What it is
Marcel Proust wrote that “our social personality is a creation of the minds of others.” Even seeing someone we know is mostly intellectual: we project our idea of them onto their face. In his novel, the same man is a refined gentleman to high society and just a pleasant dinner guest to the narrator’s family.
Identity, in this view, isn’t one fixed thing. It’s a kaleidoscope, shifting with whoever is looking.
How it shows up for me
I’m a different person to my kids, my coworkers, and the readers of this site, and all of them are partly right. It used to stress me out. Now it reminds me to keep my values steady, since my image will never be.