We are who we are, but only for an infinitesimal moment. Change may be happening, if we’re lucky. So we are who we are, but we’re not who we were. Not exactly.
Things that have “always” mattered, at some point stop mattering. We may even pride ourselves on “consistency,” which is commonly held to be admirable but is ultimately impossible. Perhaps it is for the better that consistency is at best a steadied mirage. Immutability can be comforting, but in its soil, nothing grows.
So we are who we are. On a journey that may deliver growth, or abdication, or triumph, or discontent; more likely a combination of some or all of them. At the moment of experiencing any of these possibilities we find ourselves to be “who we are.”
Comfort can be found in the notion that “who we are” is but a momentary flash between who we were, and who we are yet to be.
