The Weight of Becoming
It started as a joke. A late-night message from a friend: “I graduated seven years ago… see me now.” I laughed, not because it was funny in the usual sense, but because I recognised the undertone. Many of us are carrying that quiet question: ‘What exactly have I made of the time that has passed?‘
Life rarely moves in straight lines. Often, it is in the loops and delays that character is formed.
We wandered, conversationally, from humour to reflection and back again. I told my friend that this was perhaps preparation for a future apostolate. Something akin to what Saint Augustine underwent. The Augustine reference was only half a joke. Augustine’s early years were full of exploration, often without direction. And yet, that meandering shaped the clarity and conviction of his later work. My friend replied that he had no ministry on the back of his mind. Fair enough, I said, neither did Augustine at the time. In moments like that, it becomes clear how easy it is to believe one is lost simply because things have not followed a linear path. But life rarely moves in straight lines. Often, it is in the loops and delays that character is formed. Not everything must make sense while it is happening.
From the winding paths of personal growth, our conversation naturally shifted to external markers of achievement: milestones. We came to how his father had built a house in his forties, and another acquaintance’s father marked a birthday with a mansion in his thirties. Their sons? One launched a book. My friend? You read the earlier paragraph, didn’t you? This contrast between generations wasn’t a complaint, but a stark observation. Our generation is simply achieving differently. Instead of focusing solely on tangible assets like “brick and mortar,” we often build lives around ideas, causes, or conversations. Pursuits that, while perhaps less visible, hold immense value. In this spirit, I told him, “You are not your dad.”
There is freedom in recognising that we do not have to replicate the paths of those before us.
It was not a dismissal. If anything, it was a release. There’s freedom in recognising that we don’t have to replicate the paths of those before us. The conditions have changed, the world has shifted, and we must interpret meaning and success through the lens of our own time. Too often, we judge ourselves against timelines drawn in different eras. And too rarely do we acknowledge that many of the pressures we feel are not failures, but symptoms of transition.
The conversation deepened further when I shared a personal point of reference: I had now passed the age my mum was when I was born, bringing the weight of generational expectation into sharp focus. It seemed every generation looked backwards with a mix of reverence and resentment, each believing their predecessors had it easier. But perhaps the most unsettling thought is this: the life we are living now might be what the future generation calls the “good old days.” I said as much. Not to depress us, but to remind us to live with care. The last thing we want is for history to conclude that we wasted our opportunities.
At that point, I laughed and admitted I no longer knew what we were talking about. The conversation had turned into a spiral of thoughts and side comments, but somehow, it felt important. Reflecting out loud, even clumsily, helps. In between the jokes about high blood pressure medication and the final trumpet, we were reckoning with something fundamental: the tension between becoming and arriving.
If there is any conclusion, perhaps it is this: becoming is slow work. It resists tidy timelines. And sometimes the only thing to do is laugh, reflect, and rest, before the brain goes into overdrive.
Becoming is slow work. It resists tidy timelines.