On letting go

There’s something I read today and quite resonated with my recent thoughts:

I had to learn to be okay with the fact that when someone leaves, they are meant to leave. And if they are meant to come back, they will. We need to be okay to let people go because they have their own journey too.

Humans move like constellations: sometimes they draw together in patterns that feel fated, and sometimes they drift until the sky looks entirely different.

I’m starting to accept that the people who move through my life aren’t pieces I can arrange neatly on some emotional chessboard. They’re travellers with their own timelines, their own weather systems, their own reasons for drifting closer or further away. When I try to hold on too tightly, I end up confusing affection with control, and that isn’t who I want to be. Letting someone continue their journey feels more honest, even if it stings a little.

But alongside that realisation comes the uncomfortable truth about having many friendships. It’s a blessing, yes, but it also carries its own weight. I keep feeling that tug between wanting to be fully present for everyone and knowing I simply can’t. There are only so many hours in a week, only so much emotional bandwidth to stretch across so many different histories and expectations. I wish my heart could scale infinitely but it doesn’t work like that.

Relationships should be treated as an ecosystem rather than a checklist. Some connections are resilient—they survive long silences and still feel natural when we return to each other. Others need more tending, some fade even when no one did anything wrong. These shifts feel less like failures now and more like the natural breathing pattern of life. Expansion, contraction and everything in between.

As my own life shifts: new home, new pace, new hobbies, new people in life, this quiet desire to grow into a steadier version of myself, I can feel my social world rearranging itself too. Not out of neglect but because spaces change when you do. Some people naturally move closer. Some drift to the horizon. A few may disappear entirely. Maybe that’s okay.

What matters, I think, is showing up fully where I genuinely can, not everywhere I feel obligated to. Presence has more value than coverage. Friendships that can stretch, breathe and adjust with are the ones that will last without forcing.

I’m trying to trust this rhythm that letting people go gently creates room for something more aligned to stay, return or grow in its own time.

People are not chapters we author; they’re travelers who pass through our landscape. When they stay, it’s a gift. When they go, it’s a direction.