A Conversation Between Peter Witz and Dr. Graves on The Labyrinth of Identity

Peter Witz: Dr. Graves, people often say, “Be yourself.” But when I think about it, I’m not even sure what “myself” is. Am I the child I once was, the adult I am now, or the person I might become? Identity feels like a moving target.

Dr. Graves: A profound starting point, Peter. Most imagine identity as a solid stone, something fixed and enduring. But in truth, identity is a labyrinth—full of shifting corridors, mirrors, and doors that open only when the right moment comes. We walk through it thinking we know its shape, but every turn reveals something new.

Peter Witz: So identity isn’t a single truth, but a journey?

Dr. Graves: Precisely. Consider how you introduce yourself. To a stranger, you may say, “I am Peter.” To a friend, you may speak of your family. To a colleague, you mention your work. Each is true, but incomplete. Identity is a mosaic built of contexts, each tile glittering differently depending on the light.

Peter Witz: And yet, there are times when we feel lost in that mosaic—when none of the tiles seem to fit.

Dr. Graves: That is when the labyrinth reveals its darker corridors. Identity is not only shaped by choice, but also by memory, by wounds, by expectations placed upon us. The struggle is not to “find” oneself—as though identity were buried treasure—but to weave coherence from fragments.

Peter Witz: That weaving seems to change over time. The person I was ten years ago would barely recognize the person I am today.

Dr. Graves: And that is not a flaw, but a feature. Identity is alive. A tree remains a tree whether it is seedling or oak, but it looks utterly different at each stage. So too with the self. Growth does not erase who you were—it incorporates it into a larger pattern.

Peter Witz: Yet people crave certainty. They want to say, “This is who I am” and mean it forever.

Dr. Graves: And therein lies the tension. We yearn for permanence in a world of flux. Some bind themselves to rigid definitions—profession, creed, tribe—mistaking stability for truth. Others dissolve into uncertainty, never daring to commit to any path. The wisdom lies in holding identity like water: firm enough to drink, flexible enough to flow.

Peter Witz: How do relationships affect this? It seems that who I am shifts depending on who I’m with.

Dr. Graves: Because identity is never solitary. We are mirrors to one another. A parent awakens different parts of you than a friend, a teacher, or a lover. Each relationship is a key that unlocks a different chamber of the labyrinth. Without others, many doors would remain closed forever.

Peter Witz: That suggests we are never truly finished. Even late in life, new connections can open unseen wings of the labyrinth.

Dr. Graves: Exactly. This is why stories of late transformation—saints found in old age, estranged families reconciled, new loves discovered—move us so deeply. They remind us that identity is never final until the last breath.

Peter Witz: Still, isn’t there a danger of being lost in endless reinvention? If identity is always shifting, how do we anchor ourselves?

Dr. Graves: By values, Peter. The shape of the labyrinth may change, but the compass by which you walk it must be steady. Integrity, compassion, curiosity—whatever virtues you choose—these are the constants that give coherence to change. Without them, reinvention is not growth, but drift.

Peter Witz: That makes me think of memory again. If identity is a labyrinth, then memory is the thread we carry—like Theseus with Ariadne’s string—so we can find our way back.

Dr. Graves: A brilliant metaphor. Yes, memory is what keeps us from being lost. It binds past selves to present, giving continuity even as transformation unfolds. But remember: memory itself is fragile. It distorts, it fades, it can betray. Which means identity is never entirely in our control—it is always a dialogue between who we recall, who we are, and who others see in us.

Peter Witz: And perhaps also who we dream of becoming.

Dr. Graves: Just so. Aspiration pulls us forward. Without it, identity collapses into nostalgia. To be human is to be unfinished, always reaching into the corridor ahead, never knowing where it leads.

Peter Witz: Then the labyrinth is both gift and burden. Gift, because it offers endless discovery. Burden, because it denies us final certainty.

Dr. Graves: Well said, Peter. But I would add: certainty is overrated. It is not the stillness of identity that makes life meaningful, but the movement through it. The labyrinth itself is the point.

Peter Witz: Then maybe the advice “be yourself” is misguided. Perhaps it should be: “Become yourself.”

Dr. Graves: A perfect conclusion. To become oneself is to embrace the labyrinth—its turns, its shadows, its light. To know that you are not a fixed stone, but a living path.