I would posit that being lost is the whole point. If we “find ourselves” which is a ludicrous notion to begin with, after all, I’m RIGHT HERE, then what’s the point of being alive? I mean, really?
Being lost, being in the not knowing, forces adventure, creativity, experimentation, failure, over and over and over, rinse repeat. Until we kinda sorta get a whole lot better.
If there such a thing as “finding ourselves,” I might suggest that it has a great deal more to do with discovering our ability to function in the not-knowing. We are, by design, supposed to be lost. In effect, that’s the whole point. Otherwise, why try anything?
When I “arrive,” I will be in a container of ashes, to land on someone’s mantel. I would rather keep right on pedaling in the fog. Over a cliff, for all I know.
Hell, I might even find out I have wings. No other way to know.
That’s what the trying is all about. We know nothing until we try. Arrive, we stop trying.
And promptly stop living.
We spend endless hours, days months, years, decades hoping to “get there.”
To pilfer someone’s phrase,
There is no “there,” there.
There is only here, now.