Change Is the Only Constant - What Leaves Isn’t Yours. What Stays Never Left

There’s something oddly comforting about the idea that nothing lasts. Not your worst days, not your finest moments, not even the people or places you once thought were permanent. In a world obsessed with stability, that thought might sound terrifying — like saying the ground you walk on is always shifting. But the Bhagavad Gita, written thousands of years ago, doesn’t flinch at that truth. It leans into it. Not dramatically. Not in despair. But with quiet, unshakable clarity: “Change is the law of the universe.” It doesn’t ask you to fear this change. It asks you to understand it — and through that understanding, to free yourself.

We make routines. We build five-year plans. We say “forever” like we can seal it in a jar. But reality is quieter than all our declarations — it just keeps moving. People leave. Bodies age. Friendships shift. Beliefs evolve. What once felt like the center of your world becomes a closed chapter. And no one sends you a notification when it happens — it just does.
The Gita doesn’t pretend this is tragic. It doesn’t even say it’s unfortunate. It simply tells you the truth: Everything changes — and that is not a problem.

When Krishna speaks to Arjuna in the Gita, he isn't just telling him to “get over it.” He’s asking him to see clearly — to understand that our attachment to outcomes, to identities, to specific versions of life, is what causes us pain. Not because we care. But because we confuse what’s passing with what’s permanent. Detachment, then, isn’t about apathy. It’s not the absence of love, effort, or ambition.
It’s the ability to show up fully — to love, to try, to give your best — and then let go of control over what happens next. It’s knowing that even when things don’t go the way you imagined, life is still unfolding with meaning. That you are not the failed plan. Not the success either. You are something more durable than either.

You don’t have to sit cross-legged on a mountain to live what the Gita teaches. You live it every time: You forgive someone without needing an apology. You lose something you thought you couldn’t live without, and still breathe the next day. You outgrow a version of yourself — and don’t go back.
This is spiritual knowledge, yes. But it’s also deeply human. The Gita meets you exactly where you are — confused, unsure, heartbroken, ambitious — and tells you: You’re not broken. You’re just in motion.

In the middle of the Gita, Krishna drops the line that anchors the whole text: “The Self is eternal. It cannot be cut, burned, drowned, or dried.” This is not about ego. It’s not about the “you” who posts on social media, or the “you” trying to get promoted, or even the “you” who’s learning to love better. It’s about the you behind all of that.
The you that observes, adapts, survives. The you that’s been watching quietly as the seasons of your life changed shape. That self — call it awareness, call it soul, call it consciousness — doesn’t change. And once you realize that, change isn’t threatening anymore. It’s just the world doing what it always does. And you? You’re learning how to move with it.

You’re not meant to hold on to everything. You’re meant to participate, to experience, to evolve. And the moment you stop fearing change, you start trusting life. Not because it’s predictable. But because it’s honest. So what do you do with this wisdom? You live. You show up.
You try your best. You let go of what you can’t control. You honor what is here while it’s here. And when it passes — as all things do — you say thank you, and keep walking. That’s not detachment. That’s maturity. That’s grace. That’s peace. And maybe, just maybe, that’s freedom.