Estimated reading time: 7 minutes
What These Words Mean
You know those nights when you lie awake staring at the ceiling, feeling like you should already have it all figured out? The job. The relationship. The version of yourself you were supposed to be by now. These words speak to that exact quiet pressure you put on yourself.
"Life is a process of becoming. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it."
First: "Life is a process of becoming."
On the surface, this says that life is not a fixed thing; it is something unfolding, changing, forming. You are not presented as a finished product; you are described as someone in motion. The word "process" suggests a path, a sequence, not a single moment that defines everything. "Becoming" hints that you are always in the middle of something – never fully done, never fully settled.
Beneath that, these words are inviting you to see your life as movement rather than a verdict on who you are. You are allowed to grow out of old habits, old identities, old expectations. The self you were at 18, 25, 40, 60 is not a lie; it is a draft. To me, that is one of the most relieving truths a person can hold: you get to be in progress without being a failure.
Then comes the turn: "Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it."
On the surface, this part talks about a choice: people "elect a state," as if they are voting for a particular version of themselves or their life circumstances and then trying to stay there forever. A career title, a role in the family, a level of success, a certain emotional stability – and then, no more changes, please. The problem, according to the quote, is not in having states, but in wanting to remain in one permanently.
Underneath, this digs at a very common and quiet fear: once you reach something good, you fear losing it, so you try to freeze it. You get the job you wanted and then cling to it long after it stops fitting you. You enter a relationship and then hold both of you to the person you were on the first good day. You find a version of yourself that finally feels acceptable and then you resist any new part of you that might disrupt that image.
Imagine a simple moment: you finally land a stable job after years of worrying about money. The office lights hum softly; the computer screen glow feels oddly comforting because it means you belong somewhere. A few years pass. The work becomes empty, your curiosity goes dull, your Sundays feel heavy. But you tell yourself, "I should be grateful; this is who I am now." You are electing a state and trying to remain in it, even as a different part of you is asking to move on.
In that sense, "where people fail" does not mean moral failure; it means you end up stuck, misaligned, less alive than you could be. The failure is in arguing with the fact that you are changing. You try to hold still while everything in and around you continues to move. Life keeps being a process of becoming; you simply refuse to participate.
There is an edge of warning here, but also of tenderness: if you cling to an old identity, you slowly abandon the person you are becoming for the sake of the person you once were. That is like insisting summer should last forever because you enjoyed one warm evening on the porch. Beautiful, yes, but not meant to be permanent.
Still, there is a nuance that matters. Stability itself is not the enemy. Sometimes you need a steady routine, a consistent relationship, a firm sense of self so you can rest, heal, or build. Long-term commitments, loyalty, deep roots – these can be beautiful. The problem comes when your idea of stability refuses to make room for your ongoing growth. You can stay in the same job, the same marriage, the same town, and still be becoming; the key is allowing your inner life to keep changing, even if the outer structure looks similar.
In the end, these words are a quiet reminder: you are not supposed to lock yourself into a single version of you. You are allowed to outgrow past dreams. You are allowed to be surprised by what you want now. You are allowed, over and over, to become.
The Setting Behind the Quote
Anais Nin wrote during a century that was reshaping what it meant to be a person, especially what it meant to be a woman, an artist, and an individual. Born in France to Cuban parents, raised in Europe and later living in the United States, she moved through worlds that were shifting politically, socially, and emotionally. The first half of the 20th century brought two world wars, economic crises, and radical changes in art and psychology. Old fixed identities were cracking, and new ideas about the self were emerging.
In that atmosphere, these words about life as "a process of becoming" fit naturally. Psychoanalysis was gaining influence, inviting people to look inward and see themselves as layered and evolving rather than simple and static. Modernist writers and artists were breaking old rules, experimenting with form and voice. The idea that you should not be trapped in one state but keep unfolding matched the spirit of her time: restless, searching, questioning.
At the same time, social expectations were still very rigid. Gender roles were strict, and many people felt intense pressure to "elect a state and remain in it": the dutiful wife, the reliable worker, the respectable citizen. Wanting more could be seen as selfish or unstable. Nin’s words push back gently against that pressure, arguing that staying the same for the sake of approval or safety can cost you your inner life.
So this phrase speaks from a moment when people were beginning to understand themselves as changing beings, yet were still held in place by tradition. It honors the tension between those forces and quietly sides with your right to keep becoming.
About Anais Nin
Anais Nin, who was born in 1903 and died in 1977, was a French-Cuban-American writer best known for her diaries, which spanned decades of her life. She grew up between cultures and languages, moving from France to the United States, and her writing reflects that sense of in-betweenness and searching. She wrote novels, essays, and erotica, but it is her intimate, reflective journals that made her a distinctive voice in 20th-century literature.
Nin moved in artistic and intellectual circles that included writers, psychoanalysts, and avant-garde creators. She was deeply interested in the inner world: dreams, desires, fears, shifting identities. Rather than focusing on big public events, she often explored how people feel inside as they move through love, art, and everyday life. Her work is emotional, experimental, and often concerned with the question of who you really are beneath the masks you wear.
This quote about life as a process of becoming fits closely with how she lived and wrote. She resisted the idea that a person should be one clear, finished thing. In her diaries, she often described herself as changing, contradictory, and evolving. She believed that growth comes from honoring your inner movement instead of denying it to appear consistent.
Because of that, her words carry more than abstract philosophy; they feel like lived conviction. She is remembered as someone who insisted that your emotional and creative life deserve as much seriousness as your public roles. Her reminder that "where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it" is an invitation to treat your own changing self with honesty and courage.
