A human life is a brief but real movement through time.
A shape that holds for a while,
and matters while it holds.
You are not a finished self.
Not your past, not your worst day,
not the story others tell about you.
You are a pattern still forming,
shaped by what you remember, what you do,
and who you let yourself become.
You are not what happened to you.
You are what continues from it.
And what is true of you
is true of everyone you meet.
The person who angers you is also a pattern still forming.
You are meeting them in the middle of their becoming,
as they are meeting you in the middle of yours.
The worst moment you witness in someone
is rarely the whole of who they are.
And neither is yours.