We spend so much of our lives trying to figure out who this “I” is—this constellation of stories, habits, wounds, longings, and flashes of wisdom that moves through the world in our name. Some days the “I” feels solid, knowable. Other days it dissolves, slipping through our fingers like water. And perhaps this is the point: the self is not a possession we hold, but a living process we learn to relate to with increasing honesty, courage, and grace. Carl Jung wrote that becoming ourselves is both the simplest and the most difficult task of a lifetime. Individuation, he said, is the work of gathering up the scattered pieces of who we are—the conscious stories, the shadowed memories, the unlived potentials—and integrating them into a coherent enough center from which we can move through the world. “Coming to selfhood,” he called it (CW 7, para. 266).