life

Tag: dailyprompt-1890

  • The Long Becoming

    Becoming yourself takes longer than anyone tells you.

    And it’s way messier.

    It’s not a tidy, curated process. It’s not a movie montage scored by Bon Iver. It’s not a retreat in Bali where everything falls into place over coconut water and epiphanies.

    It’s wearing shoes that don’t fit, for years. Loving people who teach you everything except how to stay. Saying the wrong thing. Doubting the right one. Laughing at the worst time, crying for reasons you can’t explain.

    It’s buying kombucha because you think it makes you someone. Finishing it out of principle. Wondering if identity tastes like vinegar.

    It’s waking up at 3:41 a.m. with a memory from ten years ago lodged in your throat. Whispering, “That’s who I was.” And then rolling over and going back to sleep.

    I remember a man at a train station outside Osaka. He wore mismatched socks—one green, one blue—and played a tiny harmonica while waiting for the train.

    He didn’t do it for money. Or attention. Just to pass time.

    When he noticed me watching, he paused, grinned, and said, “You don’t find out who you are. You wear yourself down until there’s nothing left but what you were always meant to be.”

    Then he went back to playing “Yesterday” like it was the only song worth remembering.

    Most people think they’ll arrive at some point. By 30. By 40. When the job settles. When the love sticks. When the mirror doesn’t surprise them.

    But you don’t arrive. You soften. You shed. You sit down. You let go. You compost.

    You grow into your own skin the way ivy wraps a wall—slowly, unevenly, beautifully.

    You begin to enjoy the silence.
    You alphabetize your spice rack.
    You start waving back at your past selves instead of running from them.

    The questions don’t disappear. They just get gentler. Less urgent.

    And suddenly, without fanfare, you realize:
    You’re no longer becoming someone else.
    You’re just becoming… you.

    So let people think you’re lost.

    You’re not.

    You’re composting.

    And if nothing else, may you live long enough to wear mismatched socks on purpose—
    And play your own tune while waiting for whatever comes next.

  • Becoming yourself takes longer than anyone tells you.

    And it’s way messier.

    It’s not some cinematic montage of self-discovery scored by an acoustic guitar. It’s not reading The Alchemist once and moving to a coastal town to paint sea glass. It’s showing up to the wrong job, loving the wrong people, saying the wrong thing at the worst possible moment, and then quietly muttering to yourself in the shower six years later, “Oh. That’s who I was back then.”

    It’s buying kombucha because you think that’s what centered people do, and realizing two sips in that it tastes like carbonated vinegar. But you keep drinking it because… who even are you if not someone who finishes the weird drink?

    I remember once seeing a man in his 70s at a train station just outside Osaka. He wore mismatched socks—bright green and dull blue—and he was playing a miniature harmonica while waiting for the train. Just… playing it. Not for money. Not for attention. Just to pass the time.

    He saw me looking, paused mid-note, and said in a thick Kansai accent, “You don’t find out who you are. You wear yourself down until there’s nothing left but what you were always meant to be.”

    Then he went back to playing “Yesterday” by The Beatles like it was the national anthem of lost time.

    Most people think they’ll ‘arrive’ by 30. Or 40. Or 50.

    But the truth is, you never really arrive. You just collect enough data to stop fighting your own tide. You get tired of chasing labels and curated aesthetics and begin, slowly, awkwardly, to just stand where you are. To sit in your contradictions. To wave politely at your failures like old friends across a crowded bar.

    You realize the questions don’t go away. You just stop needing them to.

    Wabi-sabi says nothing is ever truly complete.

    And maybe that’s the point.

    You will age.
    You will outgrow shoes, thoughts, and versions of yourself you once clung to like life rafts.
    You will break a little. Rebuild a little.
    You’ll forget things that once defined you.
    And you’ll fall in love with things you never thought you’d care about.

    Like silence. Or ginger tea. Or finally getting a drawer organized.

    Lessons from a Mismatched Sock and a Mini Harmonica

    • You don’t need to be ready. Just present.
    • Let people think you’re lost. You’re not. You’re composting.
    • You don’t outgrow your weirdness. You grow into it.
    • Becoming yourself isn’t a makeover. It’s erosion. The soft kind.
    • A quiet life, chosen intentionally, is a form of rebellion.

    You are not late.
    You are not unfinished.
    You are just becoming, in your own crooked, lovely way.

    And if nothing else, may you grow into someone who wears mismatched socks proudly…
    and plays their own tune while waiting for the train.