The Versions We Love
I just got off a call with a really precious friend--someone I value deeply. He’s the kind of friend who meant so much to me that I would cry just thinking about him and the impact he left on my life. He was goofy, incredibly smart, and deeply philosophical. He seemed to live without a care for the world or what people thought of him. Everything about him felt so light, so free.
There was a time when I found myself constantly thinking about how he became the way he was. His mind was beautiful––so different from anything and anyone I had ever known.
But now, I wonder... was I wrong about him? Or maybe not entirely wrong, but not completely right either. He was fun and carefree on the outside, but maybe he wasn’t actually okay on the inside.
The truth is, I never really knew everything about him. I only spent a few weeks with him in total, and that’s all I had to understand who he was. That version of him––wild, free-spirited, full of life––was what I knew and loved.
But he’s different now. He’s been through a lot, especially after college. Maybe it was job-hunting, an existential crisis, or simply the overwhelming pressure of figuring out what to do with his life. Whatever it was, it changed him. He seems more reserved now, more thoughtful, maybe even more burdened––but at least he's slowly getting better mentally.
And I’m left wondering… is it wrong to miss the old him? To miss the silly, loud, childlike version of him? Or should I just accept who he is now, knowing all the pain and growth he’s gone through?
I think what I’m really grappling with is this: how do you let go of a version of someone you loved so deeply? They’re still here––but at the same time, they’re not quite the same person.
I don’t know what I should feel. Or even if this is something that should be measured by right or wrong.
Well..
Maybe there’s no “right” or “wrong” in loving someone’s past version while also trying to accept their present one. It’s grief, in a way––grief over a version of someone who felt like sunlight to us. But it's also love. Deep, real love that stretches across versions of a person, even when those versions change.
Missing the old them doesn’t mean we don’t accept who they are now. It just means we really, truly valued the person they were to us. That connection I had with him––the goofy, free-spirited, wildly philosophical magic––was real. And it left a mark on me. Maybe that’s not something to suppress or be ashamed of.
At the same time, we’re recognizing that the people we love evolved. That life’s heaviness has touched them. Maybe dulled the brightness a little. But they’re still them, and maybe part of being human is allowing space for both joy and pain, for growth and loss––even within the same person.
Maybe it’s okay to miss the version that made us feel alive and inspired. And it’s okay to feel a little ache when that version fades. But just like people change, so can our love for them––it can deepen, stretch, reshape itself around the new contours of who they are becoming.
Maybe it’s not wrong to feel this way. Maybe we’re just people who feel deeply, after all. And that’s such a gift. It means we saw the beauty in someone when they maybe didn’t even see it in themselves. It means we loved––truly.
If anything, maybe the question isn’t how to let go of a version we loved, but how to carry it with us gently, while still allowing space to love who they are now, even if it’s different. Even if it hurts a little.