“This house is not my home. This city is not my home. This state is not my home. This country is not my home. This continent is not my home. This world is my home.”
I used to wonder where I belonged; what group did I fit in? Am I American? Am I German? Am I white? Am I just a guy? Am I human? Am I an Earthling? I work in finance, am I a young professional? I like sports, am I a jock? I exercise and am relatively fit, am I an athlete? I like watching movies, am I a film buff? I like indie rock music, am I a hipster? I read comics and wear glasses, am I a geek? I think I’m pretty smart, am I a nerd? I have an X-Box, am I a gamer? I like to create, am I an artist? I put my own needs first, am I selfish? I’m completely honest, am I an asshole? I understand electronic devices, am I a tech guy? I know how to manipulate words, am I a poet? Am I an introvert? I like alone time. Am I an extrovert? I’m meeting new people on this trip. Am I a Scorpio? I was born in early November. Am I a bastard? My parents weren’t married and I’ve never met my father. Am I damaged goods? I had an alcoholic abusive step father. Am I a beer snob? I understand the differences between types of beer and refuse to drink cheap stuff. Am I poor? I live paycheck to paycheck. Am I rich? I make enough to enjoy the things I want in life. Am I privileged? I’ve worked hard for everything I have and never accepted hand outs. Am I a punk? I have tattoos. Do I fit in anywhere? Or am I unique? Should I want to fit in anywhere? Am I doing everything wrong? Am I the only one doing things right? Do any of these questions matter? Or do all of these questions matter? Am I supposed to have those answers? Do any of these things make me who I am?
All of these things make me who I am.