Do I have a choice?

If I really wanted to, I could work myself into a funk. And into a state of depression. But I don't want to. However, if I were an actor and the part called for me to play a very despondent man, I think I could do it. By actually feeling the role. By living it. I'd hate to do it. Because it could take a heavy personal toll. But I suspect fine actors do it. That's their profession. And they make a sacrifice. Makes me wonder if we can be what we want to be. At least by learning to play the role. And maybe really fitting into it some day. Take me, for instance. I want to be a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. I think that's what I am. Now, is that my imagination? Or is it real? What came first, the chicken or the egg? I think I became what I am before I consciously identified myself. It's no act. But if I decided tomorrow to become a melancholic being, it'd be an act. I'd have to pretend. But I might well feel depressed. Makes me think I have a choice. Or am I what I am because I have no choice? --Jim Broede