You have our permission to change.

The self is not a fixed thing but a process, and impermanence is the one law nothing escapes. We cling to a single version of who we are as if it were a contract signed in stone, then call growth a betrayal of it. But the cell that refuses to divide is not loyal, only dying, and the same universe that turned dust into stars is still rearranging itself through us. We were never asked to stay the same; the asking was a story we told ourselves. What would loosen if we stopped guarding the person we used to be?