Chapter 11: Becoming, Not Being

The Seat on the Bus

Elena is sixty-four and has worked for thirty years as a librarian. She is healthy, walks every day, reads widely and has recently started learning to make short films on her phone about the history of her neighbourhood. In her own mind, she is not old. She is simply Elena, curious and busy as she has always been.

One morning, a young man stands up on the bus and offers her his seat. She thanks him and sits down, a little surprised. Later that week, at a meeting at the library, a younger colleague explains a new computer system to everyone else and then turns to Elena and says, slowly and loudly, "Do not worry, Elena, I will help you with it." Elena, who has been using similar systems for years, feels a small shock. At a family dinner, her niece asks her whether she is "still" doing her films, as if it were surprising.

None of these people meant to be unkind. The young man was being polite, the colleague helpful, the niece interested. But together, they make Elena feel strange. It is as if other people have started seeing someone she does not recognize: an old woman who needs a seat, cannot use computers and should perhaps stop doing new things. She looks in the mirror that evening and sees grey hair and lines around her eyes. She knows she is sixty-four. But she does not feel like the person others seem to see.

Elena's experience touches on two of the most important themes in the work of Simone de Beauvoir. The first is that we are not born as finished beings, but become who we are through our choices within a situation. The second, explored in a book she wrote when she herself was in her sixties, is the strange experience of ageing, when others begin to see us as old before we feel it ourselves. This chapter explores both.

We Become Who We Are

In 1949, de Beauvoir published The Second Sex, a long and influential study of how women had been understood and treated throughout history, in philosophy, religion, science, literature and everyday life. It is one of the most important books of the twentieth century, and it is still widely read and discussed.

Near the beginning of the second part of the book is a sentence that has become famous, which I will describe rather than quote. In substance, it says that womanhood is not something given at birth, but something a person is made into, and grows into, over time. De Beauvoir's point was that many of the qualities and roles that her society thought of as the natural, fixed "nature" of women were not natural at all. They were shaped by upbringing, expectations, laws, customs and the opportunities that were open or closed to women. A girl was taught from early childhood how to behave, what to want and what to expect, and she grew into the role that society had prepared for her.

De Beauvoir was writing about the situation of women in her own time, and her book addresses that subject in great depth. This chapter will not try to summarize the whole book or to enter current debates about it. Instead, I want to draw out one general idea that her famous sentence expresses and that applies to every human being: we are not simply born as what we are. We become who we are, through the interplay between our situation and our choices.

This idea connects closely with Sartre's idea, from the second chapter, that existence comes before essence. But de Beauvoir added something important. Sartre's early writing sometimes seemed to suggest that each person is radically free, whatever their circumstances. De Beauvoir paid much closer attention to how social situations shape us, often from the very beginning of life, by closing some possibilities and opening others. We become who we are, but not in a vacuum. We become within a world that has already prepared certain paths for us.

It is worth remembering how new this way of thinking was when de Beauvoir wrote. Many respected thinkers of earlier centuries had written confidently about the fixed nature of different kinds of people, often in ways that justified keeping some people in narrow roles. De Beauvoir's careful work showed how much of what had been called nature was really history, custom and power. Whatever one thinks of every detail of her argument, this general lesson has been widely influential: before we say that something is simply how people are, it is worth asking how they came to be that way.

Situation Shapes, Freedom Responds

De Beauvoir often used the word situation for the concrete circumstances in which a person lives: their body, their family, their social position, the expectations of their society, the opportunities open to them. Our situation is not simply a background. It actively shapes who we become.

Think of a child who is constantly told that they are clumsy, or that people like them do not go to university, or that their role is to look after others. Over years, these messages shape what the child believes is possible and what they try. By adulthood, they may genuinely seem clumsy, or uninterested in study, or naturally suited to caring for others. But these qualities were not simply there from birth. They were, at least in part, produced by a situation.

Yet de Beauvoir did not believe that situation decides everything. Within any situation, people still respond, choose and act. Some people accept the paths prepared for them. Others resist, question and create new paths. Often, the ability to resist depends on support, examples and opportunities, which is why de Beauvoir believed so strongly in changing unjust situations, not just in encouraging individuals to be brave.

This view gives us a balanced way of understanding ourselves. We are neither entirely self-made nor entirely made by our situations. We are always becoming, in a constant exchange between what the world offers and demands, and what we choose to do with it. Understanding our situation helps us see why we became who we are. Understanding our freedom helps us see that we can keep becoming.

A helpful image might be that of a river and its banks. The banks are the situation: they shape where the water can go, how fast it flows, where it pools and where it rushes. But the water is not passive. Over time, it shapes the banks too, cutting new channels, wearing away stone, finding new paths. A person and their situation are a little like this. The situation shapes the person, and the person, especially together with others, can slowly reshape the situation.

The Labels Others Give Us

One way our situation shapes us is through the labels that others give us. We met this idea in the chapter on the look. De Beauvoir's work shows how powerful such labels can be, especially when they are repeated by a whole society.

Labels such as "the quiet one", "the sporty one", "the responsible one", "too young to understand" or "too old to learn" can shape how we see ourselves and how others treat us. Over time, we may begin to live up to them, or down to them. A person repeatedly treated as incapable may lose confidence. A person repeatedly treated as strong may feel unable to show weakness.

Some labels are attached not to individuals but to whole groups: to people of a certain age, sex, background or appearance. These group labels can be especially powerful, because they meet us everywhere, often before we have said or done anything. Elena's experience on the bus and at the library is an example. People did not see Elena, the curious librarian making films. They saw "an older woman" and responded to the label.

Recognizing labels for what they are can be freeing. A label is not a description of our essence. It is part of our situation, a way others see us, which may or may not match who we are becoming. We cannot always stop others from using labels. But we can refuse to let them define us from the inside, and we can try not to impose them on others.

Old Age Seen From Outside

In 1970, when she was in her early sixties, de Beauvoir published a long book called Old Age. In it, she examined how older people have been treated across history and in her own society, and how ageing is experienced from the inside. She was critical of the way many societies of her time pushed older people to the margins, treating them as if their lives were already over.

One of her most striking observations, which I paraphrase, is that old age is often something we discover first through other people's eyes. Inside ourselves, we may feel much the same as we always did. It is others who notice our age before we do: in the offered seat, the slow explanation, the surprised question. Old age, she suggested, is in a sense something that happens to us from outside, an identity that others give us, which we must then come to terms with.

This is exactly what Elena experienced. She did not feel old. But other people were beginning to see her as old, and their seeing changed her situation. De Beauvoir's insight helps explain why this can feel so strange and even painful. It is not only about the body changing. It is about others assigning us a new role, often a smaller one, that may not fit who we feel ourselves to be.

De Beauvoir did not pretend that ageing involves no real changes. Bodies do change, health may decline and the time ahead does become shorter. She wrote about these facts honestly. But she argued that much of what makes old age difficult in many societies is not biology, but the way older people are treated: as no longer useful, no longer interesting, no longer becoming. And this, she believed, could and should change.

She also noticed something that many older people describe: the gap between the inner sense of self and the outer appearance. Inside, a person of seventy may feel very much the same as at thirty, with the same curiosity, humour and hopes. The mirror, and other people's reactions, tell a different story. De Beauvoir did not resolve this gap with easy comfort. She described it honestly, as one of the strange experiences of a human life lived in time. Naming it can itself be a relief, because it shows that the feeling of not recognizing oneself in others' eyes is common, not a personal failure.

Projects Keep Us Becoming

What, then, gives meaning to life as we age? De Beauvoir's answer, near the end of Old Age, was clear. In my own paraphrase, she concluded that later life keeps its meaning when we go on caring about aims beyond ourselves: the people we love, the communities and causes we serve, and the work of mind or hands that still draws us forward. As long as we have projects that reach beyond ourselves, we are still becoming.

This idea applies far beyond old age. At every stage of life, projects, meaning chosen aims that engage us and connect us with the world, are what keep us alive in the fullest sense. When we stop having projects, when we feel that our becoming is finished, life can begin to feel empty, at any age. A twenty-five-year-old who feels they have no future projects may feel older than an eighty-year-old who is learning a new language and caring for grandchildren.

Projects do not need to be grand. They can be as simple as tending a garden, learning to cook a new dish, writing letters to friends, volunteering, studying a subject, caring for someone, making something with one's hands. What matters is that they are chosen, that they engage us and that they point toward a future, however near.

De Beauvoir's view also contains a gentle challenge to the rest of us. If projects give meaning to life, then societies, families and communities have a responsibility not to shut older people out of meaningful roles. When we assume that older people cannot learn, contribute or create, we are not only being unfair. We are helping to make their lives emptier. When we invite their skills, wisdom and energy, we help them keep becoming.

Becoming at Every Age

Although de Beauvoir wrote a whole book about old age, the idea that we are always becoming applies to every stage of life.

Young people are often under pressure to decide who they are: to choose a career, an identity, a path, as if becoming were something to finish early. But the existentialist view suggests that becoming never really finishes. A twenty-year-old does not need to know exactly who they will be at fifty. They need only to make the next choices thoughtfully, knowing that they will keep becoming.

People in the middle of life often feel that their becoming has stopped. They have a job, a family, routines and responsibilities, and it can seem that the story is written. But many people discover new interests, change careers, deepen relationships or develop new parts of themselves in their forties, fifties and beyond. The middle of life can be a time of quiet but profound becoming.

And older people, as de Beauvoir argued, can keep becoming as long as they have projects and opportunities. Some of the most remarkable changes in human lives happen late: people who learn to paint at seventy, write their first book at eighty or discover a new kind of courage when facing illness.

Seeing life as becoming rather than being can take some pressure off. We do not have to be finished, perfect or certain. We are works in progress, at every age. And it can also give us hope. Whatever we are now, we are not only that. We are also what we are becoming.

There is also a kind of kindness in seeing others as becoming. When we meet a teenager who is awkward, an adult who has made mistakes or an older person who seems set in their ways, we can remember that they, too, are unfinished. Their story is not over. Treating people as still becoming gives them room to surprise us, and sometimes our expectation of their growth is part of what helps them grow.

Four Lives Still Becoming

Folake is twenty-three and feels great pressure from her family and community to marry soon and settle into a familiar pattern of life. She is not against marriage, but she wants first to finish training as an architect and to work for a few years. Her aunt, who married young and never had the chance to study, quietly encourages her. Folake has difficult conversations with her parents, explaining that she is not rejecting them or their values, but choosing the order of her own life. It takes time, but they begin to accept it. Folake realizes that becoming who she wants to be means both honouring where she comes from and making her own choices within that situation.

Jae-won is forty and recently lost his job at a bank, where he had worked since leaving university, when his position was cut. His whole identity was tied to his job title. Without it, he feels he has become nobody. After several difficult months, he begins to ask what else he is. He remembers that, as a young man, he loved teaching his younger cousins. He volunteers as a tutor, discovers that he is good at it and eventually trains as a teacher of mathematics. He says that losing his job was the worst thing that happened to him, and also the beginning of becoming someone he had forgotten he could be.

Samuel is eighty-two and lost his wife two years ago. For a while, he felt that his life was finished. Then his granddaughter asked him about his childhood, and he realized how much of the family's history only he remembered. He began writing it down, one story at a time, by hand. Now he spends every morning writing. He has filled several notebooks and has started sharing them with relatives, who write back with their own memories. He says he has never been so busy. In de Beauvoir's terms, he has found a project that reaches beyond himself, and he is still becoming.

Elena, from the beginning of this chapter, decides not to let other people's labels define her. When her colleague offers to help with the computer system, she smiles and says she has used similar systems for years, and then, a few weeks later, offers to train other staff on her film-making. She continues making her short neighbourhood films and starts showing them at the library, where they attract a surprisingly young audience. She still notices when people treat her as "old". But she has decided that their label is part of her situation, not part of her essence. She is not finished. She is becoming.

Folake, Jae-won, Samuel and Elena each faced a situation that seemed to define them: family expectations, a lost job, widowhood, age. Each of them responded by continuing to choose and to pursue projects, and in doing so, kept becoming.

Practical Steps

First, see your situation clearly. Ask what in your upbringing, society and circumstances has shaped who you are. Understanding this is not making excuses; it is seeing the ground you stand on.

Second, notice the labels. Pay attention to the labels others give you, as an individual and as a member of groups. Ask which ones fit who you are becoming and which do not.

Third, keep a project. Make sure you have at least one chosen aim that engages you and points to the future: something to learn, create, care for or contribute to.

Fourth, resist the idea that you are finished. At any age, remind yourself that you are still becoming, and look for one new thing to try.

Fifth, do not label others. Notice when you see people only through labels of age, role or group, and try to see the person who is becoming.

Sixth, open roles for others. In your family, workplace or community, look for ways to include people who are often pushed aside, such as older people, younger people or newcomers, in meaningful projects.

A Short Exercise: Who I Am Becoming

This exercise takes about thirty minutes. It invites you to see yourself as a work in progress rather than a finished product.

Divide a page into three columns. At the top of the first, write "Who I was". At the top of the second, write "Who I am". At the top of the third, write "Who I am becoming".

In the first column, write a few words or sentences describing who you were ten years ago: your interests, roles, worries, hopes, the labels others gave you. In the second column, do the same for who you are now. Notice what has changed and what has stayed the same.

In the third column, write about who you are becoming. What new interests, skills or qualities are beginning to grow in you? What projects are you drawn to? What labels would you like to leave behind? Do not write what you think you should become. Write what you notice, or hope, is actually beginning.

Then, at the bottom of the page, write one project, small or large, that would help you become more fully who you are becoming. Write one first step you could take this month.

Look at the three columns together. Many people find it encouraging to see how much they have changed over ten years, even when they did not notice it happening. If you have changed this much in the last ten years, you can keep changing in the next ten.

Questions People Often Ask

"Does becoming mean I should keep reinventing myself?" Not necessarily. Becoming is not about constant reinvention or restlessness. It is about staying open to growth and choice, rather than seeing yourself as fixed. Many people become more deeply who they are over time, by deepening their commitments, skills and relationships, rather than by dramatic changes.

"Is de Beauvoir's idea about becoming only relevant to women?" Her famous sentence was about women, and The Second Sex is mainly about women's situation. But the general idea that we become who we are through our situation and our choices applies to everyone. De Beauvoir herself applied similar ideas to other groups, including older people in Old Age. In this chapter, I have drawn on the general idea rather than on the specific debates about her book.

"What if my situation makes it very hard to become who I want to be?" Many people face situations that severely limit their possibilities, through poverty, discrimination, illness or heavy responsibilities. De Beauvoir did not pretend otherwise; she argued that such situations should be changed, and that solidarity with others is part of a free life. Within a hard situation, small projects and small choices still matter. And seeking support, from people you trust, from community organizations or from professionals, can open possibilities that seemed closed.

Chapter Summary

In The Second Sex (1949), Simone de Beauvoir argued, in a famous sentence about womanhood being something one is made into rather than something given at birth, that many qualities thought to be natural are shaped by upbringing, expectations and opportunities. Drawing from this a general idea, we become who we are through an exchange between our situation and our choices. Labels given by others, especially to whole groups, are part of our situation, not our essence.

In Old Age (1970), de Beauvoir observed that we often discover our age first in other people's eyes, and that much of what makes old age hard is the way older people are pushed aside. She suggested that projects reaching beyond ourselves, such as caring for others, serving shared causes and learning or making things, keep life meaningful. At every age, we are still becoming.

In the next chapter, we turn to Albert Camus's novel The Plague, and to what it teaches about doing the decent thing in hard times.