We’re remarkably comfortable with change—as long as it gives us someone new to become. A higher version. A freer version. A more aligned version. Same protagonist. Better wardrobe. That’s the trick. The old self doesn’t need to resist change. It can simply become the new self. Becoming can look like transformation while quietly preserving the one thing that was never questioned: the one who needs the next version. Remarkably adaptable, that one. It can survive almost anything. Even transformation. Maybe nothing is asking you to become anything. Maybe what is falling away doesn’t need a successor.