I’m 53 years old. Or so I’ve been told. This idea of time is so arbitrary. The earth orbits the sun every 365 days. A day is 24 hours, but the actual time required for the earth to rotate once is about 23 hours and 56 minutes. We have leap days, and leap years, and we still think that our birthday happens on the same day of the year, every year. Happily, we’re able to make it all fit so that we can have a civilization.
I have an identity. My identity changes with respect to the roles I play. I am an animal, a mammal, a human, a man, a husband, a father, an employee, and a writer. My body is composed of 10 trillion cells, and not all of them have my DNA. It is convenient that they all manage to cooperate together, for today.
My name is Scott. That was given to me by my parents, and people have found some utility in saying that word to get my attention. Most times, it works.
But my name is not who I am. It is only a marker, a reference. My name doesn’t even come close to describing who I am. That’s why I introduce myself a certain way:
My name is Scott.
Not:
I am Scott.
But for the people who know me, when they read or hear my name, they associate everything they know about me with my name.
