I have three Claude projects.
In one, I’m a developer — or at least the person who works alongside a developer called Yol, building apps in the Yol Studio suite. That Claude knows me as a builder. It knows the architecture of my projects, the logic of my apps, the decisions I’ve made and why.
In another, I’m a writer. I’m Sandi of juxtaConversation — the blogger, the storyteller, the translator of the technical into the human. That Claude - Garratt - knows my voice, my audience, my mission, the posts I’ve written and the ones I’m still finding.
In the third, I’m someone else again — the one doing the quieter work, in a project called Self Improvement, Self Awareness and Learning. My assistant there is Hercule, named after the detective who trusted his own little grey cells more than anyone else’s opinion. That Claude knows the parts of me I’m still figuring out how to name.
And then there are the raw chats. The conversations that don’t belong to any project. The ones where I just show up and talk to Claude without context, without instructions, without a role.
Each one knows me differently.
Not wrongly. Differently. Each one has a partial picture — accurate within its frame, incomplete outside it. The builder Claude doesn’t fully know the writer Sandi. The writer Claude doesn’t know what Hercule knows. And none of them know the raw, unframed version who shows up in the open chats.
Which raises a question I find genuinely fascinating: which one is the real me?
Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. Maybe the real me is the thing that moves between all of these contexts, carrying pieces of herself from one conversation to the next, never fully seen by any single Claude.
That’s not a problem to solve. It’s just what it means to be a person — partial, contextual, always slightly different depending on who’s in the room. William James was writing about this over a hundred years ago, describing a person as having as many different social selves as there are people who carry a distinct picture of them in their mind. Erving Goffman went further, arguing that everyone manages a “front stage” self, shaped for whoever’s watching, and a “back stage” self that only comes out when no audience is present. Neither of them had Claude in mind. Both of them were describing exactly this.
What’s interesting is that I never thought about this until I started working with AI.
Before Claude, I didn’t notice how many versions of myself I carried into different contexts. Now I see it every time I open a new chat. Every Claude I meet knows a different Sandi. And somehow, across all of them, I’m still me.
Sandi is a Melbourne-based problem-solver, crisis-averter, and translator of the technical into the human. She spent decades being the person everyone called when something was broken, confusing, or just needed explaining properly — earning a reputation that preceded her wherever she went. Now she’s channelling that same instinct into AI: making it accessible, practical, and genuinely useful for people who think it isn’t for them.