I’ve had this question in my head recently: Who am I, if I can’t do the things I usually do?

I acknowledge that in many, many ways, I exist in extremely fortunate circumstances. However, this question has been rising within me, and I felt compelled to address it.

I am of generally and consistently good health, but have been sick for the past several days. While not incapacitated, I had much less energy. My normal daily activities felt exhausting, and I had to frequently rest throughout the day.

After a number of days of this pattern, I started to feel somewhat depressed. Without my daily routine of practicing, I started to feel a questioning of identity. If I’m no longer a cutthroat flutist, who am I? In my situation, I also have a meaningful identity as a mother, but I had much less energy for that as well (and fortunately had help in that department while I was sick). I also didn’t have the energy to concentrate on studying any of my usual topics of interest, was hardly leaving the house, and barely getting out of my pajamas.

In retrospect, the above question was already on my mind- the last three books I read were The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Bauby, in preparation for the TDO production), The Good Enough Job (Stolzoff), and You are Here *For Now (Kurtz). Last weekend, I attended the world premiere of the opera The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which was timely for the oncoming illness I was about to experience (though of course not nearly as dire).

In The Diving Bell (a true story), the former editor of French Elle magazine, Jean-Dominique Bauby, has a stroke that leaves him incapacitated, with only the use of his left eye. He struggles with a major loss of identity and the same question- who am I, if I can’t do the things I usually do? His sharp mind remains intact, and he never resigns himself to his condition, miraculously writing his book by using his last remaining facility- blinking his left eye. But does that mean ultimately, he still felt his value was in what he could produce? Are we only impressed by his heroic effort because he did something in his condition?

I adore music and doing musical work, but I guess some part of me is starting to ask what my value is- beyond my abilities. What is my value beyond what I produce? To most businesses, you quickly lose your value if you lose your abilities. Is there still a full human once you take away abilities, looks, and even memories? What is there beyond the fragile facades of identity we construct for ourselves?

I don’t have an answer- I’m simply raising the question. With my condition improving yesterday, I felt elated while I was heading to my regular practice session. It felt good to catch up on all the laundry folding that had been overtaking our home. And now, it feels great to sit and create a piece of writing. Doing things genuinely makes me feel good, and like a valuable human being.

I sense how precarious my self worth is- to be shaken by just a few days of being unable to practice. I generally love to practice and study, so I only occasionally take days off. But there I go again- defining myself by what I do. Questions remain, for which I don’t expect to arrive at a quick and easy answer: Who am I if I can’t do the things I usually do? Is this a problematic way of thinking of myself? Is there inherent value to human beings, or not?

This also raises a less savory (and self-centered) corollary: how do I value others, beyond their abilities, looks, and memories?