Someone at work said to me yesterday, “but you’re not even American.” She’s right, by some limited definition I am not. I have lived in the USA for six years. I have an American birth abroad certificate and a social security number. I pay taxes. I voted. I love America. What makes someone American? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a difference. This is an issue of humanity. What she was implying was that because I’m Australian I shouldn’t or don’t need to care. Caring is not something we limit to our homelands. I’ve lived and loved and cared in a lot of different places. We’re all here, in this world. Someone else asked me if I identify with being American, I said I identify with being a human. We’re all here, on this planet. None of this started on Tuesday. On a fundamental level, the questions have always been the same. Who are we? What do we fear? How do we best spend our always-almost-ending moments on this planet? The greatest blessing of Tuesday is now we’re talking about things we weren’t talking about before. Now we’re paying attention. We’re speaking up and we’re crying out. I am on board with my favorite thinkers and artists and writers when they talk of a revolution, when they say this is it. While I wish I could do something bigger than post a selfie, I can’t, because I honestly don’t know what that would be. I hope to figure it out. I hope what I have to give is something beyond my comprehension. In the meantime, this is the best I can do, to continue what I started. I will keep taking pictures of myself to try to understand why we take pictures of ourselves. To hopefully find out what is underneath it, and then what’s underneath that. I will keep up my personal revolution of exploring who I am, so maybe while I’m over here looking at me, you will look at you. And maybe together we’ll create answers.