Time is unforgiving. Life doesn’t let us rewind a moment, step back into an old version of ourselves, or undo the accident we never saw coming. It doesn’t offer a second attempt at the same crossroads — no matter how much remorse we carry or how deeply we wish we could fix what we once did wrong.
What it does offer — quietly, consistently — is the chance to learn. To reshape. To live each day a little better than the last.
I once heard an older musician speak about losing hearing in one ear early in his career. He said something I’ve never forgotten:
“I spent five years trying to get back to who I was before the accident. I wasted that time trying to heal the unhealable.”
For half a decade, he wasn’t fighting the condition — he was fighting the past, fighting the idea of the life he believed he was supposed to have. Only when he finally accepted that this particular loss was permanent did something shift. Acceptance didn’t restore his hearing, but it restored his direction.
He reworked his technique, retrained his sense of balance, and found a new creative rhythm that didn’t betray what he had lost but built upon what he still had. And from that place, a different kind of joy emerged.
There is a quiet strength in acknowledging a changed reality. Acceptance isn’t defeat. It isn’t surrender. It is simply recognising life’s randomness and moving with it instead of against it.
The ability to integrate the wound and still move through life — not perfectly, not painlessly, but purposefully — is its own form of victory.
In the end, the true virtue is this:
stop trying to return to the person you once were,
and start becoming the person you are meant to be next.
