Had my son been alive he would have been 70 years old. I miss him! I lost my identity as a mother of a son. I am thankful to still be the mother of a daughter, a relationship I treasure!
Lately, I have been thinking about all the identities I have lost and all those I am still gaining. We’ve all passed through various identities: student, worker, spouse, and eventually parent. Within these parameters we established a number of identities. My professional identities included teacher, author, business consultant, therapist, speaker, as well as radio and television guest. My personal ones were daughter, wife, mother, and grandmother, and now even great-grandmother of six great grandsons. My other identity used to be a lecturer on cruise ships.
These are just a fraction of the possible identities I lived through. When I had my hip replaced, I took on the identity of patient. When a friend became ill, I became a helper. When my son died, I was a mourner. Some identities remain permanent, such as being a writer. Many others are fleeting. (For example, I am now a Zoom exerciser.) Some evolve slowly while others develop breakneck speed.
My reason for writing about identities is that I realize how much many of us have changed from before the pandemic to the present. I used to be a theater and concert goer, museum attendant, store shopper, a participant in boards and committees, attending meetings, exercise classes and parties in person, as well as enjoying going to dinner with friends in restaurants… then the pandemic struck.
Living in a retirement community during COVID-19, our dining room closed; meals were delivered to our rooms and isolation ensued without personal contacts. We resigned ourselves to Zoom, FaceTime, texts, and phone calls. I became a recluse, a hermit, through no will of my own. A new identity developed, one that is no longer engaged in the life of the community.
What I find interesting is that this solitary identity keeps lingering even with the possibility of going back to life as it was pre-pandemic. I have lost interest in the cultural events of my city and seem reluctant to accept invitations to go out to eat, even in outdoor places. This is due both to the hesitancy to take a chance on the new virus strain and given the new desire to stay at home as I am approaching 96 years. Most young people cannot wait to get back to their former identities, which include, student, party goer, athlete, intern, etc.
I suspect that this is a natural reaction from people in my age group. Yes, a new identity has emerged—that of “old woman” preferring to stay put. My recliner is getting more and more appealing. It is all somewhat surprising as I don’t really know this new identity; it is unfamiliar, but too prevalent to ignore. It entails a whole new set of permissions, that of not always being productive. In other words, it is okay to waste time daydreaming and napping. Reading is the great pleasure, it always has been, and, of course, writing as I am doing now. I’m getting bad news fatigue and only read the newspaper headlines. I do not know how long this new identity will last.
My insatiable curiosity about the unfathomable future is keeping me on my toes. I would not be surprised that new identities will emerge that I have not yet encountered. Researcher is a possibility for it can be done at home. I attempted to understand quantum mechanics, but couldn’t grasp beyond the basics, like how an electron can be in two places at once. I don’t plan to understand the crypto currency phenomenon. I’m fascinated by technology and science, which still intrigue me more than politics and art. Our brains can’t really fathom concepts such as eternity and infinity. In my next life, I will be a brain researcher.
I am currently editing a couple of books written by friends and enjoying the process of a different identity, that of editor. I am well aware that I am beginning to ramble on in this column, so I should quit now before you all lose interest in reading this. Is that a new identity: rambler?