I’ve always been fascinated by the word gnomon. [nom-in]. The only time I’ve ever seen it used was by the literary maestro (and my favorite author)—James Joyce. The gnomon, which literally translates to an “unfinished parallelogram,” can be used to describe both shapes and identities: unfinished.

In my final entry before leaving India, I said I was shapeless, that I wasn’t a circle or a line, and as all good adventures should end—I was heading back to America with more questions than answers.

Well, I’ve realized in the past month that I have found a shape in fact, though it may not be finished, polished, or fit nicely in a pattern.

I am the gnomon, imperfect and inconclusive, yet insatiably hungry for completion.

My academic focus at Union centered on Joyce, which, in four years of studies, ultimately produced an essay detailing a ‘search’ for two of Jocye’s characters. This search is carried out in both spirit and affect; to paraphrase, the characters are searching for meaning with both their eyes and hearts. Joyce ultimately suggests that all humans are born incomplete, as gnomons, unfinished, forever searching for wholeness. What I attempted to explore was if we can ever find completion and finish our shapes – or, are we forever walking along a strand?

The most routine question I’ve been getting since I’ve returned from India is “have you changed?” The answer is layered; people change every day. Yet, in this conversation of shapes, it might be more seldom to transform – in essence, it is hard to ‘complete the gnomon’. One can’t just complete their gnomon by living in an Indian village, nor by getting a masters degree or PhD. What makes people intriguing is their varying degrees of wisdom, intellect, and in my explanation of shapes – either structural infancy or polished finishing.

I think back to India. I felt more complete than ever. I felt lost indeed, but evermore challenged. I had few friends, but was welcomed by new families. I felt overwhelmed by a foreign language embedded in ancient traditions, doused with color, and sprinkled with unidentifiable spices. And a wandering Indian I was.

So what does this mean? Certainly we are all gnomons at some point, and it’s up to each of us to find the path to completion. The most beautiful part is that it’s different for everyone. There’s no formula from gnomon to square—from A to B—or going from lost to found.