When I began blogging, I introduced myself to the world with a story of drugs, drinking and going to jail.

As time goes on, I’m less able to identify with that autobiography. Rather than describing who I was, I wrote about who I wasn’t. Doing this was an attempt to separate myself from a time in my life that I was ashamed of. But by defining myself as the foil of my former self, rather than dissociating from the past, I’ve only strengthened that connection. Just as there needs to be a Heaven for there to be a Hell, without that connection to the past, I wouldn’t be me.

I refuse to continue defining myself by the mistakes of my past … but now I’m left wondering, “Who am I?”

As I ponder this question, the less I feel any type of description would be adequate. Whatever I’d write would undoubtedly be irrelevant only moments later, for life is dynamic and change is the only thing that’s certain. I cannot define myself by my actions, my interests, my travels, or the things I own. It’s true that these things might begin to paint a picture of my life, but they fail to explain the person I am. I’m more than the sum of my actions.

But who?

And who are you?