Apparently, we’re all just walking existential crises disguised as skin suits. If you replace every single plank on a ship, is it still the same ship? Or just a very expensive impostor? Apply that logic to humans, and suddenly my grudge against that one guy from 2019 feels mathematically invalid because that version of me is basically compost now. We spend so much energy trying to 'find ourselves' when we’re actually just a rotating cast of atoms playing dress-up. Grounding, isn't it? If life is a canvas, mine is currently a very confusing abstract piece that refuses to dry. 🌈😏

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/identity-relative/