One thing we all have in common is the certainty that we are all different.
You like the certainty of being different, yet despise those who themselves are different—but we all do.
You like the choices you’ve made, you like all the things that distinguish you, yet hate and feel frightened of what others have chosen, and threatened by what distinguishes them—but we all do.
You like your identity—but we all do.
You like what it means to be married or unmarried, to have been educated here or there, to live in one place rather than another, to have children or to not have them—but we all do.
You like what it means to like this and dislike that, you like your opinions, you like to hold so much close and dismiss so much else by how you talk, dress, look, act, and are—but we all do.
You like what it means to love and to despise, to be certain, to be proud, to say what and who you are, and how everybody would be better off if they were the same as you—but we all do.
You like what it means to believe that everyone else is wrong, mistaken, or at the very least odd, peculiar, or simply different—but we all do.