still

As Papillon said, "hey, you bastards, I'm still here". Still trying to get it right; still trying to figure it, and me, out; still failing. But still trying.
We are, among other things, the collection of choices we make, to the extent that we can claim to be something of the persons we think we are or ever wanted to be. But maybe freedom, the freedom of self and therefore also of self-knowledge, amounts to no more than knowledge of necessity. That necessity is providence. Knowledge of it, even if only dimly, is wisdom.