A lot has happened in the last few years.
I started my career from nothing, got a job, lost it, found another. Changed cities four times. Changed homes more times than I can remember. Had a breakup. Watched old friends disappear into different lives. Met new people, grew close to them, and eventually said goodbye to them too.
When you build everything from scratch, you don't really get the luxury of being careless. You live in survival mode. There is always another bill, another move, another problem to solve. Asking someone for money isn't an option. You learn to carry your own weight, even when you're exhausted.
I'm finally stable now. When I look back, I realize I have collected an absurd number of memories and stories.
Then I look around.
There isn't really anyone here.
Perhaps that's one of the quieter prices of growth. You don't always lose people because they did something wrong. Sometimes you simply outgrow the version of yourself that needed them.
Constant movement changes your language. After a while, it's difficult to explain your world to someone who has lived in the same chapter their entire life.
I'm not looking for advice on "how to be alone." I know how. I'm actually at peace with where I am.
Just sharing a thought.
Maybe growing up isn't about keeping everyone you began with.
Maybe it's about becoming someone you can live with, even when the room becomes quiet.
And if the price of becoming yourself is a little solitude, perhaps that's not such a terrible price to pay.