Before he died in 1972, Henry de Montherlant said,
“It is through chance that, from among the various individuals of which each of us is composed, one emerges rather than another.”

But Henry was wrong. It is not through chance that one of our identities emerges from the multitude of selves within us. It is geography that causes one face to move forward and the others to fade.

I am in Tulsa today.

In Austin I am a 52 year-old intellectual, a New York Times bestselling author, the chancellor of a business school, a person of distinction.

But I am in Tulsa today.

We drive past the steel shop where I began working 30 hours a week when I was 15.  I see the spot where an uppercut from an Irishman lifted me off my feet and landed me on my back the following year. Here’s where a crazed policeman handcuffed me and pushed me around at 17 to impress a woman that was riding in his car. There’s the auction house where I hauled furniture on Thursday nights so I could buy an engagement ring for Pennie.

I am in Tulsa today.