Occasionally, when I’m emerging from the depths of a long sleep, it takes me a few seconds to orient myself. With the first beams of light that hit my retina, and the sound of my cat begging for breakfast, comes the realization that this is my room, and that I am me. Like a jolt of lighting, I’m thrust back into the skin of a drummer, science enthusiast and curry consumer.
My identity is a set of stable mental representations of myself that have spanned a large part of my adulthood, and life. This is different than my subjective self-consciousness, or the momentary tending to my thoughts, feelings and environment. Rather, my identity encapsulates my personality, the roles I play in my family, community and culture, and the persistent sense that there is a me that exists across time.
