I see myself in people everywhere here.
I once commented to Danny Renny, a colleague of mine, “You know, I’ve got quite an imagination. I can make up all sorts of torturing scenarios in my head and then I really believe them.”
I then asked him, “Is that an Irish thing?”
Danny, who is from Ireland, replied fervently, “Oh my god.”
So as we walk through these streets of Dublin, I can’t help wondering what it means to be Irish. I do have Irish blood and apparently lots of it. But I also have english blood and german blood. So who am I, really? What characteristics does one take on from ancestry. If cells truly have individual memory apart from brain cells, then could my cells that share DNA with my distant ancestors, be contributing to the characteristics of who I am today? Could I be having some of the same exact thoughts that some of my ancestors thought, say, 100 years ago?
J.W. Croker wrote in 1808 that the Irish are “restless yet indolent, shrewd and indiscreet, impetuous, impatient, and improvident, instinctively brave, thoughtlessly generous, quick to resent and forgive offenses, to form and renounce friendships.”
Anyone who knows me well would probably concur with this as a pretty accurate description of me, actually. But then again, doesn’t it describe most of us?
People are such amazing conglomerates of genes and DNA and we’re so influenced by the movement of the planets, the weather, and the events, it’s hard to tell what it is exactly that makes us who we are. 
Still, it’s always fun to think about the possibilities of who it is you may be sharing ideas, thoughts, or emotions with as you search for yourself through the streets of where it is your people came from.
Your observations are so interesting because recently we traveled to Oklahoma City for a highschool reunion. I haven’t lived in the state for 36 years, or the city for over 46. Still, as we walked in the Bricktown area (which used to be called the slums and is now quite upscale–my Father used to threaten us with “…do you want to end up on Reno Street?”) and drove into what has become the rough and tough inner city, and although there have been major changes to the city’s face, I thought so many times that I was seeing people I knew–familar in some vague way. The only explanation is that many of the people we encountered are the descendants of those I grew up with and knew as my neighbors.
I do believe in what you describe–called by some, “racial memory.” And I do believe that’s why I kept thinking, and sometimes asking if, I knew people from somewhere else. Here’s what I don’t believe–I don’t believe I share the politics of 90% of Oklahomans, including my family of origin. I also know I don’t believe in the twerp who shattered the window of our van, at high noon, on Sunday, at Will Rogers Park, in OKC, and stole my purse. Here’s hoping, with lots of my identity info, he doesn’t believe he’s me!
Sorry he stole your purse, Mom. That’s why I rarely leave my purse in the car. He wasn’t just a twerp, Mom. He was, no doubt, a junkie.
Hope you had a good time at your reunion, nevertheless.