredible. everything i knew about the world fell away and for a short time, i saw everything with fresh eyes. nothing i had learned before was taken for granted; everything was subject to change, everything needed to be checked again

of course, over the course of the next week or so, i found that indeed, the world worked pretty similarly to how i had figured it did before. but ever since, a lot of things have changed, too. for example, it’s very hard to assume that people’s genders are set in stone anymore. prior, i thought them to be fairly rigid, known early in life. and now it’s more like… if you’re cis, it’s a little harder to assume you’ll always be cis, since most cis people haven’t gone through the internal work to even be open to the possibility that they’re not cis, nevermind the various threats to life and identity that come with it…

anyways, the point i was trying to get by talking about all this is- especially over the last decade or so, where i found out a lot of people i looked up to or even aspired to be like were total shitbags- i think that rooting your identity is a mistake

let yourself be open to being whatever you’re composed of at the moment… knowing you might need to release it in the next. appreciate it while it’s there, understand what you get out of it, and don’t be afraid to fall into its absence… trust that you’ll always find the solid ground of yourself below it

Patchwork of Theseus.

My identity is not something uniform or stable; it’s a collection of small things, combined together, that go from “my condition as a human being” to “what I ate this morning”. Sometimes one of those bits of identity falls off, as if a ragged piece of cloth unsewed itself from the patchwork; sometimes a new bit pops up, as if filling a hole. But it’s always changing.

The identity doesn’t come from a thing that you are doing but from a journey that shaped you.

The world is changing constantly, family and hobbies comes and goes.

The most stable thing to root into are emotions. What are your best and worst days of your life and what do they mean as to who you are.

I am tealling from experience as to my indentity had been destroyed throughout my childhood and I needed to build it back up.

Stable: A stable equilibrium of many separate anchors so that the inevitable shakeups in facts or your understanding do not pose a problem you can’t cope with by drawing on the other anchors.

Monocultures are prone to collapse.

I let go of my notions of identity. I am what I am, whatever that is. I have my opinions on things and enjoy my own version of the human experience

Ultimately we are all the same observer conciousness being that split itself into countless variations all pretending to be something different in order o experience a novel slice of reality.

“I” “Myself” “Me” point to the illusionary mask of ego where the observer pretends it is not everything and instead a single being. Your self is an imaginary construct, it doesnt really exist. Its a useful psychological reference frame and a stage to serve in the function of generating a unique existance with mental emotional complexes.

I find I have little use defining myself to myself. I am. I am lots of things. I have no box, and that doesn’t frighten me. If others need to fit me into a box so they can find my place in their personal classification system that helps them feel less or more at odds with the world, that’s okay. Sometimes annoying, but okay.

Sure I have a nature that I’ve discovered over time, some of which I nurture and some of which I try to rectify. But I still don’t feel that it’s a solid identity, but rather maybe a concept.

Truth and reason. I think that would fall under the philosophy category. My view of the world is quite cold and analytical. I see it as a complex machine without any inherent meaning. I don’t believe in the self or free will, but rather see myself as an experiencer watching life unfold in front of me. Probably the biggest impact this has on my daily life is that I don’t look for people to blame for how things are. I don’t think most people realize how profoundly life changes when you stop pointing fingers.

When put like this, it probably sounds depressing or nihilistic, but it’s the only foundation I’ve found that aligns with every event in the world without causing internal conflict. I only care about how things are, not how I or others feel about them.

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world.

“Where am I?”

INSIDE THE MIRROR.

“Am I dead?”

THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES.

Esme turned, and a billion figures turned with her.

“When can I get out?”

WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT’S REAL.

“Is this a trick question?”

NO.

Granny looked down at herself.

“This one,” she said.

— Sir Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Indiana

I root mine in morality. I do the best I can, in whatever position I am. I do what I can, and be content I did the most I could. I try to be honest, understanding and humble. It can be hard honestly, but my identity depends on it so I persist.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder. One of the symptoms that I suffer from is the inability to form a solidified sense of self identity. Defining myself to even myself is impossible.

Community, whatever that looks like for you. Each community has different values and ways of sharing.

For me, it’s performance art. The people I perform with are like a family to me, and I find joy in all the people I’ve directly affected and/or inspired ❤️

I root my identity in myself.

The rest is ornate and tightly interlocked window dressing.

Personally I think my most stable sense of identity comes from wanting to remain the caring person I was as a kid. I remember vividly the first time I heard a news clip about the genocide in Darfur and wondering how all of the adults around me seemed so at ease. Adults are supposed to be the doers in the world, why weren’t they doing anything? Why didn’t they seam upset? I think trying my best to avoid the complacency I saw in them has played a large role in my sense of self.

As a man, it is by how much and what I could defy destiny.