I have to assume that we're perfectly whole. We arrived a complete package--we did! And I know I keep coming back to that--that perfect arrival of a perfect being. If only we didn't have to be hampered by judgments and life, circumstance and all those moving parts over which we have no control.
But maybe that's our problem--that control bit. I know it's much of mine. What I can't control binds me like a corset (way too tight and lacking all the lacy things that make corsets so--temporarily--delightful) until I can't wait to cut the damn thing away, say the hell with it, and live out my life in my oldest flannels.
So what if we were to assume that wherever we are now, it's because it was perfectly timed--by us, by fate, by the goddess, what-have-you? Could that relieve some of the pressure? Could we then live full-color, knowing we've arrived exactly where we were meant to be, peanut gallery be damned?
I don't know. But we're worth the experiment.