There's also our alternate life form, eggs and sperm. The male Sapiens makes independently alive master copies of himself every day, more than twenty million short-lived sperms that wiggle on their own. He can ask, "Is that me?" They won't answer but it's still a good question. A couple admiring their newborn are busy saying "that's you" and "that's my Aunt Sophie" and so on.
Out of the surplus comes the glorious me, myself and I. I fancy to be the owner of it all but it's not clear that I even steer the glorious human thing-a-ma-jig. But I am up front, and am the best explanation for much culture, most science and enterprise. That's not exactly a soul, a spirit, an animus, an ego, an id, a personality, a psyche, but it's something and fun.
Not exactly a "soul". Not even remotely so. The memes of memory and action in my brain are like starlings in a stupendous flock. They look like a single living thing but are sorting out what to do next, one tiny bird-brain at a time, using the same sorting rules. The outcome is a wonderful, purposeful somebody, a.k.a. me.
Who's that other guy in the operating system, the one that dreams dreams? Our dream life has a 90 minute wave length and feels like "mine" but has its own rules. We have male and female people. We also have two kinds of me in the "RAM" zone of our brain, one that dreams, one that does. They are not even compatible which means the second daily erases the first to get along in society with other Sapiens "communities of agency".
Community of agency explains why males have done a sex assessment of breasts and fitness of every female they meet within 3 seconds while also "being themselves", treating men and women like themselves in culture, work and play. Somehow men and women treat each other both as selves and as mates in a blended way. The agencies differs but the behaviour blends.
Existential joke for philosophers:
"I just have two questions. Who am I and what is my basic problem?"