Parts of us die early on. Parts are born late.
If we could only announce births of our new selves, our new growth, with the same conviction as when a child is born. Today I celebrate Mother's Day for her new self. Hopefully someday, Father's Day for mine. Perhaps one day we even have a holiday for those who parented their parents.
If only we could understand how fluid we really are over time. If only these tiny little growths of the self could be seen in the beautiful time-lapse modes they deserve. A time-series of self.
Blooming isn't a straight line. But how gentle we grow on the vine: up the supports of parents, siblings, friends, and mentors, god-willing. How tolerant we can be to the rain. The fence that stands in the way of the tree. The tree that grows around the fence.
How resilient and complete we already are.
Tonight I put down the quantified self, the data scientist-to-be, if only for a moment. Tonight is a celebration of the qualified self who knows full well that opening and true relationship can only take place over time. The real vow is a commitment to the process of growth, of continual renewal.