. Am I someone? Or nobody?

Look at the math. When the planet held only a few thousand humans, one person was one in a thousand. Today, you are one in 7,400,000,000. Mathematically, none of us are very significant. How can we change that?

When I was a kid, I lived in a town of about 1400 people. Even so, being one in 1400 didn’t translate into identity. Sports were important in that town. My dad was a coach. I wasn’t good at baseball or basketball, so, I figured, what about track? If I can just put up with more discomfort, the discomfort of pushing harder than anyone else, then I can make a name for myself.

To my surprise, I wasn’t as good as I thought I was at tolerating discomfort. What next? Danger. I could get by doing things others were too afraid - or too wise - to do.

At the end of World War II, the .I.s who came back were lovingly welcomed. But, it was the boys in the town that came back as pilots that got lasting attention.

Source: Barrie Davis Photo

There was Billy Weltman who flew a P-38. Barrie Davis flew P-47s and P-51s. Ray Whitley also flew P-51s.

And so it came to be: Tom Bunn, fighter pilot, flying the most dangerous jet fighter ever produced. One out of every three F-100s built crashed. The plane killed more than 300 USAF pilots.

Did you notice that photo of a bunch of pilots in front of the jet fighter? Here it is again.

Source: USAF Photo

The jet in the background is the F-100. The pilots on either end of the back row were our instructors. The others in the photo are pilots who had just completed F-100 training. I'm circled on the right end of the front row.

There were thirteen of us in this graduating class. A year and a half later, only nine of us were still alive. And that was just peacetime! If you have the stomach for it, you can see what we were up against. As a cameraman was shooting a movie of planes landings at an Air Force base, a pilot attempting to land an F-100 made one of the many mistakes this plane was unforgiving of. The movie the cameraman shot is on YouTube at https://youtu.be/mZL0x-gEDM8

To try to put this into context, with the Cold War between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R., there was a need for a supersonic jet fighter. The first plane to fly supersonic was the Bell X-1. Chuck Yeager flew it faster than the speed of sound October 14, 1947.

The F-100, the second supersonic aircraft, was designed less than four years later. There were no intervening experimental supersonic aircraft. Thus, the F-100 was put into production long before the aerodynamics of supersonic flight were know well enough to build a safe supersonic aircraft. That has changed. The supersonic fighters being built now are quite sound. Flying, in general, has become remarkably safe.

When I got assigned to a squadron in Germany, I found out, as veteran F-100 pilots go, I was no better than average. That was a problem. One of the things that dogs fighter pilots is being number one. Every real fighter pilot claims he can outfly, outdrink, and outf**k every other fighter pilot. Unable to quite pull that off to my satisfaction, enter Tom Bunn, the race driver. As if flying F-100s wasn’t dangerous enough, I bought a Formula 3 Lola.

Now, if someone had told me at the time that I was trying to prove something, I would have told them they were wrong. I was just doing what I wanted to do. The truth is, I did enjoy it. When you climb into the world's most dangerous jet, fly it for an hour, and get a good landing (at 210 MPH), no one can touch you the rest of the day. You’re on cloud nine. As "Maverick" (Tom Cruise) said in the movie Top Gun, "I've got a need for speed!" Nothing matches the exquisite cocktail of and adrenaline - and drive to be the best in the world - that flying a fighter provides.

In an ongoing identity crisis, complete satisfaction comes rarely. It could be flying air-to-air combat practice and getting gun camera film of another guy in the squadron in your sights. Or, running a race against a field of racer elites and seeing the closest one in the pack in your rear view mirror. In spite of all this, what does it really matter? All the risk? What does it count for? Success in the identity game is empty.

Everyone on the planet has to deal with this problem of identity. You could try to win a Gold Medal at the Olympics. You could try to hit a record number of home runs. You could try a lot of things. But, most of the people in the world who try to be number one at some high visibility activity will not get there. If a person is driven, it's a desperate situation. And desperate situations call for desperate measures. When identity is lacking, and the need for identity is all-important, a person may do anything to gain celebrity. That can translate (not unlike being willing to do more dangerous things than others would do) into being - not just willing but eager to be - a bigger jerk than anyone else is willing to be.

Which brings us to . Identity politics. To have an identity that counts in this planet-wide identity crisis, one may need to become president. And under current identity crisis rules, there are no limits. Narcissism used to be a . Now, being a brings admiration and (just what a narcissist wants). And for a "flaming narcissist," nothing that generates publicity is too outrageous. Identity needs may require one to be more outrageous, obnoxious, offensive, etc. than anyone else is willing to be.

Here is the really interesting question. Why does anyone admire such a celebrity? Why does anyone want to be like them? The answer is simple. People who lack identity gain a sense of selfhood by identifying with celebrity.

Picture this. You, like everyone else, face this identity problem. You strive. You are going to “make something of yourself.” But, you fail. Failure is a bitter pill. If the pill is too bitter to swallow, the lack of identity can be completely erased by aligning ones self - merging your identity - with the winner of the celebrity sweepstakes.

So now you know why people identity with celebrity. I genuinely hope this analysis gives you relief. I hope you feel better about your real identity, not the illusion of identity gained through celebrity worship. At long last at the age of 80, amazed to have survived all these dangerous exploits, I've learned the best identity is - not being superior to everyone else on the planet - but being as human as I can be in relationship with others.