The human personality is memory enfleshed, our past briefly materialized as a protection from the vagaries of the present. Personality is derived from the Latin persona for mask. It’s an accretion, not us.
People do and say things because of who they are, not because of who you are.
If it’s true, it’s true for everyone. If it’s false, it’s personal.
We do not see anything as it is. We see everything as we are. It is an em-bubbled existence—private, personal and contradictory. Eventually, the bubble pops. Now, what happens when that happens?
The human personality is an edifice to the past. It is the conditioned self, the sum total of all of our experiences and of our reactions to those experiences. It’s why some of us are left-handed, others of us stutter, and why Glen Campbell did what he did while drinking like a fish and being unable to read a note of music. We haul this accumulation around with us. We think it is who we are, but it isn’t. It’s just mental and psychological stuff, a moldering pile of bellicosities and beliefs, of preferences and aversions, of memories and habits, of suspicions, traditions and worry patterns. It is good, now and then, to drop this congealment. To draw a breath. To see a bird without naming it.