Arriving.

Will we ever arrive? Recently, I have had the feeling that the answer is no. But, what does it even mean to arrive? In my head it's some kind of final step, a solidification, a maturation, a settling of self. But, does this ever truly happen? Are we not always maturing, always growing, always changing? Yes and no, I suppose. We are in one sense always growing, and forever will be, but in another sense we have to arrive: we must arrive at ourselves, and be comfortable and confident with what we find. We have to be comfortable walking around in our own skin, naked and everything. The process of growing is painful, and terribly slow, but beautiful. It's like constantly be stripped of self. The pealing back of layers upon layers of who we think we are--getting deeper and deeper beneath our self-created shells, revealing more and more of who we really are, or who we are intended to be.

And I'm not sure if I'm there yet. So, I guess I indeed haven't "arrived" in the second sense of the word. That's both discouraging and encouraging. Discouraging, because it feels like there's a long, weary road of grudging growth ahead, but encouraging because I have the choice--the choice to view that road as a beautiful journey and a process that I know I wouldn't miss for anything. I guess in the end it all comes down to perspective, and choice. Yes, it's painful, and a process, but it's all part of it really. All of it. And since I can't skip it, and wouldn't even if I could, I might has well embrace it. Because after all, who doesn't want to be comfortable naked...