A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I believe this to be inherently true.  We are in a constant process of becoming.  What we will be has not yet been made known.  I think this may be one of the struggles that has plagued me most throughout my life.  An understanding that I need to find my thing, my label, my four or five facts that make me, me.  And yet, an underlying feeling, an unsettling knot in my stomach that lets me know, thats not quite it.  In fact, maybe not it at all.  That I can’t find myself.  I can only be myself.  I can’t be defined or broken down into lists and facts anymore than life or faith can be broken down into a seven step how-to.  And I can’t define others.  I shouldn’t put them into boxes, and when I do, I have no right to expect them to stay there.  We’re at once more intimate and more complex.  Too deep to be understood, too volatile to be categorized, and yet built with an insatiable desire to be known.   Maybe knowing someone looks different than we ever thought.


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