On the comings and goings that quietly shape our lives

There was a time when I thought best friends came with lifetime warranty cards. They felt permanent, like your childhood handwriting — always recognizable, always yours. And then, life happened. People who once called me every day simply… stopped. Birthdays went unnoticed, phone calls unanswered, and suddenly, the people I thought were “my constants” vanished into the horizon. At first, I kept looking for reasons: Did I say something wrong? Did I miss something important? My mind turned into a detective agency without clients.

But slowly, clarity arrived — not like a lightning bolt but like a season quietly turning. I realized: people are like seasons. They arrive, they bloom, they nurture, and then, sometimes without warning, they move on. Just as summer doesn’t stay forever, even though I would happily bribe it to, people have their time, their purpose, and then they must yield to the next season.

And yet, life carries its own surprises. Years later, one of those “vanished” friends suddenly reappeared — a casual message on a forgotten thread, as if no time had passed. At first, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to sulk at the lost years. But when we finally spoke, it felt like spring after a long winter. Not the same spring, of course — we were older, different, carrying new layers of life. But the warmth was familiar. That experience taught me that while some seasons pass never to return, others circle back in unexpected ways.

There is humour in this realization too. Imagine if all the people you ever loved and admired stayed glued to you at the same time. It would feel like carrying all the seasons in a single day: rain, sunshine, snow, and pollen — chaos! Nature, in its wisdom, parcels them out. As one writer said, “People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you know which it is, you can embrace them accordingly.”

Over the years, I’ve also noticed this: when I stop clinging to why someone disappeared, I make room to notice who has arrived. It is rarely empty. The universe doesn’t leave us barren; it just re-landscapes our garden. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it even returns an old tree that you thought was gone forever.

So today I ask myself — and you:

• Which “seasonal people” in your life are you still holding on to, even though their season has clearly ended?
• And if someone walked back into your life tomorrow, would you greet them with the joy of spring, or with the frost of winter?

Because ultimately, what stays is not the season itself but the growth it left behind.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar

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