So, I’d like to propose the question: To what extent is knowing the self feasible?

Knowing oneself is an illusion, because, to what extent is one, oneself? 

While the "me" today would frown on the pictures I posted or the clothes I wore in 2017, even 2018, the "me" then was satisfied. While the "me" then would despise the shoes I chose to use today, or the way I organize myself, or even the way I present myself to others, the "me" of today is satisfied. 

I ran into my former therapist recently. She told me that I had “grown,” “changed.” 

But, does that change mean I am getting closer to cracking the code many think surrounds my identity, or have I gotten farther away? When will we be satisfied with the “I” we currently are?

Identity can be crumpled by oneself or by the people who you surround yourself with. But one trumps the other. I found myself writing words by a mind that was not my own, but, then again, the words we write are rarely our own. When do other’s words become our own, and at what point, if any, does self-destruction become a method to find oneself?

But, do we ever become ourselves, or is what we call becoming ourselves realizing we have been ourselves all along?

Personally, I have decided to end the quest to find myself. Not because I think it is too hard or even impossible, but because I believe that knowing oneself is not dependent on time or age. Living with the “you” of the present and not constantly trying to seek the “you” of your future, is what I have been searching for. And speaking from experience, chasing the future will only yield uncomfortable sheets and an infuriating feeling of nothingness.