Somewhere inside of every person I've met is a screaming desire to be identified, as if no amount of behavior could ever truly identify a soul. We flock to personality tests like flies to carrion. To christian living books like clouds of minnows beneath the surface of the water. No matter our behavior, our lives, our goals, aspirations, or desires, we still crave someone else to tell us how to do it. Where is identity? It lies only in others. All of us crave to be intimately exposed, harshly realized, violently known. To have our skin torn away and our flesh peeled back to release what squirms desperately behind mortal visage. Tell me how to live. Tell me how to be. No matter what I choose, it is insufficient.

Define the masculine identity. I dare you.