Sitting at the top of the mountain never seems to feel quite as interesting as climbing the mountain.
Becoming who?
I haven't felt inspired to write in a long time, today felt different. This morning I was listening to an article about how we change over time. How the details of who we were at 4 or 9 are often lost to us. The little explorer who climbed trees, or the child that loved reading books, making pillow forts and hiding in cubby houses. These past selves remembered mostly by those around us, adults, friends, teachers, some influencing or shaping our lives. Bearing witness to the little personalities, confident or shy, even daring or a little wise, that went on to become fully fledged adults. But in adulthood we shift and change too, moving through different chapters. We can be so different at 16 to 25, changing again as we move through our 30s and 40s. At each stage, shifting tastes and perspectives. Our inner stories and sense of self adapting, perhaps on the surface unrecognisable to the person we once were. Who can tell which self will be staring back in the mirror at 70 or 82? Are w
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