I am not

I am Scott "Q" Marcus, whomever - or whatever - that is. Despite my belief that I think I know who I am, I admit to periodic doubt.

One thing of which I am certain however, is I am not a number.

Uncountable intertwined characteristics and traits make me "Me." On the simplest level, I am human, gender: male. I, with a couple billion of my closest friends, arrived on this small, ocean covered, awe-inspiring, nurturing planet via a chaotic and organized chain of events stretching so far back in time, that the very concept of that many millennia is beyond ability to imagine - even though I am gifted at imagining incredible things. I am a miracle of nature, a product of creation. I am: Life.

I am NOT a number.

I am a father and a husband. In our society, at this instant in history, those titles foster responsibilities ranging from the important: leaving a better world for our children (we're not performing well with that currently); to the mundane: I must shave every day (except weekends if my wife doesn't object).

I am a thinking, analytical soul. In my mind, I can articulate important concepts and - once in a while, when I'm very fortunate - even inspire others. Trillions of sparks criss-cross the synapses of my brain, flickers of my thoughts: the fate of the universe; the state of the nation; the choices on television.

I have philosophies, beliefs, and values. With those as guideposts, I have developed a roadmap that I presume (and pray) will lead me well to wherever is my final destination. From time to time I stumble and fall, to date always rising yet again. Therefore, I apparently must be determined, sometimes downright stubborn. Yet, I am also confused and wise, excited and bored, happy and sad, loving and lost, frightened and brave, teaching and taught, leader and follower, almost always - hopeful. All of these descriptors, words, and adjectives, are accurate in their portrayal of me, as are numerous others.

But I never describe myself via numerals. Neither does anyone else.

When friends greet me, they do not shake my hand, grasping warmly my shoulder, and say, "Hey 179, how are ya?" Instead, we hug, the warmth of his or her body held close to mine in a loving embrace. It is my name, not a number, spoken affectionately by someone about whom I deeply care.

They do not call to me by what shows on the morning scale.

I am not described as "179," "187", or - during particularly painful periods of my life - "250." My value, who I am, what I do, my legacy, does not fluctuate with the number of pounds reflected by what I ate nor by how many miles I jogged. That one number, my weight, although a description of a single, visible, component of WHAT I am, is virtually insignificant in the grand scale of WHO I am and what I am capable of accomplishing.

We are far more astounding than what any number, anywhere could ever make known.