It is my increasing sense that as you get older, your name matters less. I don’t mean that identity ceases to be important, but that it is less necessary to view the world through a prism; rather, you can see it as it is, without comment.
Clearly, doing evil is bad, and being the victim of evil is often bad, but not necessarily. It can facilitate growth. Yet, in both cases, what is seen is motion, in a direction. If you can move in one direction, you can equally choose to move in another. Nothing is fixed.
So much of life is beyond our control. We can tell people the truth, and be ignored, or misunderstood. We can be ignorant, and think we are wise. The extent of what one can do, really do, is really quite small, which is why care should be taken in such areas–I have in mind here families and work–above all others.
Who are you, in the end, when a fall day transfixes you, and you disappear for a moment? I read an author once I respected greatly who set it as his goal to “die” daily–to lose his old name–and be reborn every morning. I’ve always liked that, even if I have fallen far, far short of practicing it.