Me, myself, and I.
And my brain.
Oh, my brain.
My brain bashed through a car windshield in 1983.
Am I my brain?
Or the stories my brain makes up about my brain.
Am I my body?
Am I my lack of a ripped six-pack?
Or the stories my brain makes up about my lack of six-pack?
Am I my mind?
Whatever I come up with seems incomplete.
What's the motivation behind the thoughts, words, and actions?
What's the point of it all?
To help people?
To have fun?
To have fun while helping people?
That seems like a good place to start.