On transformation, emergence, and the ongoing process of being
We speak of finding ourselves as if identity were a lost object waiting to be discovered in the right drawer, the perfect job, the ideal relationship. But perhaps we are not something to be found but something always in the process of being made, unmade, remade through every encounter, every choice, every breath.
Becoming is messier than finding. It includes the parts of ourselves we'd rather disown, the directions we never intended to go, the ways we're shaped by forces beyond our control. We become through praise and through trauma, through the books that change us and the conversations that break us open, through the places that hold us and the systems that exclude us.
Watch children, and you see becoming in its rawest form. They try on identities like costumes, are someone different in each game, each friendship, each mood. Then we teach them consistency, tell them to "be themselves" as if there were only one self to be, as if change were betrayal rather than the very nature of being alive.
The stories we tell about transformation usually follow neat arcs: crisis, revelation, resolution. But real becoming moves in spirals, returns, unexpected directions. We think we've learned something, grown past an old pattern, become someone new, then find ourselves repeating familiar mistakes in unfamiliar clothes. The adolescent insecurities surface in the boardroom. The childhood wounds speak through adult mouths. Becoming includes these returns, these apparent failures to progress in straight lines.
We become through relationship, whether we choose to or not. The colleague who triggers our defensive patterns is as much a teacher as the mentor who inspires our growth. The friend who mirrors our shadows and the lover who calls forth our light are both participating in our becoming. Even the stranger on the bus whose presence shifts something in us is part of the conversation that shapes who we are becoming.
Some becomings are chosen, others are thrust upon us. The death of a parent that forces us into adulthood. The diagnosis that changes everything. The job loss that opens unexpected doors. The climate crisis that transforms us from individuals into activists. We become through circumstances we wouldn't have chosen, in directions we couldn't have planned.
Marginalised entities know this forced becoming intimately. Becoming resilient because survival demands it. Becoming creative because existing systems exclude you. Becoming strong because the world gives you no choice. But also becoming tired from having to become what others need you to be, becoming smaller to fit into spaces that weren't designed for you, becoming cautious because the world punishes certain kinds of becoming.
The systems around us have opinions about who we should become. Capitalism wants us to become consumers, producers, competitors. Nationalism wants us to become patriots, insiders, defenders. Patriarchy wants us to become certain kinds of men and women, playing prescribed roles in prescribed ways. We become through resistance to these pressures and also through submission to them, often simultaneously.
Technology is becoming us as we become through technology. Our attention shaped by algorithms that learn our desires before we know them ourselves. Our relationships mediated through platforms that profit from our connections. Our memories stored in clouds, our thoughts expressed in character limits. We've always been technological beings - using tools to extend our capacities, from fire to language to smartphones - but now the tools learn back, adapting to us as we adapt to them.
The earth is becoming something new too, and we're becoming along with it. Climate refugees becoming nomads. Coastal communities becoming amphibious. Children becoming activists before they become adults. Species becoming extinct while others adapt to urban environments. The very ground beneath us becoming less stable, forcing new kinds of becoming from all of us.
Sometimes becoming happens through addition: new skills, new relationships, new understanding. Sometimes through subtraction: letting go of who we thought we were, releasing stories that no longer serve, unlearning patterns that once protected us but now constrain us. The caterpillar doesn't simply add wings; it dissolves entirely before becoming butterfly.
We resist becoming as much as we seek it. Change is exhausting. Identity provides the comfort of knowing who we are, even when who we are is limiting. The familiar cage feels safer than the unknown sky. We cling to outdated versions of ourselves, fight against growth that feels like loss, mourn the selves we're leaving behind.
In the end, we don't control our becoming any more than rivers control their courses. Water flows around obstacles, carves new channels, changes direction, pools in unexpected places. We can choose how to participate in our becoming, but we cannot dictate its terms. The practice is learning to flow with the forces shaping us while also shaping them in return.
The question is not who are you becoming, as if becoming had a destination. The question is: how are you becoming? With resistance or acceptance? In isolation or in relationship? With awareness or on autopilot? With kindness toward the self you're leaving behind and the self you're growing toward?
We are always becoming, never done, never finished, never quite the person we were yesterday or the person we'll be tomorrow. This asks to be lived rather than solved, experienced one breath at a time, one choice at a time, one encounter at a time, until the day our becoming becomes soil for someone else's transformation.