By what measure do we decide that a person “is” something? Does it require a certain amount of time invested, or can one simply immerse themselves so wholly in their endeavor, that they become the archetype, however brief? When am I worthy of calling myself a philosopher, a scientist, a martial artist? Is there a more perturbing truth rippling beneath the surface? Why do we so fiercely seek to define ourselves? Why do we need titles? Is being simply not enough? Until we achieve a certain measure of worth in some task, invest a predefined limit of time in something, are we simply a husk of human?
A blank canvas’ worth is measured in it’s probability of possibility.
Laboratory of Mind 