The Courage to Be Unfinished: Embracing Our Evolving Story

There's a particular type of vulnerability that comes with allowing ourselves to be seen in process - not polished, not perfect, not even fully formed. In a culture that rewards certainty and celebrates completion, there's radical honesty in saying: "This is where I am now. I'm still figuring it out. I don't have all the answers."

Throughout my poetry collection, I've tried to honor the beauty of the unfinished - both in my writing process and in the human experiences I explore. Some of my most meaningful pieces emerged from questions I haven't resolved and journeys I'm still traveling.

One such poem acknowledges: "I used to think wisdom meant / having answers. / Now I recognize it as / the capacity to hold / increasingly complex questions." This shift from seeking resolution to embracing mystery has been profound in my creative and personal life.

We often withhold ourselves from authentic connection until we feel "ready" - when we've healed completely from past wounds, when we've mastered our craft, when we've figured out exactly who we are. Yet this perpetual preparation can become its own form of hiding. What if our incomplete, imperfect presence is precisely the gift we're meant to offer?

I think of the Japanese aesthetic principle of wabi-sabi - finding beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness. A cracked teacup mended with gold reveals its history of breaking and repair. Similarly, our visible mending - the ways we've grown through difficulty and continue to evolve - may be our most compelling attribute.

In my own journey as both writer and human, I've had to confront the fear that being unfinished somehow makes me insufficient. There's vulnerability in sharing work that still has rough edges, in speaking truth that's still taking shape, in showing up authentically when transformation is ongoing. Yet I've found that this very vulnerability creates the conditions for genuine connection.

As one of my poems suggests: "Perhaps the greatest intimacy / is not being fully known / but being loved / in our continuous becoming."

What I'm learning is that there's courage in claiming our current chapter without knowing the full arc of our story. There's integrity in speaking from where we stand now, even as we remain open to how our perspective might evolve. There's wisdom in recognizing that completion is always provisional - that each conclusion becomes the foundation for new questions.

If you find yourself hesitating to share your voice, your work, or your truth because some element feels unresolved or unfinished, consider that this very quality of openness might be exactly what someone else needs to encounter. Your willingness to be seen in process might create permission for others to honor their own becoming.

In the words I return to when perfectionism threatens to silence me: "The most beautiful offering / is not your flawlessness / but your faithful presence / in the messy middle / of transformation."