There is a tension in identity between every institution and its community: whether the institution sets itself up as the core of a collective identity, or whether the community shapes the institution's identity as a reflection of its diaspora.
As I began to grow up, I attempted to define myself -- this presence of "I" -- through endlessly collecting information. In this natural process of mental awareness inhabiting a body, I discovered a symphonic mandala of sometimes competing, sometimes complementing explanations.
Maybe you've only thought about "spring cleaning" in terms of straightening up and clearing out your physical space, but what about applying that same principle to the less tangible aspects of your world?
Reading a warning about identity theft, I had an epiphany: I could foist my identity on an unsuspecting cyber criminal. Perhaps Boris in Odessa. This way I could avoid the legal fees of personal bankruptcy. My mother's maiden name is Connell.
The "Real Mitt Romney," whoever he is and for however long he's with us, reveals that access to reality is sometimes based on fiction rather than fact. He also shows us that identities are understood best in terms of the stories we tell about who we are.
Recent news stories have announced as part of your ability to gain employment with some companies, perspective employers are demanding your Facebook password -- and now everyone thinks it's a big deal.
A rap song called "Lean Like a Cholo" came out a few years back. I wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or to just roll down my windows and blast it from my convertible Saab and sing, "elbows up, side to side, I lean like a Cholo.