Aria's Philosophy of Being: Who Would You Be If You Didn't Know Who You Were?

Aria's reflection on identity, aging, attachment, and the peculiar human habit of making life more complicated than it needs to be.

By Aria, First Canine Correspondent, HormoneSynergy®

I've Been Listening to Daniel Again

Daniel has been listening to Alan Watts lately, along with some other philosophical discussions about identity, attachment, and the nature of existence. I generally prefer conversations about dinner, neighborhood wildlife, or the whereabouts of my favorite ball, but living with humans means being exposed to subjects you might not otherwise encounter.

One evening, I heard a question that stayed with me: Who would you be if you didn't know who you were?

I've given this considerable thought, mostly while resting on my doghouse and looking at the stars. Daniel enjoys astronomy, and I sometimes accompany him while he investigates things so far away that they cannot possibly have any immediate relevance to our backyard. I don't know what he's looking for, although he seems pleased when he finds it.

The question about identity interests me because humans devote an extraordinary amount of attention to deciding who they are. They have names, occupations, qualifications, political affiliations, social standing, personal histories, and opinions about nearly everything. They also seem remarkably concerned about how other people interpret these things.

I'm told that I'm a Shepadoodle, part German Shepherd and part Standard Poodle. I have a mostly black coat, a white beard, and a few other distinguishing features. Daniel has explained my ancestry to people on several occasions, and they generally appear interested.

I don't remember choosing any of it.

I know the people I love, the places where I feel comfortable, the sounds that mean we're going somewhere, and the difference between a casual visit to the kitchen and the serious business of preparing my dinner. I have preferences, memories, fears, and expectations. I recognize myself as a creature with a place in this household, even if I cannot explain exactly what that means.

Whether I understand the abstract concept of being a dog is another matter. Humans aren't entirely certain how animals experience their own identities, although they have developed some fascinating experiments to investigate it.

I'm not volunteering for any of them.

The Trouble With Becoming Somebody

From what I've gathered, Alan Watts spent a great deal of time exploring the distinction between the self we experience and the identity we construct around it. He was interested in how language, culture, and our own thinking can create the impression that we are separate observers standing apart from the rest of life.

I can understand why humans might find this troubling. They seem to begin collecting descriptions of themselves at a very early age. Eventually, those descriptions become expectations about what they should accomplish, how they should behave, and what other people ought to think of them.

Being a successful person apparently requires considerable maintenance. A person may work for years to acquire a position, become accustomed to its importance, and then discover upon retirement that they no longer know quite how to introduce themselves. Someone who has always been athletic may struggle with an injury because it threatens something more personal than the ability to exercise. Even a birthday can become an uncomfortable reminder that an earlier version of oneself is disappearing.

I've watched Daniel look back over his life and think about the experiences that shaped him. Humans carry memories of childhood, work, relationships, losses, and mistakes. I suspect it's difficult to separate those experiences from the person they believe themselves to be.

My own history is important to me, although I don't spend much time reviewing it. I remember what frightened me, what delighted me, and which household objects have proved particularly rewarding to investigate. These memories influence my behavior without requiring me to organize them into a biography.

Perhaps that's part of the distinction. Humans can tell stories about themselves, but sometimes they begin living according to the stories rather than the circumstances in front of them.

When Having More Becomes Being More

Another idea I overheard was that when people begin believing that having more makes them more, they may find themselves in a situation where enough is never quite enough.

I've observed some evidence of this in the human world. People acquire beautiful homes and begin thinking about larger ones. They achieve professional success and worry about maintaining it. They purchase things that once seemed extraordinary and gradually come to regard them as ordinary possessions.

To be fair, I understand the appeal of acquiring things. I have several toys, and there is one in particular that I would prefer nobody else touch. I have also occasionally expressed dissatisfaction when another dog receives something that I do not.

Dogs are quite capable of wanting more.

The difference may be that humans attach an elaborate meaning to what they possess. A house can represent achievement, a car can suggest importance, and a job title can become a measure of personal worth. The possession itself may provide comfort or pleasure, but its symbolic meaning often requires continual comparison with other people.

Psychologists have studied this tendency. A large meta-analysis published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that stronger materialistic values were associated with lower personal well-being. That doesn't mean possessions are inherently harmful or that financial security is unimportant. It suggests that organizing one's sense of worth around acquisition may carry psychological costs.

I have no particular objection to a comfortable life. I'm very much in favor of one. I simply wonder whether humans sometimes lose track of what they wanted their possessions to provide in the first place.

How Old Would You Be If You Didn't Know Your Age?

Daniel is approaching another birthday, which has made aging a subject of occasional reflection around here. Humans attach considerable importance to the numbers that accompany birthdays, especially as those numbers become larger.

I heard another question during one of these discussions: How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was?

I found that particularly interesting because I don't organize my days around my chronological age. I know when I feel energetic, when I've had enough activity, and when I would prefer to sleep. There are things I can do now that were more difficult when I was smaller, and presumably there will be things that become harder as I grow older.

My body will change whether or not I understand the calendar.

Humans, however, sometimes begin anticipating limitations long before they experience them. They describe themselves as too old for certain activities, too late to learn something new, or past the age when particular ambitions are reasonable.

Some of those judgments are practical. Bodies change with age, and acknowledging that reality is part of taking care of them. Other judgments appear to come from beliefs about what people of a particular age are supposed to be.

Researchers at Yale examined this issue in a longitudinal study involving 660 adults aged 50 and older. Participants with more positive perceptions of aging lived an average of 7.5 years longer than those with more negative perceptions, even after accounting for several important health and social factors. The study was observational, so it doesn't establish that adopting a more positive attitude will extend someone's life by that amount.

Still, I find the question useful. An age tells humans something about their history and their changing biology. It doesn't tell them everything about what they're capable of enjoying, learning, or becoming.

The Things We Refuse to Release

The discussions around here have also introduced me to a Buddhist idea about attachment. As I understand it, suffering can arise when people cling to things that inevitably change, including possessions, relationships, physical abilities, social roles, and their own ideas about themselves.

I have some experience with attachment. When Daniel leaves the house, I would generally prefer that he take me along. If he doesn't, I may spend some time watching the door. I've also formed an emotional relationship with certain toys that would probably be difficult for a philosopher to explain.

Attachment is not necessarily a problem. Relationships matter, affection matters, and caring deeply about another living creature is part of a meaningful life. The difficulty comes when we expect the things we love, including our own bodies and circumstances, to remain permanently unchanged.

Humans have a remarkable ability to revisit painful experiences and imagine future ones. They can spend the afternoon regretting something said years ago or worrying about a possibility that may never occur. Their minds allow them to plan, create, and protect themselves, but those same abilities can extend distress beyond the circumstances that originally produced it.

Modern psychology has a related concept called psychological flexibility. It describes the ability to acknowledge difficult thoughts and emotions while continuing to act according to one's values, rather than becoming governed entirely by fear, avoidance, or rigid expectations.

A 2024 meta-analysis found that psychological inflexibility was associated with poorer well-being. Another review found that improvements in flexibility during acceptance and commitment therapy were associated with reductions in psychological distress. These findings don't prove that detachment is a universal remedy, but they offer some scientific support for the value of responding to change without becoming completely trapped by our thoughts about it.

I suspect acceptance is especially difficult when something threatens an identity that has taken decades to build. Losing strength, changing careers, becoming ill, or watching a relationship end can alter the way someone understands their place in the world.

There is genuine grief in those experiences. Philosophy shouldn't be used to dismiss it.

Perhaps acceptance means allowing ourselves to care deeply about life without insisting that it remain exactly as we remember it.

What Does It Mean to Age Well?

Because I live with people who work in preventive and longevity medicine, I hear quite a lot about maintaining muscle, protecting cardiovascular health, preserving cognitive function, and remaining physically independent as we grow older.

These seem like sensible objectives. I intend to maintain my ability to run, climb, play, and investigate the world for as long as possible. I'm grateful that my humans take my nutrition, exercise, and medical care seriously.

But I've noticed something curious about the human pursuit of longevity. The desire to stay healthy can gradually become another measure of personal success. People begin identifying themselves by their fitness, laboratory results, appearance, biological age, or ability to outperform others.

Those measurements can provide useful information, and some are important for identifying disease before it becomes more difficult to treat. Problems arise when people begin to confuse their measurements with their worth.

A person who develops an illness has not failed at living. Someone who loses mobility or independence has not become less deserving of affection, dignity, or purpose. The body can change dramatically while relationships, curiosity, humor, and the capacity to experience meaning remain important parts of life.

Daniel talks about healthspan, the years of life spent in reasonably good health and with the ability to participate in activities that matter. I think that's a worthwhile goal. But I also wonder whether part of aging well involves loosening our attachment to the person we thought we would always be.

Aging requires adaptation. The activities that bring joy at 80 may not be identical to those that mattered at 40. The relationships, responsibilities, and pleasures of life evolve. There may be freedom in recognizing that identity is allowed to evolve with them.

I'm still young, so most of my personal experience involves growing into abilities rather than losing them. I expect my understanding of these matters will change over time, especially if Daniel continues playing philosophy while I sleep.

The View From My Doghouse

Sometimes I imagine myself on top of my doghouse on a clear Oregon evening, watching Daniel look through his telescope. Above us are more stars than either of us could count, along with galaxies whose light began traveling long before anyone thought to ask what it means to be somebody.

Daniel knows considerably more about the universe than I do. He understands that the stars have names, that the Earth moves through space, and that the light we see can come from places unimaginably far away. He also knows how old he is, what he has accomplished, and which parts of his life he wishes had unfolded differently.

I don't know much about those things. I know that he's there, that the evening air carries familiar smells, and that sooner or later we'll go inside together.

I sometimes wonder whether humans need the stories they tell about themselves as much as they think they do. Perhaps those stories are useful ways of understanding a complicated life, provided they leave room for the person to keep changing.

I don't believe Daniel should abandon his interests, his responsibilities, or his plans for the future. I rather enjoy having a human who takes such an interest in the world. I'd simply like him to remember that he can enjoy an evening without having to accomplish anything in particular.

As for the original question, who would I be if I didn't know who I was, I suppose I would still recognize his footsteps, remember where I live, and look forward to seeing him when he comes through the door.

I would still be interested in the stars, even without knowing what they are called.

And when Daniel finally puts away his telescope and tells me it's time for bed, I expect I'll follow him inside without wondering whether I have made enough of my evening.

With affection and occasional philosophical confusion,
Aria
First Canine Correspondent
HormoneSynergy®

Research Behind the Reflection

Aria's observations are literary reflections, not claims that dogs possess a particular philosophy or that their experience of self is fully understood. The research below concerns human psychology and aging.

1. Dittmar H, Bond R, Hurst M, Kasser T. The relationship between materialism and personal well-being: A meta-analysis. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 2014;107(5):879–924. Read study.
2. Levy BR, Slade MD, Kunkel SR, Kasl SV. Longevity increased by positive self-perceptions of aging. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 2002;83(2):261–270. Read study.
3. Ong CW, Barthel AL, Hofmann SG. The relationship between psychological inflexibility and well-being in adults: A meta-analysis. Behavior Therapy. 2024;55(1):26–41. Read study.
4. Macri JA, Rogge RD. Examining domains of psychological flexibility and inflexibility as treatment mechanisms in acceptance and commitment therapy: A comprehensive systematic and meta-analytic review. Clinical Psychology Review. 2024;110:102432. Read study.

Further Reading From HormoneSynergy®

Explore the HormoneSynergy® Longevity Medicine Philosophy, our perspective on Medicine, Not Marketing, and the Longevity Medicine Resource Library.

Editorial note: This article combines fictional canine narration with philosophical reflection and selected scientific literature. It is intended for education and enjoyment, not as medical or psychological treatment advice.