Consider sailors facing offshore knockdowns or transiting inlets with breaking waves. For me, that knockdown occurred aboard a friend’s Pearson (named Sauvage) while I helmed her offshore in big seas and fierce winds. My bad steering and our main sail control device caused Sauvage to roll severely onto her side. Fortunately, an instinctive response on both our parts quickly put her back on her feet with only damage to our pride and underwear.

Such frightening, awe-inspiring, experiences indelibly shape sailors’ future performance. Surviving these challenges hones skills that can be called upon again, proving the undeniable effect of experience.

The idea of a stable, immutable “self” is seductive, offering comfort in a chaotic world — a fixed “I” untouched by life’s triumphs and tragedies. This manifests in phrases like “I’m just not that kind of person,” or “That’s just the way I am.” However, this perspective is a comforting fiction that collapses under neurological, psychological and philosophical scrutiny. We are, inescapably, the sum total of our life experiences; our identity is not a sculpture but a river, continuously shaped by and meandering through every event from birth to death.

Biologically, the brain is not a pre-wired, static organ but a dynamic landscape sculpted by neuroplasticity. Every sensation, learned fact, emotional shock (including knockdowns!), and practiced skill physically alters the brain’s structure. Synapticconnections strengthen with repetition, new neural pathways are forged in learning, and unused connections wither away. The New York City Uber driver who memorizes the city’s labyrinthine streets develops a larger hippocampus. The violinist who practices for decades has a motor cortex tailored to their fingers’ movements.

Traumatic experiences can rewire the amygdala and prefrontal cortex, leaving lasting imprints on fear response and emotional regulation. The brain does not merely process experience; it becomes its experiences. To suggest a core self exists independently of this ever-changing substrate is to advocate for dualism — a “ghost in the machine”— that modern neuroscience does not support.

Psychologically, experience is equally definitive. Foundational theories of developmental psychology that I recall from an undergraduate elective, from Piaget’s cognitive stages to Erikson’s psychosocial stages, are built on the premise that we are constructed through our interactions with the world. A child consistently nurtured and encouraged develops trust and autonomy; one criticized or neglected may internalize shame or self-doubt.

These are not preordained traits but forged conclusions from countless micro-interactions. Our beliefs, values and prejudices are not downloaded at birth. They are absorbed from parents, culture, friends, and media. A person raised in a homogeneous community may hold certain assumptions, radically challenged and reshaped when exposed to new people and places. The “self” holding those initial assumptions is fundamentally altered by new experience, proving our worldview is not a fixed lens but a collage assembled from everything we have sensed.

A simple thought experiment illustrates this: Imagine identical twins separated at birth. Genetically indistinguishable, they possess the same raw potential. One is raised in a stable, intellectually stimulating home, the other in poverty and instability. To claim their “core selves” would be the same is absurd. One might become a confident academic, the other a resilient survivor, their personalities, aspirations, fears, and cognitive patterns diverging dramatically based solely on their lived histories. Their identities are products of their distinct journeys.

The counterargument points to temperament or genetic predispositions. It’s true we are not blank slates; we enter the world with certain biological wiring. An infant may naturally be more introverted or irritable. But temperament is not destiny, it is the raw material upon which experience works. A cautious temperament, met with supportive parenting, may develop into a prudent adult. The same temperament instead shaped by trauma could solidify into anxiety. Genetic predisposition is the seed, but experiences are the soil, sun, rain and storms that determine the tree’s final form.

Clinging to the fallacy of an immutable self is intellectually dishonest and existentially limiting. It allows us to abdicate responsibility for our own growth with excuses like, “I can’t change who I am,” or, “What does something from decades ago matter?” It fosters prejudice by essentializing others, seeing flaws or differences as inherent rather than products of unique journeys. Conversely, embracing the idea that we are our experiences is empowering and humbling. It means we are never finished. Every new book, conversation, failure, and act of courage participates in the creation of who we are becoming.

We are walking histories. Every memory, scar, lesson learned and joy felt is a thread woven into the tapestry of our identity. To claim there is a “true self” hiding behind this tapestry is to miss the point the tapestry itself is the self. We are not statues revealed by the chisel of experience; we are the cumulative layers of the chisel’s marks. Our life experiences are not merely events we pass through; they are the very substance from which we are made.

To believe otherwise is to ignore the beautiful, relentless, and ongoing construction that becomes “us.”

erialJohn Cronin is a Shelter Island Reporter columnist.

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But I don’t always look on the bright side. To be honest, when things turn to worms, my immediate reaction is to stomp and slam cupboard doors, cursing my bad luck and snapping at the nearest living thing — any person, animal or even plant. (Though I do try to be nicer to my plants, because unlike people or pets, they don’t snap back.)

However, after I get that initial reaction out of my system, I default to the “bright side.” Things have turned to a bucket of worms? Good. Let’s go fishing. Life gave me lemons? Yay, let’s make lemonade.

That’s what happened in the IGA parking lot while talking with a friend. I heard the squawks of dozens of seagulls and,of course, I looked up. When I looked at my friend to say, “Don’t look up!” a seagull, or perhaps seven, let loose. On me. Direct hit. Hair, back, front, head to toes. People tried to help me but all that stuff does is smear. I drove home, cursing the whole way, wrapped in IGA grocery bags and threw out those clothes on my way to the shower.

How is there a bright side to being a target of an aerial poop bomb? Because it could have been worse. Way worse. Just a splitsecond before the assault I was gazing upward, mouth open, talking. Are you picturing it? Obviously, that’s the target they were going for. But the lemon-icing on the bird splat is that my friend bought me a souvenir T-shirt covered with fake seagull droppings. Yay me!

Often, when I force myself to look on the bright side, things turn out better than I’d ever expect, or dare I say deserve, which is what happened with me and Bruce Springsteen. Yes. That Bruce Springsteen.

He was on his “Born to Run” concert tour, and we got free tickets through Coecles Harbor Marina because Billy Joel was their customer. After a threeplus- hour drive to the Meadowlands, we were to grab our tickets at will-call. Since the tickets were free, I was expecting nosebleed seats, but that was okay because, Bruce plus Free equals Jackpot! But “Yay me!” turned into a bucket of worms real fast when our tickets were not at will-call. And the show was sold out, which was probably a blessing because even the cheap seats were hundreds of dollars.

Who knows if it was name-dropping “Coecles Harbor” or “Billy Joel,” but after a few minutes we were handed off to a lady with a clipboard and a walkie-talkie who said, “Follow me.” I wiped my tears and we followed as she led us not up, but down, down, down, to the rows of seats in a dark area behind the stage. By then I was sputtering, “Forget this! Let’s go home!”

My companion tried to calm me by saying, “Calm down!” (In recorded history, when has saying “Calm down!” ever worked?)

I tried though, telling myself that the bright side was a nice ride from Shelter Island to New Jersey. And back. Yay me.

And just like that, things got brighter as we followed Miss Walkie-Talkie past the back of the stage to the floor level, finally stopping in the high-rent district, at two front-row seats just feet from the stage. So close I could look up Springsteen’s nose and by the end of the concert, when he was drenched and spraying sweat, it landed right on me. I kid you not. I could have reached out and touched his boot if it wasn’t for the mean-looking security guard who was already keeping an eye on me. What started out as a bummer turned into a great night.

A more recent “bright side” event happened last month after I’d donated a purse to a thrift shop. I’d swing through every week and it bothered me enormously to see it still there, forlorn and rejected by other thrifters. Finally, I paid the stinking $5 and bought it back. So what’s the bright side of that, paying again for a purse I didn’t want and no one else did either?

Tucked inside was a hundred-dollar bill I’d forgotten that I’d stashed into the deepest pocket when I bought the purse (the first time). Yay me! Of course, my “bright side” cheated some other thrifter out of their “Yay me!” moment, but come on, they had three weeks.

If there’s a lesson here, I guess it’s to try to always look on the bright side. And also in the deepest pockets.

Joanne Sherman is a Shelter Island resident and longtime contributor to Times Review Media Group.

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New Year’s Eve lived up to its name as Amateur Night for those drinking before they turned pro. But it was also a nightmare of people from Omaha coming to New York to see the ball drop and thinking a yellow cab was some kind of tour bus where a friendly driver with amusing patter would show them the sights.

Still, you did make good money, even if it produced cabbie PTSD that could last into March. 

About Thanksgiving, I should have listened to my friend Donahoe, a former cabbie who scored a job as a police photographer. Low man on the totem pole, he was assigned the 4 p.m. to midnight tour one Thanksgiving, shooting mugs in the basement of the precinct house. “The usual parade of skells and knuckleheads, but now and then there’d be a regular person standing with the height numbers behind him, looking at the camera like he was about to be hanged,” Donahoe said. “A cousin, who’d been invited by some family member who thought he’d finally make up with a relative he hadn’t talked to in years — and who hated him. But too many cocktails and it started all over again. Fistfights and, you know, at Thanksgiving you have those big serving forks? And knives? It was awful, these guys in nice clothes with blood on their shirts, asking me what came next, you know? What could I tell them?”

Mary and I got married in August and on Thanksgiving, figuring we could use the money and then have a long weekend, we had the meal and did the family thing before I went to work.

There were just a few guys waiting for cabs to come in off the day line when I took a seat on the bench next to Fitz. He was an old guy who was one of the great raconteurs. Everybody — from the young Black, Latino and white guys to the old cabbie wizards — talked and listened to him.

Fitz was an immigrant who came to America as a young man and achieved the dream. He started out selling insurance and worked up to running his own agency in Queens, getting married and starting a family.

But then he lost it all, through years of betting on slow-running horses. Coming to his senses at rock bottom, he got help and started over, driving a cab. He helped some other guys in the garage to find help.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he greeted me. “Get out of here. Don’t you have a home to go to?”

I told him I’d heard it was a good night to work. Lots of happy and generous people splurging on cabs. Plus, all the restaurant workers and everyone else punching clocks on Thanksgiving would be ready to treat themselves by hailing a cab home.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Fitz said, and told me a story.

One Thanksgiving afternoon, he got a fare 20 minutes out of the garage on Park Avenue, an elderly man, holding a bouquet of two dozen roses, dressed in a three-piece suit, a camel’s hair topcoat, leather gloves and a jauntily angled fedora.

“The smell of those flowers in the cab,” Fitz said. “The smell of money.”

The old gentleman gave him an address in Little Falls, N.J. Any trip beyond the city limits automatically meant the fare would be doubled.

“I told him about double the meter and he knew all about it. I thought, ‘I’m gonna be rich tonight, mining gold in Jersey.’ ”

The dapper old gentleman was going to his brother’s, he said. He and Fitz chatted about Thanksgiving, covering everything from the proper way to cook a turkey to whether the Lions had a chance against the Packers. “He directed me to Little Falls and then started to direct me through the streets,” Fitz said. “It was already dark when he said, real quiet, ‘Here. Here we are.’ ” It was a cemetery. The passenger directed Fitz in through the gates. “I saw him in my mirror slumped in the back, his face white as a sheet. Staring straight ahead.”

The passenger told Fitz to stop and wait for him, got out and climbed a hill with his bouquet, stopping at a grave. “After a while I could see his shoulders heaving,” Fitz said. The bouquet was hanging straight down from his hand, touching the ground. Fitz waited 20 minutes before he got out and went up to the man and put his hand on his shoulder. He had pulled himself together by then, putting the flowers on the grave, drying his eyes.

Back in the cab the man apologized, saying he was alone today — some kind of old family dispute — and had suddenly wanted to be with his only brother, who had been kind to him. He had somehow neglected to express his love for him when he was alive. “I’m alone and so is he,” the man said.

Fitz suggested a cup of coffee. “We went into a diner, sat and talked. He was a terrible old man, really,” Fitz said. “Tossed his life away by not paying attention to those nearest to him.” On Park Avenue the old gentleman paid the double fare. “And stiffed me on the tip,” Fitz said, with a smile.

“A real prince,” I said.

“Where’s the wife today?”

“Home,” I said.

“What are you doing here?” Fitz asked, his voice soft. “Do you have to work today?”

I took the subway home, and going down the hall to our apartment, I saw the light under the door.

It was then I realized I’d forgotten to ask Fitz why he was working on Thanksgiving. 

The post Guest Column: A working holiday appeared first on Riverhead News Review.

“Tell your sibling you’re sorry!”

Many parents have said this or a variation of it. It’s a parent’s early attempt at teaching a child to take responsibility for one’s actions and, as parents, of course, we all know that saying you’re sorry and feeling it may be very different. The latter is a more mature phase of human development.

Indeed, 100 years ago, Sigmund Freud developed the concept of the id, ego, and superego as a way of formulating personality structure. While many of his theories have been criticized and revamped over the years, the concept of an id, ego and superego remains a cornerstone of psychoanalytic thinking.

In a nutshell, the baby is born with an id, with only the interest of getting their basic needs met. Some needs may be survival-based (as in food or affection) and others may be pleasurebased (as in doing what they want). As the child grows and sees the world around them, reality sets in. This becomes the ego, a behavior system that understands that getting one’s needs met requires compromise, understanding of others and learning that certain behaviors will elicit negative responses.

Thus, telling your sibling you’re sorry is a reflection of a developing ego. But feeling actual remorse is the next phase, known as the superego. . In its most basic form, a superego is an internal sense of right and wrong — determined not by society or fear of punishment, but by its own personal barometer. The guilt that a parent may instill in a child becomes internalized, and a well-functioning adult is not driven by others’ condemnation, but by their own internal red light.

Unfortunately, this capability sometimes fails to develop. These people will not take responsibility for their behavior, and in not doing so tend to hurt those around them, whether they be family members, friends, or workplace associates. For these people, nothing is ever their fault. They find a way to blame everyone else for their own shortcomings, and most significantly, they do not seem to care if others are hurt by their actions.

Many of us know someone like this.. Some become criminals and others are manipulators who know how to find and hurt others. These people used to be the exception, but now they seem more prevalent.

These concepts made a lot of sense when I studied them in the 1970s. But it appears that in the 21st century, some of the old rules of right and wrong have blurred. Whereas feeling personal responsibility for wrongdoing was once held as an act of moral rectitude, more people now seem to view it as an act of weakness. This makes Freud’s theory less relevant.

In fact, some modern theorists are arguing that the traditional superego has been “emancipated,” allowing for a different standard of right and wrong. For example, psychoanalyst Janet Lieberman in her book “Clinical Evolutions and the Superego, Body and Gender in Psychoanalysis,” argues that there is a new superego where deception may go unpunished and greed and envy have increased. Technology has also changed the norms of what is considered acceptable behavior. While people used to be careful in how they spoke to each other, now it’s a free-for-all. In short, formerly accepted rules of integrity seems to be changing. And the old concept of guilt, that superego regulator, has now shifted to blame.

So, in this meaner world, how do you raise kids with a well-functioning superego? We want them to be kind, but we also want them to survive. Raising good children has always taken work, but in this era, it’s more challenging than ever. And what does a parent do when other parents’ main concern for their children is winning — no matter what.

First, a parent must continue to own their values on what is right and wrong. The world may be getting meaner, but the only way to stop it is to not succumb. Find like-minded parents whose values are also to teach right from wrong. If there is a bully in the group, all the parents should stand with the victim. There can never be too many discussions about the importance of kindness. Learn from the teacher who the kind kids are and encourage these friendships. The kind kids may not be the cool kids, but hopefully through conversations and good judgment, the right choices will prevail.

Modeling anti-racist behavior (yes, that still matters) and making it clear that all children are welcome will instill the kinds of values that make for a better community. Negativity heard in the home gets internalized. So does the ruthless winner-take-all attitude that has become so prevalent.

Once adolescence hits, that sweet child may become a stranger. Most important is to keep the lines of communication open. Teens often pretend they’re not listening, but in fact, they are. The old-fashioned values communicated in childhood may be rebelled against, but if that superego has developed, the rebellion will most likely be temporary.

Finally, back to taking responsibility for our actions. We all make mistakes and we all do bad things. Remember the adage that the cover-up is worse than the crime? Not owning up to bad behavior is worse. A healthy superego is never perfect. It knows right from wrong. And most importantly, it knows how to right a wrong.

Ms. Green is a social worker and co-chair of Shelter Island’s health and wellness committee.

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During our time spent with Leah at her home in Delaware, I often had to tell myself: I’m not with a child who’s dying, I’m with a child who’s struggling. A horrid struggle for so many reasons, including chemo treatments, steroids, pain, nausea, spinal taps, a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheterization) line (replaced by a port in her chest) and hair loss.

Shortly after her diagnosis, Leah asked a medical person on her team if she’d be losing her hair. At such a young age, I was surprised she was aware of that possibility. I was reminded that the year before, she grew her hair much longer than usual. Her goal was to donate to a group that makes wigs for kids who have lost their hair due to cancer treatments. We’ve got great pictures of her the day she donated 12 inches of her gorgeous hair.

Childhood cancer is devastating for the whole family. A parent may have no choice but to leave a job to be with their homebound child, causing financial hardship. Even the family car can become a source of stress, since it’s often needed to get to medical appointments. And if something happens and it needs repair, the child’s treatment schedule is at risk of being interrupted.

Siblings and other young relatives may not put into words their worries. In Leah’s case her brother, an empathic little guy, often cried if he saw his sister in pain. Whatever feelings her cousins might have been dealing with, they outwardly showed loving support.

The federal funding cuts by the Trump administration to universities mean research projects are disrupted. And we lose scientists. These losses may take decades to gain back, if ever.

Guns are the number one cause of our children in America dying, but the number one disease that takes their lives is cancer. Anyone with a speck of empathy and decency would be disturbed by those facts. I’d like to think no one needs to see a loved one struggle through cancer to be sickened over cuts to cancer research.

After two-and-a-half years of treatment and four surgeries, Leah, now 12, is cancer-free. She enjoys an active life: drama club, school government, playing viola and tennis, and preparing for her Bat Mitzvah in December.

For our country to be dismissive about the care of our most vulnerable is un-American, at least the America I’ve known before now. It’s also inhumane. We do not have the health and well-being of our children as a priority. Diminishing cancer research is yet another example of glaring cruelty and warped values.

If only we had political leadership as strong in character, smart and caring as Leah and so many of our country’s children.

Laurel resident Mary Ellen Tomaszewski has self-published two books of memoir essays, the most recent titled ‘Savoring Time.’

The post Guest Spot: Childhood Cancer: A month of awareness is not enough appeared first on Riverhead News Review.

You’re a young professional and you’re looking for a job. Who do you think will be across the table when you sit down for a job interview?

Matt Berentsen of Shirley, 27, was hoping for someone with whom he could discuss his ambitions, his experience, his questions about the job.

But for his interview, there was no one at all. There was only a blinking webcam and questions on a screen as an algorithm asked him to record every answer, the sound of his own voice echoing back at him.

Artificial intelligence is rapidly transforming the application process. While some businesses have retained a more traditional approach to hiring, many are beginning to adopt AI as a tool for making hiring decisions and vetting potential candidates.

This often means using AI to sort and rank applications in the initial hiring phase, determining who will get an automatic rejection and who is qualified to proceed to the next step of the process.

In some cases, such as with Mr. Berentsen, it means AI is being employed as a complete replacement for human interviewers, asking questions over a video screen while evaluating the responses by algorithmic criteria. A recent survey by the employment agency, Insight Global, found that 99% of hiring managers admitted to using AI during the hiring process, and the vast majority maintained that it improved hiring efficiency.

“You never get the chance to hit it off with somebody,” Mr. Berentsen said. “The qualifications can be great, but you also need to hire people who fit in, who mesh, who seem like they can hold a solid conversation.”

Stephanie Bak, 23, an event planner and recent MBA graduate from Stony Brook University, also said she worried AI would miss qualified candidates. “Hiring managers have already been using systems that sort resumes based on key words, so it does not surprise me that they are beginning to add AI to the process,” Ms. Bak said. “But I think management should be aware that by eliminating candidates without personally reading their resumes, they may be missing out on candidates with great potential.”

According to a survey conducted by the Pew Research Center in 2022, 66% of Americans would not want to apply for a job at a company that used AI for hiring decisions. Respondents questioned AI’s ability to judge “intangible” qualities such as personality, how one might fit into the social dynamics at work and judgments that require some human interaction.

“I am fine with AI judging if I meet the key criteria,” said Ronak Singh, 22, a recent Stony Brook graduate with a degree in applied mathematics, statistics and economics. “But in my opinion, every sentence [in an application] has emotional nuances that only a human is able to identify.”

Mr. Singh has another beef with AI hiring: “The storage of these resumes as sources of data by the AI system of those companies seems unethical to me.”

I’m a recent college graduate, and when I look at potential writing careers, I wonder if they will be viable in 10 years. Companies that used to look for writers are instead asking for people who will train AI to write for them.

It’s disorienting to adjust to the different demands of businesses in this current era: Some want candidates who can use AI for faster and more efficient writing, while others ban the use of AI entirely.

It feels like artificial intelligence is everywhere. Even on the job applications themselves, some employers ask if you want to opt in or out of being reviewed by a robot.

What’s a young graduate to do? Edward Fabian, an adjunct professor of tech innovations at Stony Brook University’s College of Business, has a thought: Try something oldfashioned.

“My suggestion is that more time should be spent networking,” he said. “My way around AI hiring is to form relationships and get to know people.”

Anna Pozamantir is a graduate of Riverhead High School and the University of Virginia.

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Last Tuesday in Riverhead, federal agents reportedly attempted to conduct an enforcement action without notifying the Riverhead Police Department — a departure from long-standing practice. This failure to coordinate not only puts local officers in unnecessary danger, it creates confusion and fear in the broader community, which is already on edge. The use of face masks and tactical gear, and the refusal to provide identification and proof of a judicial warrant — as RiverheadLocal reported was the case in this operation, and is reportedly the case around the county — is another dangerous development.

Although by the end of the day it was confirmed that the individuals were not in fact ICE, that it took Riverhead officials hours to confirm their identity speaks volumes to the dangers of such uncoordinated actions. One can imagine possible scenarios where criminals present themselves as federal agents to kidnap or rob unsuspecting civilians, or cases where local officers respond to a scene where civilians are in a confrontation with masked men in tactical gear and assault weapons without visible official identification. As police commissioners, we regularly discuss the importance of coordinating the activities of the various agencies who respond to crisis situations. On a daily basis, our law enforcement officers are forced to make split-second decisions that have lifelong consequences. We must all do our part to make their job easier and safer.

On Monday, June 9, the Southold Town Police Department reached out to local ICE representatives to request guidance on operations and tactics. As of Friday afternoon, we have yet to receive a response. That kind of silence in the face of direct outreach from local law enforcement is reckless and unacceptable.

I want to be crystal clear: We all fully support the removal of violent criminals from our community. But doing so must never come at the expense of due process, public trust and the rule of law. We must also never accept political violence.

These recent federal operations inflame already volatile situations, erode trust in government, and leave local agencies and governments scrambling to restore order and confidence. They are also not fair to the ICE agents and U.S. military personnel who are good people just trying to do their jobs and are being put in an increasingly dangerous position by a president who seems hell-bent on escalating an already dangerous situation.

Public safety depends on trust. It depends on the belief that law enforcement will uphold the rights of all individuals, follow proper procedures and act with transparency and accountability. These recent actions do the opposite.

I implore our federal partners to return to responsible, collaborative practices that respect both the role of local law enforcement and the civil rights of every person in our community, and I ask my local government colleagues to join me in doing so. As the $60 million civil judgment against Suffolk County for allegedly violating the civil rights of hundreds of immigrants who they held in county jails on ICE detainers during the first Trump administration shows, we can’t simply follow questionable federal legal guidance. We must all do our part to uphold the rule of law, protect the civil rights of all individuals, no matter their immigration status, and reject political violence. It is my firm belief that just as the co-equal branches of government are vital to the strength and longevity of our democracy, so is the active role of local governments in defending the rights of our community and the freedom of our friends and neighbors.

Mr. Doroski, a current member of the Southold Town Board, is running as a Democrat for a seat in the Suffolk County Legislature.

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