There’s something quietly unsettling about the idea that nothing lasts forever. Not the highs we wish we could freeze. Not the people we wish we could keep close forever. Not even the versions of ourselves we sometimes grow attached to. It’s a truth that sits in the background of everything—easy to ignore on good days, impossible to avoid on hard ones.
But maybe that’s exactly what gives life its edge.
Think about the moments that have meant the most to you. A conversation that stayed with you longer than expected. A laugh that came out of nowhere and lingered. A phase of life where things just felt right. None of those came with a guarantee. None of them were meant to stay exactly as they were. And yet, they mattered—deeply.
That’s the bittersweet part. The same truth that makes loss inevitable is also what makes presence so powerful.
We felt that deeply when we lost our dear friend Nico yesterday. He had this rare ability to light up a room—not just as a great singer and musician, but as someone who brought people together with ease. Ten years ago, he stood there at our wedding, emceeing with that effortless charm, making everyone feel seen, making the day even more alive than it already was. It’s hard to reconcile that someone who brought so much energy and joy into moments like that is no longer here in the same way. But those memories haven’t faded. If anything, they’ve become more vivid, more valuable.
If everything were permanent, would we notice it the same way? Would we hold onto moments as tightly, or would we assume they’ll always be there and let them quietly fade into the background? There’s a strange kind of clarity that comes from knowing something won’t last. It sharpens your attention. It makes you feel things more honestly.
The people in your life right now—the ones who make ordinary days feel lighter—they’re not permanent fixtures. That doesn’t make them fragile in a negative sense; it makes them meaningful. It’s a reminder to show up a little more, to listen a little better, to say the things we tend to postpone.
At the same time, the struggles you’re carrying right now aren’t permanent either. The heavy days, the uncertainty, the things that feel like they’ll stretch on forever—they won’t. It might not shift overnight, and it might not change in the way you expect, but it will change. It always does.
That’s the quiet balance life holds. Nothing stays, and because of that, everything counts.
It’s easy to lean too far in one direction. To cling so tightly to the good that we fear losing it. Or to sink so deeply into the bad that we forget it’s temporary. But somewhere in the middle is a steadier way to live—one where you fully experience what’s in front of you without trying to control how long it lasts.
You don’t have to rush through good moments just because they won’t last. And you don’t have to panic during hard ones as if they define everything. Both are passing through. Both are shaping you in ways you might only understand later.
Maybe the goal isn’t to hold onto things forever. Maybe it’s to be present enough that when they pass, you know you truly experienced them.
So appreciate the good without assuming it’s permanent. Sit with it. Let it matter. And when things feel difficult, remind yourself—this isn’t forever either. It’s just a chapter, not the whole story.
Nothing is permanent. And somehow, that’s what makes life both fragile and incredibly worth paying attention to.
Kenrick Vaz 