Our identities do not exist within our bank accounts and email addresses. They are not locked away, per federal standard, on the third floor of a low-rise commercial building. Our identity exists within our physical makeup… somehow.

Where our identity exists is as much a mystery as why we need one in the first place. Should someone ever show you a neuroimage of the brain and offer “identity lives here,” [points confidently at specific gyrus] quickly funnel that idiot down the nearest flight of stairs. We have no true idea where identity exists or how we choose what is internalized vs. rejected, but we know what is true and untrue of our identity almost immediately. We deftly block and refute evidence of a self that differs from our perceived-self. Just as quickly we will have dropped our head at the overwhelming discrepancy between our idealized-self and our perceived-self. It...