yet to be. Day by day, year by year, choice by choice, we make ourselves into this kind of person or that kind of person. Every time we change anything in the world, we also change ourselves a little. Every time we help or harm another, we help or harm ourselves. Our selves are always under construction. Who then can possibly know my whole self? Much of me is no longer; for it is in the dead past, and no one remembers it all. Much of me is not yet; for it is in the not-yet-born future, and no one