When you’re young,
you look for something to worship,
you find a uniform,
adopt an identity,
become a noun.
Then you rebel;
you resent not having your own identity,
you are suicidally disgusted with yourself
for exuberantly accepting a generic mystique.
And when you finally try to be unique,
most of your energy is spent criticising others
because it is easier to define what you are not
than what you are.
Eventually you grow tired of identity jockeying,
and realize there is nothing to be gained
from judging anything other than your own progress.
And you regret a lifetime of misspent energy.
