How about I describe myself through some of my favourite writers, artists and revolutionaries. Sound good?

"There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars." (Jack Kerouac, On the Road)

"What we had in common - our restlessness, our impassioned spirits, and a love for the open road." (Ernesto Guevara, The Motorcycle Diaries)

"Again it might have been the American tendency in travel. One goes, not to much to see but to tell afterward." (John Steinbeck, Travels With Charley)

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul." (John Muir)

"Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. A normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side. This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop heart. Make the bastard chase you. He will follow." (Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas)

"Time for the shadows to lengthen on the grass, time for the tethered dog to bark at the flying ball, time for the boy in right field to smack his sweat-blackened mitt and softly chant, They is, they is, they is." (Tobias Wolff, Bullet in the Brain)

"A great photograph is one that fully expresses what one feels, in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed." (Ansel Adams)

"Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence." (John Gillepsie Magee Jr., Pilot's Prayer)

"If you go when the snowflakes storm

When the rivers freeze and summer ends

Please see for me if she's wearing a coat so warm

To keep her from the howlin' winds." (Bob Dylan, Girl from the North Country)

"I saw the best minds of generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night..." (Allen Ginsberg, Howl)