There
was a time when I thought I’d “found” myself, as if the core of my being was a misplaced
set of keys or a new hairstyle. I stumbled across the mysterious gift of self-knowledge,
not quite understanding how it tangled itself under my feet but gladly
accepting its wrapping of confidence and charm. I knew and loved who I was, I thought,
and with a sunny disposition I plunged into the future—a future I was blithely
convinced would be grounded in the solidity of permanent self-love.
