identity

I'm trying to think about who I am, of what kind of a person I am, and I find that I am almost entirely defined (inside my own head anyway) by what has happened to me in the past, and what I want to happen in the future. Meanwhile, or until then, or whilst I'm in-between... it's as if I only partially exist. As if the space of life I'm occupying right this minute isn't quite real, or isn't quite enough; or I am not quite real, yet, nor quite enough. As if, until I reach the very end of it, I won't quite know if mine is a story worth telling.