I Am Nothing but Everything

Recently, I concluded an exceptionally thought-provoking college course on human nature, specifically as it relates to DNA and racial identity. This course has impacted me in profound ways, and I wanted to share a piece of my experience with the world by writing this article.

Four months ago, I walked into Hamilton 607 relatively certain of my identity. If anybody asked me to define myself, I would list attributes such as my hometown, my school, my area of study, and my family’s country of origin. I believed that my identity was unique to me and that it was more or less consistent over time. Plainly stated, my identity was what distinguished me from others. It was a permanent attribute, an indelible hallmark of my existence. “Who are you?” was a simple question with a simple answer. Over the past several months, however, I have been led to question whether the parameters listed above truly define me. Forced to consider who I am in terms of my origins, my looks, my race, my genes, my health, my relationships, and my roles, I learned that the question of identity is far more complex than I originally imagined. Perhaps I am all of these things. Perhaps I am none. Perhaps, I am much, much more. This is my story of self-discovery, told through the framework of a college course on human identity.

In January, my classmates and I read a short story by Delmore Schwartz titled, “In Dreams Begin Responsibilities,” which told of a young man dreaming that he was intently viewing a motion picture documenting his parents’ courtship (Schwartz, 1978). As he watched the film, the young man started to get upset and yell things at the screen in an attempt to influence the outcome of his parents’ courtship, causing others in the theater to think he was crazy. At the time of discussing this piece, I did not understand how it related to me or my perception of myself, but upon reflection I saw myself and the human race embodied in this young man and his desperation to change what was unchangeable. The feeling of helplessness that comes with the realization that one cannot choose his or her parents or the life circumstances one is born into is a common feeling. Knowing this makes me okay with feeling helpless. Everyone, even among the greatest and most successful of individuals, at times wonders what might have happened if he or she grew up in a different place, with different parents, a different social status, or a different race. The ubiquity of this perceived helplessness does not make me despondent but rather fills me with hope and reassures me that the upward way is open for all individuals no matter who or what their ancestors may have been. This includes me. Growing up, I had always felt as though I was at a disadvantage because my parents were not like the parents of other children. They were not as wealthy, nor were they as easygoing and amicable. As I continue to learn about other people I meet, however, I realize that we all have a tendency to fixate on the limitations of our ancestors. And I know that just as many others have done before me, I can transcend these limitations. I am more than my genealogy.

Subsequently, my classmates and I discussed the origins of the human species, specifically in regards to the capacity to think. I was especially awed by the uniquely human ability to engage in “inner speech,” a seemingly intangible facet of mental life and an intimate element of consciousness (Fernyhough, 2017). This made me realize that we converse with others almost daily, yet the intimate conversations we have with ourselves are often the deepest and most important conversations we have at all. What I value most about my inner speech is that it allows me to make sense of my feelings, to turn my feelings into thoughts, and to bring my thoughts into tangible expression through various forms of art, including painting, poetry, writing, and music. Without the deep and continuous internal conversations that take place in my mind, I would not be able to anticipate the future in relation to the past, nor would I be able to contemplate the present moment with such intensity. The greatest evidence of my own ability to think is my use of drawing and painting as a form of self-expression. The form that my art takes depends inevitably upon the emotions engendered by the thoughts I am thinking in the moment of creation. When I am happy, I paint in vivid hues; when I am angry, my brushstrokes are rough and rapid. The transitory nature of my thoughts and the shifting quality of my internal dialogue make me aware that I am not a static being. I am more than my thoughts.

Later, my classmates and I learned about the relative contributions of phenotype and genotype to one’s identity. Reading about the reputation of South Korea as the world’s plastic-surgery capital, I was taken aback by the excessive importance placed upon physical appearance in certain cultures (Marx, 2015). The illusory concept of physical perfection stirred up strong emotions within me, resurfacing unpleasant childhood memories of wishing I was prettier and wanting lighter skin, softer hair, a tinier waist, and fancier clothes. The Barbie dolls I owned as a young girl embodied these ideals of physical perfection, and consequently I was overcome by a conviction that I was physically less-than-enough throughout my childhood and adolescence. Regardless of my self-criticism, it was not feasible for me to change the color of my skin or the structure of my face. Making adjustments to my appearance through makeup, hairstyling, extravagant clothing, or jewelry would never be enough. So I stopped, and I decided that my identity was independent of my appearance. Still, my looks inevitably affect the way I am treated by others. When I dress nicely, people treat me with more respect and dignity. When I do not put sufficient effort into my looks, people disregard and underestimate me. I wish we could all remember that appearances are only one aspect of an individual’s identity. My skin color, hair type, weight, and manner of dress are not all there is to me. I am more than my looks.

In the next class, we learned about the interdependent relationship between doctors and their patients. I recognized this interdependency in many other social relationships, including the alliance between a teacher and her student, the exchange between a merchant and his patron, and the bond between a parent and her child. One quality common to all of these is the fact that each involves reciprocation, and both individuals in each relationship ultimately experience the relationship from both sides. In an article detailing her experience of bringing her father to the emergency room, Dr. Louise Aronson, a physician herself, explains the doctor-patient relationship from the side of the patient, making the astute observation that doctors often unthinkingly dismiss or feel irritated by patients and families who they consider to be high maintenance or challenging (Aronson, 2013). Like Dr. Aronson, if each of us were to attempt to understand the perspective of the “other” in each of our relationships, we would cultivate a greater sense of empathy and begin to realize the shifting nature of our roles within these relationships. In my own life, I have experienced this in my relationship with my grandmother, who helped my mother take care of me when I was a young child. As my grandmother grows older and requires greater help with her daily activities, I am the one taking care of her. The caregiver-receiver relationship between us has shifted; whereas she was formerly my caregiver, I am now hers. The fluidity of my roles in my relationships makes me realize that I am neither solely the giver nor solely the receiver in any given dyad. In the same vein, when I become a doctor, I will still be a patient. I am more than my roles.

Next, my classmates and I considered the contribution of disease and illness to one’s identity. We read about emerging biological explanations of mental disorders in a New York Times article by neuroscientist Eric Kandel, which described the intertwining of behavior, genes, and environment (Kandel, 2013). The discovery of DNA mutations associated with an increased risk of autism and schizophrenia has shown that people are not responsible for their mental disorders, a discovery that is both a relief and a cause for concern. While it gives people the permission to attribute unlawful behaviors to biological processes that are out of one’s conscious control, it also shows that it is possible, perhaps even obligatory, to love other human beings unconditionally and regardless of their mental state.. If we train ourselves to see others in a more holistic fashion, reminding ourselves that such and such an individual is someone’s daughter, son, wife, husband, best friend, teacher, doctor, or neighbor, we may build tolerance toward the more challenging aspects of these individuals’ behavior or personality. As I personally struggle to manage the often frustrating behaviors exhibited by loved ones with dementia, I maintain a positive attitude by the remembering what these people mean to me and the roles they have played in my life in the past. They (and the rest of us, myself included) are so much more than the diseases or disorders that the human body falls prey to. If I were to fall ill and lose my physical and mental capabilities, a large part of my life would be dictated by my illness, but I would not want people to forget who I was to them. I am more than the illnesses that may befall me.

My beliefs regarding the contributions of biology to mental health and identity were confounded and reassessed as I considered the implications of artificial reproductive technologies on the relationship between parents and children in the next class. Reading about the selling and donation of genetic material through eggs and sperm, I thought about how the 25-year-old egg donor Justine Griffin felt knowing that somebody in the world—a complete stranger—shared her genetic material (De La Cruz, 2016). Her story made me wonder how I would feel if I were to donate my own eggs. What would it be like to know that somewhere in the world there existed an individual whom I did not know, who came from my reproductive material? Would I be able to love or connect to that person if I met him or her? Would I feel a sense of ownership towards that person? Chances are, I would feel no true connection unless I truly became acquainted with him or her on a personal level. The lesson here is that human relationships arise from more than just biological affiliations. It is possible to feel extremely estranged from someone who shares your genetic material while feeling incredibly close to someone who is as genetically different from you as could be. This is why at times I have felt a greater sense of kinship with my peers than with my parents. I prefer to treat the world as my family, putting all genetic similarities and differences aside. I am more than my genetic material.

If I were given the opportunity to control or modify my genetic material in any way, I would decline to do so. Gene-editing technologies such as CRISPR-Cas9 have enabled human beings to deliberately change the frequency of certain human genes in the population, but with these discoveries come great responsibilities (Cobb, 2017). While gene editing technologies may be revered for their ability to reduce the incidence of diseases that originate from specific genetic mutations, the prospect of gene editing also brings with it the misleading promise of perfection. It is almost insulting to think that there is an “ideal” human genotype and that any deviations from this ideal are considered unworthy, sinful, or primitive. At one point in my life, I had wished that I had the “genes for” certain physical and mental qualities, including a beautiful appearance, charisma, grace, leadership, and personal prosperity. Noting that these qualities take many forms and are present in individuals who come from a wide range of backgrounds, I realize that there is not one ideal but many. We are each perfect in our own way, and we do not need specific genes to tell us that. I am more than my genotype.

When my classmates and I discussed the interdependence between one’s genes and the environment, I became even more certain of my ability to transcend the genes I had inherited from my ancestors. I learned that two twins with identical genes are not guaranteed to contract the same illness, and that psychiatric disorders are precipitated in genetically susceptible individuals by environmental inputs (Nestler, 2011). In my personal life, I note that there have been certain environmental inputs that were out of my control, including the maternal environment I was exposed to during development as well as the people and experiences I encountered during my childhood. As I grow older, I acknowledge that there are many more aspects of my environment that I do have control over, including the food I eat, the books I read, the people I surround myself with, and how I like to spend my time in general. Perhaps what I do with my life affects my genes on a microscopic level, with effects that are visible on a macroscopic level. Nevertheless, I believe that I can use my conscious will to overcome any potentially negative epigenetic effects of stimuli I may encounter, including experiences of failure, disappointment, sadness, and ill fortune. In all such cases, I have a choice: I can become despondent, or I can rise above the situation. In choosing the latter, I prove that I am not restricted by circumstances. I am more than my environment.

But what if my body were taken apart, and the pieces were distributed to various locations, exposed to disparate environments? Would each piece acquire a different identity? Would the pieces even belong to me anymore? Who would “I” be? These difficult questions surfaced in class as we spoke about the ethical ramifications of organ donation and the mystery of ownership over one’s body parts and the genetic material contained within one’s cells. We discussed the famously controversial derivation of the first line of immortal human cells, HeLa cells, from the tissue of an uninformed cervical cancer victim, Henrietta Lacks (Skloot, 2010). While it is undisputed that the cells came from her, can we truly say that Henrietta is still alive within those cells? If so, does that mean that a part of me lives in the accident and burn victims, the heart surgery and organ transplant patients, and those battling cancer, who received the blood that I donated to the American Red Cross several years ago? It is difficult to say to what extent the parts of myself that I have given away are my property. I can say that if harm were done to those parts, I would not feel it since they are no longer connected to my physical body. I am more than my tissues and organs.

A major lifestyle factor that influences the functioning of our organs, our overall wellbeing and the physical composition of our cells is the food we eat. My classmates and I discussed the implications of diet specifically in regards to the microbiome, defined as the trillions of bacteria, viruses and fungi that inhabit our bodies (Brody, 2017). The presence of this world of living matter within myself, consisting of a myriad of organisms with genomes drastically different from my own, intimidates and astounds me. Are these creatures influencing my thoughts and behaviors? What if I am not as autonomous as I previously thought myself to be? It is both relieving and unnerving to think that I am not a unitary being but a world of many beings who live or die according to what I put in my body. The perpetually changing nature of my microbiome in response to my diet is proof that the world within me is never static. Give me an apple to eat, and I feel fresh. Give me a cup of coffee, and I feel alert. Give me a slice of cake, and I feel guilty. Within a day, sometimes even within hours, those feelings are gone. I am more than what I eat.

After discussing the microbiome, we tackled the problem of de-humanization of disabled individuals. Reading the story of American author, attorney, and disability rights activist Harriet McBryde Johnson, I was compelled to reconsider the various ways in which we tend to devalue people who have disabilities or otherwise atypical bodies (McBryde Johnson, 2003). It is common for people who are not disabled to assume that those who are disabled are unhappy and unable to live fulfilling lives, but these assumptions are often wrong. In the past, I was a perpetrator of such assumptions, until I observed my own grandmother become increasingly disabled as she aged. She was previously able to walk around the house, go up and down stairs, and lift things with ease and finesse, but as the years went on her abilities gradually faded. With the slow regression of her physical abilities, however, came the emergence of a newfound joy and gratitude for life. She and many other disabled elderly epitomize the fact that the deterioration of one’s physical being only makes one more vital, more alive, and more abundant on the inside. Knowing that I will eventually become disabled if I live to be old enough, I am motivated to transcend the attachments I have to my body. I am more than what my body can or cannot do.

When we examined the impact of human actions on the Earth’s geology and ecosystems in our class session on global interdependency, I began to understand that my identity encompasses my relationship to the world and all its beings. I recall a particularly provocative line from a Science article we read: “[A]t the scale of evolution, considering other life forms as resources—even in a broad sense—is not innovative” (Sarrazin & Lecomte, 2016). To me, this statement not only urges a more conscientious way of interacting with the rest of the planet, but it also implies the inevitable reciprocity of harmful human actions. As the saying goes, “As you sow, so shall you reap.” The effects of our daily activities on the planet may not be readily apparent at the present moment, but soon enough we will begin to suffer if we continue to use other organisms and their resources as means to our own ends. We should respect all forms of life, regardless of how small or seemingly insignificant, because we do not know the potentially macroscopic effects of our seemingly mundane actions. What we take from the planet is not permanently ours, as demonstrated by the deplorable exhaustion of nonrenewable resources such as oil, natural gas and coal. The impermanence of earthly resources is further proof of the perpetually changing nature of our relationships to other beings and to nature. It is evidence that we are constantly dying and being born, like everything else around us. We can be neither superior nor inferior to other beings. We are more than what we give or take from nature.

Perhaps we are nothing, and perhaps that is the best way to be. Dr. Pilar Jennings, psychoanalyst and Buddhist practitioner, emphasized this in our penultimate class, supplementing it with the profound notion that the only thing that is permanent is impermanence itself. She revealed to us that in order to accept this fact we must become unattached to the people, things, and identities that we have held onto throughout our lives. This mode of detachment, she explained, is best embodied in an individual’s capacity to be alone, as described by Winnicott (1958). Dr. Jennings illustrated the joy of cultivating this capacity, of knowing how to be with another individual without possessing or becoming unhealthily tied to that individual. I am beginning to realize that the same thing applies to our relationships to places, events, grades and accolades. After Dr. Pilar’s lecture, I reflected upon my own happiness and promised myself that I would not let it depend upon externals. I declared to myself that I would strive to develop the capacity to be alone. I am more than what goes on around me.

Over the course of the semester, I have been on a journey aimed at pinning down the “self” that resides within me, while all along there was truly no such self. The prospect of being nothing but a collection of momentary identities defined by transitory relations and experiences is difficult to grasp, but it is also very liberating. I realize that many of the things I worry about in my daily life originate from social constructs, and that these social constructs create the illusion of permanence. Consequently, this illusion of permanence makes me think that I am something specific and tangible, when in reality I transcend such qualities. In response to this realization, I have resolved to keep in mind my impermanence in every moment, to accept and cherish the transitory nature of my identity, and to see myself as the sum of many parts. What I am is as fleeting as a shooting star crossing the evening sky. It comes and goes, and it changes and grows. I am nothing but everything. I am.

References:

Aronson, A., ““Good” Patients and “Difficult” Patients, Rethinking Our Definitions,” NEJM 369;9, 29 Aug 2013.

Brody, J., “Unlocking the Secrets of the Microbiome,” NYT 6 Nov 2017.

Cobb, M., “The Brave New World of Gene Editing,” NY Review of Books, 2017.

De La Cruz, D., “Should young women sell their eggs?” NYT 20 Oct 2016. https://nyti.ms/2elEJQv

Fernyhough, C. “Talking to Ourselves,” Scientific American, Aug 2017, p.74.

Kandel, E., “The New Science of Mind,” NYT: 6 Sep 2013.

Marx, P., “About Face: Why is South Korea the world’s plastic-surgery capital?” The New Yorker, 23 Mar 2015.

McBryde Johnson, H. “Unspeakable Conversations Or How I Spent One Day as a Token Cripple at Princeton University,” NYT: 16 Feb 2003.

Nestler, E.J., “Hidden Switches In The Mind,” ScientificAmerican.com, Dec 2011.

Sarrazin, F., & Lecomte, J. “Evolution in the Anthropocene,” Science, Vol. 351, 26 Feb. 2016.

Schwartz, D., “In Dreams Begin Responsibilities,” from In Dreams Begin Responsibilities and Other Stories. New Directions: NY 1978.

Skloot, R., “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks-Excerpt,” NYT: 3 Mar 2010.

Winnicott, D.W. “The Capacity to be Alone” in The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment. 1958. pp. 29-36.