The "you" that exists in this moment has never existed before and will never exist again.

The self is not a fixed thing but a passing configuration, and this is where impermanence stops being frightening and starts being precious. Every atom, every thought, every angle of light has arranged itself into this exact version of us, once, and the arrangement is already dissolving. We tend to grieve change as loss, but a wave that returned unchanged would not be a wave at all. To be alive is to be a pattern that never repeats, briefly gathered from the same material as the stars. What would this moment feel like if we knew it was the only time it would ever occur?