This essay from Montaigne begins with the following line:

If we sometimes spent a little consideration on ourselves, and employed in probing ourselves the time we put into checking up on others and learning about things that are outside us, we would easily sense how much this fabric of ours is built up of feeble and failing pieces.

This sets up the essay that will open the second volume of his work, with the theory that we are all bits and pieces that rearrange themselves to suit the purposes of life. But does this mean that the act of self-examination itself is fruitless? Or, when we turn the focus on ourselves, do we end up doing little more than putting on a performance for an audience of one?

To that last question, my best response is that, ultimately, it does not matter. And that is because the purpose of the journey for self knowledge is the journey itself. What I write in these essays at any turn of the project is irrelevant. What matters is that I continue a daily practice, take up another topic, another day.

We become what we practice. Did Montaigne’s endless self-knowledge allow him to map all of those bits and pieces, creating a catalogue of his talents and wants? No, it made him a writer. It gave him a direction and a subject. Other writers take different paths and create in new ways.

But the point cannot be to reach a final destination of self-discovery, because the self is constantly evolving. Embarking on the journey changes you in profound ways. This is the narrative of every tale with a great quest — the triumph is not in the conquering or the discovery, it’s in the personal growth.

The struggles, failures, heartbreaks, circular routes that seem to have no escape — these are the things that keep up engaged in the journey, and the drama that entices readers to turn another page. Without the struggles, there is no story, and without the commitment and practice, there is no writer.