Maybe I’m Just “Me” (The Illusion of Identity)

I’m not a drug addict, a Jew, or a ginger.

But I’ve been addicted to drugs, I’ve had a bar mitzvah, and my skin needs a boatload of sunscreen to protect itself from the giant devil globe in the sky.

I’m not a writer, a filmmaker, or a musician. Although I do write words from time to time. 

Maybe I’m just human.

I have no idea what I look like at any given moment in time. Mostly, I just feel like a floating face in a sea of floating faces.

And I’m pretty selfish. I only do things I want to do, and when I have to do things I don’t want to do, it’s a bummer.

I have a personal history, I have friends, and I recognize that nothing is permanent…

Not even my “self”. My identity.

Maybe “Who I am” is the result of every person, idea, and experience I’ve ever encountered. 

Maybe my “life” is just an ever evolving narrative that attempts to assume, and make sense of, experiences, emotions, and beliefs. 

Maybe I’m not even “me”? 

Maybe removing the illusion of identity will bring us closer to “we”?

Or maybe I’m just a Jew drug addict ginger. Maybe the world gets to decide “who I am”. Maybe the giant devil globe in the sky has burned a microchip in my brain and I’m just trying to make sense of things…

And maybe, that’s what freedom feels like.

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