Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis

 

 

Photo by Aedrian on Unsplash

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything here, so I thought I’d return to this space—this quiet corner of the internet—for a little digital journaling. Blogging, once the quintessential millennial outlet, now feels like a forgotten art. These days, it’s less about trends and more like keeping a semi-public diary—one that might be discovered by chance, nestled among the endless branches of AI-generated content.

This space has often served that purpose for me. Perhaps it still will. Lately, I’ve found myself craving a mental refresh more than ever. There are moments in life when change doesn’t just arrive—it barrels in, uninvited, all at once. I’m not talking about monumental life events, joyful or devastating. I’m talking about the quiet, almost invisible weight of simply being—being human, being present. It’s tied to transitions, both the ones that have recently passed and those you sense on the horizon. And sometimes, in the midst of all this flux, you lose sight of yourself.

Capturing the fragility of change

Change is inevitable, and I’ve always welcomed it. But I rarely take the time to reflect on what happens during those in-between states—the liminal spaces between who you were and who you’re becoming. Maybe I should. There’s something powerful in that inner transformation, in the quiet evolution of our thoughts, dreams, and feelings. It’s a fragile, fleeting experience—too delicate to grasp fully, yet rich with potential. It deserves to be savoured slowly, like a fine wine.

I’ve felt this kind of self-reflection before, briefly, and I’m afraid that amid the routines of daily life I might lose it again. It's too easy to let the mundane overwhelm the profound. This fragile feeling—this shimmering sense of becoming—passes quickly. Maybe it’s what existentialists called cosmic chaos, or maybe it’s something else entirely. Some people chase it through art or their work. Others find it in beauty, routine, or love.

And love—perhaps love is just as elusive as the feeling I’m trying to describe. I’m not sure I’ve ever really known what love is. But has anyone?

The puzzle

When it comes to love, intimacy, and connection—whatever words you choose—it often seems to come back to one thing: learning to love yourself as you are. If you’re lucky, you’ll find a reflection of that self in another person. And maybe that reflection was meant to find you—a piece of yourself out in the world.

But maybe we’re scattered. Maybe parts of us exist across time, space, and dimensions we can’t begin to comprehend. What matters most is treasuring the pieces we do have—the fragments of ourselves we’ve gathered. If, by some chance, we find another matching piece in this lifetime, we become a little more complete. But we don’t need it to be whole. We can be happy with what we already are.

Each puzzle piece is unique. It takes time to understand them. Some of us spend our entire lives trying to fit them together. And perhaps that one small piece—understood and accepted—can be enough. Maybe, one day, in some place beyond time and reason, we’ll finally see the full picture. Until then, all we can do is hold onto hope.