Squeezed Out of the Universe

When I was in first grade, I walked into art class and sat down at my stool, somewhere in the back. I was just getting situated when I heard someone say something about how sweatpants with the elastic bands at the bottom were definitely not cool.

I looked down in shock, at my sweatpants with the elastic bands at the bottom. My stomach sank. For the first time in my life, I felt like I didn’t “fit in”.

I felt like I had done something wrong. How could I not have known? I felt shame. I think this was the first time I had to consider fitting in to a group. This might have been the start of my social identity.

Before I was pants-shamed, I must’ve lived a life of total freedom. Just flowing effortlessly between playing, eating, pooping, napping.

If you asked me what my identity was before then, I probably would’ve said “I’m Colin, I like playing legos and drawing airplanes”. I suppose that already could’ve been shaped by what my parents rewarded me for. Maybe I also liked pooping my pants, but I didn’t get rewarded for that. So maybe even my identity then was not shaped by me.

We can go back even further- how did I end up liking legos? I suppose there is some genetic element- I like seeing how things fit together. There’s also a cultural element- my parents had access to legos to buy me. So then even even pre-pants-shaming, was my identity “mine” ?

Do we decide that “mine” means… something that I feel like was constructed by my self? Because even that self is constructed out of the state of the universe before I came into being.

Or maybe identity is more just describing how you were squeezed out of the universe. Maybe it’s not mine as in created by me, maybe it’s mine as in, this is how I ended up based on all the external forces that created me.

The part that makes me uncomfortable is that I feel there are more subtle layers to me, that don’t fit my larger identity. I suppose these layers still came from outside forces- but ones that aren’t so visible.

These layers came from heartbreak, trauma, forgiveness, love. These are the layers I can’t wear on my sleeve. These are the layers my identity can’t hold.

What if identities are just too small to hold us? They’re shorthand to let us categorize people in a world of billions. To even consider that each one of those people is fully alive in the same moment we are, is overwhelming. We need a shorthand to keep our distance.

There is a meditation prompt where you progressively remove each layer of your identity. Any title or adjective you can think of, you take it off and put it aside. When you’re done and fully title-less, you just sit with what remains.

In this practice, you’re not dropping the people that love you, or your complex life, just the adjectives that describe you. You’re dropping the limiting nature of those discrete words while keeping your rich life intact.

At first this felt strange- I found myself putting away titles like “entrepreneur” (have grown to hate that one), “engineer” (theres a work theme here…), “brother”, “son”, “athlete”, “friend”, “man”. Any adjective that I could possibly think of, I dropped.

When I was all done, free of identity, I just sat with whatever was left. To my surprise, it felt good. I was still there, somewhere, but without my identity.

So if I trust that I can exist without my identity, I trust that you can too. There is depth everywhere, we just have to be patient and give it room.

This makes me think of identity more as play. I can play my role and you can play your role, but deep down, I know you’re more than that. I know you have layers that aren’t shown, and I’m going to try to talk to that part of you.

I’m doing it right now.