Who am I? – understandng identity

This is a question I have asked myself often – especially when I pause and reflect. Over time, I’ve come to believe that who we are, is woven with, and not always neatly; four threads: temperament, character, personality and identity.


Temperament is the Foundation
Before experience shapes us, before the world has its say, we arrive with a temperament. It’s our nature. It’s our inborn, biologically-based way of engaging with life — our natural energy level, emotional sensitivity, how we respond to stimulation, whether we lean toward boldness or caution. Temperament is nature’s first gift to us. It’s the fertile soil in which everything else grows.
But what happens when that soil/foundation is never allowed to simply be? When a primary caregiver — rather than nurturing what is naturally there — suppresses, redirects, or punishes those innate tendencies? The foundation is compromised before the building even begins! This, I now understand, is where my story started.

Character
Character runs deeper. It grows from how your temperament gets shaped. It is nature meeting will. It’s the bedrock of integrity, honesty, and resilience — moral qualities forged through choices and experiences. Character isn’t just how we act, but why we act that way. Crucially, character is something we can consciously build, even later in life. If your temperament was messed with, character is hard fought and hard won. Every boundary set, every hard truth faced, every act of self-honesty is character being forged — sometimes for the very first time and sometimes later in life!

Personality
Our personality is the collection of traits that shape how we think, feel, and behave. It is how we come across to others and ourselves, ideally, it grows organically from our temperament, shaped by experience, relationships, and environment. But personality can also be coerced — molded by fear, control, or the need to survive a difficult childhood. When that happens, we can spend decades wearing a personality that was never truly ours, we mask!


Identity
Identity is the trickiest of the four. It is our sense of self — shaped by beliefs, experiences, culture, and the roles we play. But what happens when that sense of self is fragile — or borrowed? Or built on someone else’s blueprint entirely?

This is where, the question, “who am I?’ comes a little unstuck. Having been raised by a controlling, coercive caregiver — my identity was never truly my own. My temperament was not allowed to develop freely. My personality, character, and identity were shaped by someone else’s needs, not my own nature. My sense of self has never felt strong or stable!

Only after changing my life completely, setting boundaries, and hard-won introspection have I begun to truly understand that identity is not fixed — and that it is never too late to start building one that is genuinely mine.

So, who am I?
Ask myself on different days, and I may get different answers:) And that’s okay. I’m a work in progress — still excavating the person who was always there, waiting beneath the surface, waiting to be reclaimed
Identity isn’t something you find like a lost key. It’s something you build — through trial, error, and honesty, healing, understanding and introspection – ever changing:)

A Moment of Awe


A fly settles on my cheek,
stuck in the sweat
of a too-hot morning.

I wave it away. Another lands.
I don’t want to be distracted.

A rusty gate prevents my advance
but cannot block this view of grandeur:
the distant mountain range
hazy after the fire.
Standing rugged and majestic—
immobile on the horizon.

A raptor waits, patiently, precarious atop an acacia.
An agama bobs on a hot rock in the path.
The sun beats mercilessly.
Flies continue to harass my body.

Standing here, I am humbled. In awe.
Engaged in pure solitude—
for one short, hot, sweaty, dusty moment
between flies—

I breathe deeply,
and leave, empowered

I No Longer Need to Struggle!

Embracing an E-Mountain Bike

Sometimes in life, all the uphill battles we face, and all the struggles we experience become personified, normalized, and habitually worn like a badge of honour. In my late 60s, I’ve arrived at such a moment—a time when I realize I no longer need or want to struggle, or at least not as much, and definitely not all the time!

For most of my life, struggle in one way or another has been a constant companion. It was as if I were on a never-ending climb, each step in hindsight, a testament to perseverance and endurance. But now, a shift in my perspective has emerged. I’ve come to understand what drove me, why I was driven, and why I struggled in my life. I have also come to understand that it’s okay to seek and accept help, and to let go of struggle. It’s more than okay to relax and enjoy the ride.

My bike is the symbol of a new journey

Like a trusty steed for a modern-day knight, my e-mountain bike has become a metaphor for this newfound liberation. With its gentle hum and seamless assistance, it whispers a reassuring truth: not all hills are meant to be conquered through sheer will alone. Sometimes, it’s about allowing yourself to be carried forward, with grace and ease. I no longer curse, grit my teeth, and power through every windy, corrugated rocky incline; instead, I can embrace all the beauty of the journey.

My bike doesn’t diminish the adventure—it enhances it! With each pedal-assist, I am reminded that the joy of the ride is not solely about reaching the top/end, but savouring the path that gets me there.

It has become a symbol of breaking free from these chains. It’s a declaration that I have the wisdom to choose ease over effort, without guilt or regret.

In letting go of the constant need to battle, I have found a serene acceptance. So here I am, a seasoned traveller on the road of life, gliding effortlessly on my e-bike. It’s not just a mode of transport—it’s a testament to a life well-lived and a future brimming with possibilities.

The Tankwa re visited – April 2023

My world is waking, a canvas of tranquillity unfolds. Clusters of pale Naples yellow grass move gracefully, their slender blades swaying in perfect harmony with the gentle breeze that caresses this soon to be hot place. The pre-dawn glow tints the east with a muted orange hue, casting an ethereal glow upon the landscape.

Silhouetted against the painted sky, the rocks stand as sentinels, their darkened forms, and my yesterday’s sculptures contrast against the emerging light. The distant hills emerge in delicate layers, and the secrets of the forthcoming day are revealed. Each moment of this sunrise brings a new revelation, a gradual unveiling of beauty and possibility.

With each step I take across the ridge, the shale floor scrunches underfoot, reminding me of the rugged terrain that surrounds me. The familiar crunch serves as a humble reminder that I am but a visitor in this grand symphony of nature. The moon and stars, brilliant just a few minutes ago, fade away, surrendering their stage to the sun.

As the first rays’ peek over a faraway mountain range, the world begins its metamorphosis. Soft shadows, like gentle fingers, reach out across the land, illuminating the sparce scrub and breathes life into the lone acacia that stands tall next to the fractured reservoir, a sentinel in this forgotten oasis.

In the distance, the majestic Cederberg range emerges, bathed in a palette of pink and mauve, its peaks seemingly painted by an artist’s brush. The colours blend seamlessly, creating a breathtaking vista that captures the essence of dawn’s beauty in the west. The tranquillity of this moment envelopes me, and I am overcome by the profound sense of harmony and peace in the stillness.

Sitting amongst the rocks surrounded by a symphony of colour and serenity reminds me of the sacredness of the natural world, and the importance of embracing it.

In this gentle dance of light and shadows, I find solace and inspiration. I wish I could share this feeling with others who are caught up in the chaos and noise of the world, tell them that there is peace and a silent sanctuary somewhere out there, if only they could find it.

My profound connection with nature is reinforced and I am once again filled with gratitude for my life.

120 months….

As we grow older, many of us start thinking about the possibility of moving to a retirement village or assisted living facility. These communities promise a safe and secure environment, access to care, and the opportunity to socialize with others in the same stage of life, which could be from sixty and older.

I spent the Christmas holiday 2022 and New Year 2023 and the following 3 weeks, in a retirement village, and it was an eye-opening experience. I was only there to attend to my sick and aging mother, who at 95, still lives there independently, but had fallen ill a few days before and was in the hospital section. While I appreciated the sense of security and care provided to my mother, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease about the place.

One of the most striking things I noticed during my stay and previously, is the lack of energy. Everyone regardless of age, seemed old, fearful, and confined in body, mind, and spirit. There was no new thinking, everything moved slowly and methodically. The conversations I did have were often focused on who had passed away or what ailments people were experiencing. While there were a few more active members of the community, I struggled to relate to them as I am not naturally a community-oriented person.

From my short stay and limited conversation perspective, it felt like once you leave full independence and moved to the protected retirement living facility, it was downhill from there. This realization was sobering, as it brought to light the fact that in just 27 years, I could be in the same position as my mother. This thought was frightening and made me once again appreciate the time I have left to live the life I want.

Realistically, I guess I have only 10 years or 120 months to live life to the fullest in the current way I do, before I may not be able to function in the same way. This realization has made me even more conscious of my life and all it entails. Health, strength, mental and physical ability, time spent, company shared, thoughts, and actions all matter more now than ever before.

While living in a retirement village may be an essential move for some, the need to make the most of every moment left of the next 120 months was reinforced and I returned with a refreshed mindset. It’s crucial to live the life you want while you still can, rather than waiting for old age to take over. And now it is only 116 months!!