A moth was a caterpillar, once, but it no longer is a caterpillar. It cannot break itself back down, cannot metamorphose in reverse. To try to eat leaves again would mean starvation. Crawling back into the husk would provide no shelter. It is a paradox — the impossibility of reclaiming that which lies behind, housed within a form comprised entirely of the repurposed pieces of that same past. We exist where we begin, yet to remain there is death… I could not have predicted each version of me that I shifted into, but through my history, one constant has always remained true: change itself… I did not know who she was, the one waiting for me to start moving toward her. I was curious about her, all the same. I was eager to meet her.
― Becky Chambers, To Be Taught, If Fortunate