Writer's Fallout Shelter

You and I don't have the same faults, but people in general do. Two people are different. Two groups of people will nearly always be similar, at least if you look where it matters. I meant 'we' writers are no different than people from any other demographic one could name.

By many standards I am a 'writer.' So, I suppose, if tomorrow I put down the pen and started to tend lawns for a living; then I would cease to be this creature you call a 'writer' and spontaneously transform into this creature you call a 'gardener.' Would my friends still recognise me? "Hey, don't you know, it's me." "No it isn't. Our friend was a writer, and you're so obviously a gardener." What if I was stripped of any means to write, but still yearned, with all my heart, to write. Would I still be this 'writer' thing? What if I thought of myself as a writer? What if, when I pictured myself, the word "WRITER" sprung up in big neon letters? You speak of 'rights' to call yourself these things, and treat the quality of being a 'writer' as if it was some big exclusive club, where one must be carefully judged before one gets in. How good is the writing? How much per week? Only four hours? Sorry, but you need to log in at least six to be given the label 'writer.'

and on and on.

Most of this is rhetorical, and I don't expect an answer. I just mean to illustrate that this question is as complex and deep as the question 'who am I.' There are, of course, notable exceptions. There is the technical legal definition of 'writer,' but that has specific definitions of what is considered a writer. Without clear boundries and definitions then you can't say for sure what a writer isn't, because you don't really know what a writer is.

So the Pope led a pious life. Good for him. I think it's a terrific thing to do. So what does he want, a medal? (Not speaking of any pope in particular, mind.) So he studies a lot. I study. Lots of people study, longer and harder than either of us. Simply because the pope's preferred texts happen to give him access to this special club doesn't make him somehow superhuman. So he was voted in, by a group of people just as fallible and alone as all other people are. You know what a cardinal is? You guessed it. A person, just like any other, who happens to wear red. If the cardinals don't tell anyone who is pope, and the newly elected pope wears normal clothes, then is he the pope? What this guy, the normal-seeming guy, tells you he's the pope? Would you really believe him? What if he doesn't know he's the pope? What if someone pretended to be the pope, and everyone believed him?

Clothes and labels are superficial, and shedding them is as easy as saying "I quit." As easy as inaction, which is among the easiest things to do known to man. As easy as trying to hurt someone, or trying to steal something. As easy as changing clothes. After all is said and done, I am still me, a concept, an idea, as ineffable and unchangable as existance itself. And the words writer, scholar, scientist, gamer, reader, teacher, son, brother, friend, and even truthseeker, have nothing to do with it. This thing that is 'me' cannot be given, taken, or changed. I am me, no matter what.