The Rolling Stones’ performance at Cleveland Browns Stadium on June 15, 2024, was a night to remember. Fans in Cleveland were electrified as the legendary band took the stage during their Hackney Diamonds Tour. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, and the crowd’s energy was palpable. It felt like a moment frozen in time, one that no one could ask for anything more.
As I watched the concert, I couldn’t help but reflect on the fleeting nature of such experiences. My thoughts drifted to my own childhood memories, which are now hazy and fragmented. I remember the red-painted nails of a babysitter, the brushed-silver stereo in my parents’ apartment, and a particular orange-carpeted hallway. These memories are like scattered photographs, each capturing a moment but failing to form a complete picture.
Now, as a father of a four-year-old, I often wonder how much of our joyous life my son will remember. We build Lego versions of familiar places and perfect the “flipperoo,” a move where he somersaults backward from my shoulders to the ground. These moments are precious, but will they stay with him? Will he remember the laughter and the joy, or will these memories fade like mine have?
The question of memory and identity is a complex one. Are we the same people at four that we will be at twenty-four, forty-four, or seventy-four? Some people feel a strong connection to their younger selves, while others see their past as a foreign country. My mother-in-law, for instance, insists she is the same person she has always been, while her brother believes he has lived through several distinct epochs.
Trying to remember life as it was years ago can be a disorienting experience. Certain key events—college, marriage, or even a high-school reunion—can make us feel like we are stepping back in time. But the illusion fades, and we realize we have changed. Some of us want to disconnect from our past selves, burdened by who we used to be. Others, like the philosopher Galen Strawson, live episodically, unconcerned with the broader plot arc of their lives.
My son Peter’s name is a constant, but he is always becoming someone new. I have dueling aspirations for him: keep growing, but keep being you. How he will see himself in the future is a mystery. Will he be an episodic person, living in the moment, or will he see his life as a continuous narrative?
The empirical side of this question can be explored scientifically. The Dunedin Study, which began in the 1970s, has followed a group of children from age three into adulthood. The study has shown that certain personality traits remain consistent over time, while others change. For instance, children who were categorized as “inhibited” or “undercontrolled” at age three often retained these traits into adulthood.
The study also highlights the social power of temperament. A person’s social environment can reinforce their disposition, creating a feedback loop that makes them more like themselves. However, intimate relationships can sometimes break this cycle, offering a chance for change.
Ultimately, who we are is determined not just by our dispositions but by what we do. Our actions, interests, and even seemingly trivial elements contribute to our identity. My father, for example, has been a lifelong fan of “Star Trek,” a through line in his life that is as much a part of him as his personality traits.
Focusing on the actualities of our lives can reveal surprising continuities and changes. Some people, like my father-in-law, see themselves as fundamentally the same throughout their lives. Others, like my high-school friend Tim, view their lives as radically discontinuous. Tim has transformed from a skinny, bullied teenager into a towering man with an action-hero physique, a journey that has taken him through various careers and life experiences.
In the end, the question of whether we have always been who we are is a deeply personal one. It depends on how we view our lives and what we consider to be the essence of our identity. As I watched the Rolling Stones perform, I realized that moments like these, captured in photos and memories, are what make life rich and meaningful. If this is the last time, no one could ask for anything more.
