‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’
Speaking to the Caterpillar, Alice uses paradox to name her confusion. The words fold in on themselves—how can you explain “self” when the “self” won’t hold still? Doubt marks the honest middle of growth. Thematically, identity is a moving target under change. The line turns logic into a mirror for feeling. Readers know this wobble: during transitions, your biography lags your becoming. It’s a humane permission slip to be unfinished.
