If I weren’t Black, African, Igbo but had the same consciousness, physical brain wiring, and physique that I have now, would I still be me? How much of me is me, and how much of me is my environment?

The funny thing about these kinds of life-orientation questions is that sometimes they don’t need answers. Not all questions require answers (even if they exist). But the presence and awareness of the question shape my everyday decision-making. And as such, it is rooted in the fundamental principles I consciously and unconsciously use when making decisions. I tend to see things differently. Let me explain…

When I face habit blocks, I start to question how much of the problem is me and how much stems from my environment. They say life is a matter of perspective. But perspective is basically the brain’s physical interpretation of what we see around us. So which one actually bothers me—what I see (my environment) or how I see what I see (my brain, me)?

Then step back.

Nature vs. Nurture

The secondary-school debate. The nature vs. nurture argument in psychology explores whether our traits come from innate biology (nature) or environmental influences (nurture). But here’s where I differ. Nature isn’t an opponent of nurture—it’s the foundation. Nature is our innate wiring, our default settings. For example, some people may live longer—even with everything else equal—simply because they have a stronger heart. That’s nature at work.

On the surface, all you see is that someone lived longer, but you don’t see the inner constructs supporting the outcome. This is why what we call nature isn’t really opposed to nurture. Our innate traits define how we react to what we see. This is why people can have similar experiences but respond differently. At the end of the day, life nurtures us.

I say this because we are inherently objective beings—wired to survive. And no matter how rigid our innate traits are, they will always bend to adjust to the environment for survival.

Life, they say, is all about perspective. And perspective? It’s your brain’s interpretation of raw data streaming in from your surroundings.

What if there were no environment?

Here’s the interesting part. If we have no senses, then there’s nothing, right? While working on this thought, I realized it already exists in Buddhism. For Buddhists, the environment isn’t just the backdrop—it’s the director, scriptwriter, and set designer of your life’s play.

This makes the notion of a “core self” feel like a comforting myth. Buddhist traditions call it anatta—no-self—suggesting that what we cling to as “me” is an illusion, a process born from interdependent causes and conditions. Without the environment, you’re lost in a black hole of thought. We can only think based on what we’ve seen, heard, and felt. Imagination builds from there, so it’s always derivative.

In Buddhism, the self isn’t a permanent essence; it’s a bundle of ever-changing perceptions, thoughts, and sensations arising from conditions. The Buddha taught that clinging to a solid “I” causes suffering because everything is impermanent. Without sensory inputs—no sights, sounds, interactions—the self dissolves. It’s like that black hole of thought I mentioned: without surroundings, the mind scrambles, unravels, and hallucinates to fill the void.

Maybe this means I’m not stuck being one way—I’m a process, adaptable and fluid.

Philosopher David Hume’s bundle theory echoes this: the self is just a collection of perceptions, with no underlying substance. Modern thinkers like Daniel Dennett call consciousness a “user illusion,” a narrative spun from brain–world interactions. If I weren’t Black, African, Igbo, my narrative would rewrite itself. The consciousness would remain, but the story would change—new chapters from new environments.

Embedding these thoughts in my day-to-day

It’s important that I stay aware of this. Then I can use it daily. For example, when I question why I feel lazy or struggle to complete simple tasks, I wonder: how much of it is me, and how much is my environment? It becomes an experiment. From the food I eat to the chair I sit in, I notice patterns.

When I need focus, two things usually shape it: my environment or the urgency of the situation. I think that’s true for most people. I work better with a big screen and air conditioning than with a small laptop in a hot room.

This awareness also guides bigger choices. When choosing a job, I can weigh not just the pay but the culture—will it nurture growth or stifle it? In relationships, I consider whether we create shared environments that amplify our best selves, rather than conforming to shallow internet constructs. Even small acts matter, like curating my social media feed to inspire rather than drain me.

So, are we who we think we are, or are we just products of our environments? If the environment is stripped away, what remains? Maybe raw consciousness—but formless, without context. Sensory deprivation experiments confirm this: people hallucinate in isolation tanks as the brain struggles to fill the silence. Without the world, the self unravels.

But here’s the twist: that doesn’t diminish us. We’re echoes of our environments, but that isn’t a weakness—it’s the core of being human.

Final thought

For me, these questions don’t need neat answers—they’re tools. They’ve helped me practice mindfulness. They make me less self-critical, more intentional.

Am I who I think I am? A spark of nature, sculpted by nurture’s fire. Without the fire, the spark dims; with it, I blaze. Next time I’m stuck, I can ask: Is it the environment, or is it me? Change one, and watch what shifts.

Maybe the quest isn’t to find the “real” me, but to enjoy the shaping process.

“After all, in this vast universe, being an echo isn’t so bad—if the symphony is worth listening to.” – grok