I've recently learned about the Ship of Theseus. The story is very simple: the Athenians preserved and maintained the ship of their hero, Theseus, for centuries by replacing each decaying piece with a new one. One by one, over time, all the pieces would be changed. The dilemma that arises is particularly interesting — if every single original piece is switched, is it actually the same ship?
This makes me think on so many levels. First, who are we over the years? Are we gradually moving away from our original self, only to become, in the end, the Ship of Theseus — brand new and fixed, but at the essence an entirely different person?
This realization could be the huge driver of why people are so hesitant to change, even when it's for their own good. Deep down, all of us could just be afraid to lose our identity, to lose what defines us, to swap our decayed wood for new wood that's better but still unrecognizable.
I've realized that I've been doing that with anxiety for years. I refused to fight against it actively, as it was a huge part of my identity. If I am not anxious, then who am I? If I fix everything that is wrong with me, what will be left? Will I still be the Teodora the Athenians — my friends — love?
If the Athenians realized that they were creating an entirely new ship, would they still take care of it? That's a paradox, a dead-end situation. That's exactly how I felt with the anxiety.