Little Things, Big Shifts - Change is Constant

You don’t always notice change while it’s happening — it creeps up slowly, reshaping your life right in front of you. One day you look at someone you haven’t seen in a while and realize they look different… older. Sometimes it’s you who’s changed, while everyone else seems the same. You think about old friends, family, even your younger self, and wonder how much time and distance has shifted everything.

You remember the moments you wished would pass — rough jobs, difficult experiences, financial strain — only to look back and realize those might’ve been some of the best times. You’ve tried to plan, to control the future, to hold onto what matters. But no matter how tightly you grip it, change keeps coming.

Eventually, you realize you can’t stop it. You can only choose to be present for it — to let go of control, embrace what’s in front of you, and love the people around you as they are… before they change again. Because they will. You will too. And maybe that’s the whole point.

You start to notice it in the smallest ways — a new haircut, a quiet shift in someone’s voice, the way your kids stop asking for bedtime stories. Change rarely arrives with a grand announcement; more often, it’s tucked into routines, hiding inside days that feel ordinary. You scroll past an old photo and catch yourself whispering “That feels like yesterday,” even though it wasn’t. It’s disorienting, how fast the familiar can become unfamiliar, how quickly the present becomes memory.

And yet, even when it’s uncomfortable, change has a strange kindness to it. It gives you new chances, new people, new versions of yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t choose all the changes — the endings, the growing apart, the hard goodbyes — but they all carve out space for something new to grow. You begin to realize that holding on too tightly doesn’t preserve things; it squeezes the life out of them. The more you accept change, the more open you become to the richness of now.

So you start showing up differently. You listen more closely, you linger a little longer, you take the picture even when it feels silly. You don’t just wait for life to settle down — you find stillness in the motion. Because you know this version of your life is temporary too. And maybe that’s not something to fear, but to treasure. Because it means you’re alive. And it means there’s still more to come.