That text from my ex still sits unread in my notifications. It’s been three days.
I’ve been staring at it like it’s Schrödinger’s message — simultaneously the best and worst thing I could read. But here’s the plot twist: I’m not going to open it. Ever.
You see, I’ve recently stumbled upon this life-changing truth that’s both ridiculously simple and painfully profound: every ending is just life’s way of clearing your calendar for something better.
Last month, I got laid off from my “dream job” in tech. I use air quotes because let’s be real — spending 60 hours a week debugging someone else’s code while surviving on cold coffee wasn’t exactly what 10-year-old me had in mind.
The first week was brutal. I binged Netflix like it was my new full-time job (spoiler alert: it kind of was). But then something weird happened. I started breathing easier. My chronic Sunday night anxiety vanished. And that startup idea I’d been sitting on? It suddenly didn’t seem so crazy.
Think about it like this: your life is like a tiny studio apartment. You can’t bring in that gorgeous vintage armchair you found on Facebook Marketplace unless you get rid of that ratty old recliner first. Same goes for relationships, jobs, and dreams.
When someone walks out of your life, they’re not just leaving — they’re creating space. And nature abhors a vacuum (thanks, high school physics!). That void will fill up with something, or someone, new. It’s just how the universe works.
Here’s the secret they don’t write about in self-help books: the magic isn’t in the ending or the beginning. It’s in that messy, uncomfortable space between them. That’s where you find out who you really are when everything you thought defined you is gone.
I’ve started calling these moments my “plot twists.” That promotion you didn’t get? Plot twist: you start a side hustle that takes off. That friend who ghosted you? Plot twist: you join a hiking group and meet your future business partner.
So back to that unread message. Maybe it’s an apology, maybe it’s another excuse. But here’s the thing — I don’t need to know. Because whatever it says, it’s part of an ending I’ve already accepted. And I’m too busy writing the first chapter of my next beginning.
Remember: Life has a funny way of closing doors so quietly that you don’t notice until you find yourself in a completely new room. And sometimes, that room is exactly where you were meant to be all along.
P.S. If you’re sitting there with your own unread message, consider this your sign. Some things are better left in the past — including this article’s ending.