Hello, Colin!

My name is Nadir. I am originally from Algeria, but I live in the US now.

Living in a new country has changed me. This change raised some concerns within me.

I am gay. This is an issue I struggled with my entire life and only became comfortable with lately. I am 29 now. I’ve never been in a relationship; you guessed why.

I am also a Muslim. Although I don’t regret the many-years I spent grounding myself in my faith, I do realize now, and thus regret, how far I was from particularly the physical self-esteem. Sometimes, I don’t even remember much from my early-twenties life, I feel like.

I got to know you through the Minimalists, Josh and Ryan. Minimalism resonated with me because I realized that I had been already living it, to an extent at least. I am no stranger to holding on to my values against whatever stands in the way. Back in Algeria, after adopting a deeply religious lifestyle at a teen-age, which broke the norms of both my family and my society because I chose to not be a generic Muslim, I made decisions that were thought to be off. I had to fight for what I was standing for, alone. It didn’t matter to me because I was happy and in peace with myself.

You know, Colin, I have family and friends back at home who named their kids after me. This is an honour. This also tells you about the responsibility I feel.

Anyway, my life has been quite a journey, and it’s hard to squeeze it in few paragraphs. I guess what I’m trying to get into is that I’m afraid of changing other certain things, after the changes that have already occurred such as accepting my sexuality. I am definitely open to making myself uncomfortable for it’s the way to grow; however, I don’t want to confuse discomfort with the product feeling of violating a value.

I am a bearded person. I’ve never shaved in my life for religious reasons. While I want to look good and see the still-young version of myself, I feel concerned of changing this part of me; I mean the beard. I feel it’s a reminder of who I am. I fear I would not recognize myself, inwardly.

I am gay. And religious. And a minimalist. And this person whose heart is filled with big dreams and ambitions. Between my fears and hopes I am trying to find the balance. I do not want to lose “Nadir,” myself, in the process of finding myself.

I would love to hear a word from you. I also want you to know that I love you, Colin.

Nadir,

PS: That last statement might sound weird coming from a gay man, LOL!

—

Hey Nadir-

That end-note is not weird at all: it’s a wonderful thing to share with another human being—I love you, too.

It sounds like you’re at something of a crossroads, having already traveled a great distance (literally and figuratively) to get to where you are now, and you’re trying to figure out how much further you can go before you start to leave some of where you’ve come from behind, perhaps causing harm instead of stimulating growth.

What’s important to remember, though, is that you are not your sexuality any more than you are your beard.

Yes, people are accustomed to you being a certain way, just as you’re accustomed to certain habits: beard-maintenance perhaps, dressing a certain way, eating certain things.

But you can shave your beard and still be you: it’s an adjustment to the overall entity known as Nadir, but it doesn’t fundamentally change you. You’d still be you, you’d just be you with less facial hair. The same is true if you change your diet, your job, how you dress, and who you love.

There’s a thought experiment called the Ship of Theseus, the conceit of which is that there’s a famous ship stored in a museum, and over the years the individual components of the ship begin to wear out or rot. Piece by piece, then, those components are replaced by the museum curators: a nail here, a floorboard there, patching one of the sails, and so on over time.

The question is this: after each piece has been replaced, one by one over the course of many years, is that ship in the museum is still the original ship, or some new ship?

Can the museum claim that this is still a famous artifact, or is it merely an assemblage of new parts cobbled together in the shape of the original vessel?

There are many different ways of answering this question, all legitimate by some standard of philosophical thinking.

I personally tend to think that because the ship is, from the beginning, a concept made up of a great many components, that concept of “ship” can remain true, can remain the same, even as the individual components are swapped out over time.

While the oft-quoted factoid that human beings have all their cells replaced with new ones every 7-10 years is not accurate, it is true that a great many of our cells are constantly regenerating at different rates: some stick with us from birth to death, but the majority are replaced, regularly or semi-regularly, throughout our lives.

Thus, while there are some parts of our brains and eyeballs in particular that stay with us forever—pieces of the human ship that are never replaced—most of what we consider to be “us” is shed and replaced at some point, perhaps many, many times.

This doesn’t make those components of us any less “us” than the pieces that stick around. What we think of as human beings are actually complex ecosystems called microbiomes—so it’s far more accurate that we think of ourselves as ever-changing relationships between things, than as unchanging, monolithic realities.

If all our skin flakes off and is replaced over time, in other words, that doesn’t stop us from thinking of our skin as part of us. Our skin is always in flux, a verb as much as a noun, and the same is true of our holistic, unified selves: ever-changing, but still “us.”

Change is an unavoidable aspect of being human.

Change is also what allows us to grow, both literally and figuratively.

If those pieces of our bodies didn’t die and grow anew, we wouldn’t grow; nothing would be changeable, and thus, nothing would change.

Change isn’t easy, and at times it’s even painful—even excruciating. But it’s necessary, and often we don’t have a choice as to whether it happens or not. It’s a fundamental part of the human experience, for better and for worse.

What we do with this information is up to each of us, individually.

We can decide to attempt to defy change wherever possible: to hold on to elements of tradition and convention—societal or personal—even when those things don’t necessarily serve us anymore, because the thought of leaving behind our previous perceived reality is too painful to consider.

We can also lean into change, embracing even the painful bits, knowing that if we take the reins we’ll be more likely to have some control over the next, new shape of things; not perfect control, but some control.

I think most of us (wisely) aim for a middle ground between these two extremes.

Changing everything all at once can be tricky to navigate and can leave us feeling ungrounded and rudderless.

Clinging to existing standards and habits because they are comfortable, known quantities can keep us from achieving our potential.

The right balance isn’t a straightforward formula, and most of us will intuitively opt for different spots on the larger spectrum. We can choose to aim for other locations on that spectrum, though, and at times it will be prudent to do so, even if it doesn’t come naturally to us.

Right now, you may be best served by taking a good, long look at the many facets of your life and figuring out which should be tweaked or changed, and which might best serve as points of stabilization, consistency, and comfort.

Seeing yourself as an entity that is naturally in constant flux, though, and as someone who is ever-evolving—whatever that might mean for you in practice—will almost certainly help you think through your potential next-steps with wide-open eyes, a fair bit of curiosity, and a good amount of enthusiasm for whatever comes next.