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  • When you're born, you are vague. You don't have an identifiable identity. You don't make sense to anybody. In essence, you are a forgettable formless blob.

    As the early years progress, these distinct qualities in your youness start to emerge, like a sculptor chipping away at a block. The sculptor carves an arm and a leg out of the block. You get to use the arm and the leg to hobble around the world, and let other, less sculptural people chip away at you. Some people end up with tentacles, hooves, or wings. Some people get horns. You never know what the world is going to chip out of you. But at a certain point, you start to direct the chipping. You decide which people chip at you, and you decide what kind moving parts you want. Those parts do specific things. And then they grow. And then you're not vague.

    I've let a lot of people chip me into the person I hope to be. I have a lot of little legs to stand on. I'm ready for a leg or an antler or a feather to get big.
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