20/05/2026
every person you love is a moving target. the version of them you fell for, the version you remember, the version sitting across from you tonight — those are three different people sharing a name and a body. and staying close to anyone, for any length of time, is the practice of falling for each new one before the old one finishes leaving.
your spouse at 32 is not your spouse at 27. your best friend after the loss is not your best friend before it. your brother three years into therapy is somebody new walking around in a familiar face. relationships quietly die when somebody keeps talking to a version of the other person who is no longer in the room.
marriage taught me this first because the stakes made it impossible to ignore. but it’s true everywhere. the friend i’ve had since i was 19. my mom. my dad. my wife. my daughter.
the work is the same in every direction: pay attention to who’s actually in the room. let the old version go without mourning it like a death. choose the new one on purpose. and trust — this is the part that asks the most of you — that they’re doing the same quiet work on their side, looking at who you’ve become and deciding, again, yes.
that’s it. that’s the whole thing. keep meeting them. keep letting yourself be met.
