Who am I?

I had a lovely talk with one of my friend from high school the other day.  We talked about everything from my crazed happiness at owning The Hunger Games to the recent and very sad death of a young man we both know.

As I am entering the “real world,” I realize more and more my life and the course of it seems strikingly different from those around me.  I have no hometown.  I couldn’t choose a favorite food if my life depended on it.  No, I don’t think it’s odd to hope for Narnia when I open wardrobes.  No, I do not want a 9 to 5 job.

But on the flip side, I am realizing just how much all humans are a like.  We are–more or less–stupid, selfish creatures trying to make some sort of infinite impression in an existence that is most definitely finite.  We come and go–working, studying, eating, drinking, having sex–and most of us are content to be part of the status quo.

I am not one of those people.

I look at the world and think, “By God, I hope I can make things just the slightest bit better in this fucked up world.”

I think my definition of who I am is no longer an answer to a list of questions that can be answered with a “yes” or “no” or even deep philosophical questions.  Who I am is defined as who God made me to be and who I choose to be.

As Dr. Seuss wrote: “Today you are You, that is truer than true.  There is no alive who is Youer than You.”


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