We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension and not in another, unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present and future mingle and pull us backward, forward or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations … Life is a process of becoming, a combination of starts we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.