Month: November 2024

Grace Cheng (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

Dreams are often the driving force behind our ambitions. They light our way and ignite our passions. They inspire us to rise each day with intention, fueling our hopes for the future. However, life’s journey is not always straightforward, and sometimes we face crossroads that compel us to reevaluate the dreams we once cherished. While the prospect of giving up on a dream can be intimidating, it is crucial to recognize when it is time to adjust our aspirations for our well-being and personal development.

Understanding when to release a dream is not a sign of failure; rather, it reflects maturity and self-awareness. Many individuals struggle with the idea that letting go equates to personal defeat. Society often glorifies relentless perseverance, encouraging people to pursue their dreams no matter the circumstances. Yet, true courage lies in the ability to recognize when a dream no longer aligns with our values or reality. This requires honest self-reflection, which can sometimes be overlooked in the quest for success.

One reason to consider moving on from a dream is the realization that it may no longer be in our best interests. As life unfolds, we grow and change. What once seemed like a passion can lose its appeal as we gain new experiences and perspectives. For instance, a person who aspired to be a professional athlete may find their enthusiasm waning due to injuries or shifting priorities. In such situations, holding onto an outdated dream can lead to frustration and discontent.

Welcoming change and allowing ourselves to pivot can open new, fulfilling opportunities that resonate more with our current selves. Additionally, the pursuit of certain dreams can result in emotional or financial strain. For example, an aspiring artist aiming to highlight their work in a prestigious gallery may find the constant rejections and minimal progress overwhelming. At that point, it might be prudent to evaluate whether the pursuit is worth the sacrifices it demands.

Recognizing that it is okay to redirect our energy and resources toward a more attainable and satisfying goal can be freeing. In this context, finding joy in creating art for personal enjoyment or exploring different mediums can restore a sense of purpose. Furthermore, letting go of a dream can unveil new opportunities that we might have overlooked while fixated on a singular goal.

When we release a narrow focus, we create room for other interests and passions to flourish. For example, someone who envisioned a career as a corporate lawyer might discover that their true calling lies in education or community service. By stepping back from a rigid pursuit, we grant ourselves the freedom to explore new avenues and uncover hidden talents. Additionally, the process of letting go can foster personal growth and resilience. Life teaches us many lessons, and sometimes the hardest ones come from relinquishing what we believed we wanted.

Embracing the journey of surrendering a dream can cultivate adaptability and self-compassion. It encourages us to be kinder to ourselves, acknowledging that it is okay to change direction and redefine our goals. This newfound resilience can equip us for future challenges, providing tools to navigate life’s difficulties more effectively.

As we reflect on our cherished dreams, it is important to approach this journey of self-discovery with patience and understanding. The decision to let go is rarely clear-cut. It often involves a complex mix of emotions and circumstances. Journaling, seeking guidance from mentors or engaging in deep conversations with trusted friends can offer clarity during this process. It is essential to remember that every ending opens the door to new beginnings, and by letting go of a dream, we create space for growth, transformation and unexpected opportunities.

In summary, the idea of giving up on a dream can stir feelings of sadness and fear, but it can also herald a new chapter in our lives. While dreams are meant to inspire us, they should not limit us to a single path. Through honest self-reflection, acknowledging our evolving interests and embracing change, we can make thoughtful decisions about our aspirations. Ultimately, letting go of a dream is not a mark of defeat. It is a chance for renewal, allowing us to discover new passions and paths that resonate more closely with who we are meant to be. By approaching this journey with an open heart and mind, we can cultivate a fulfilling life where our true passions thrive.

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Grace has an accounting and finance background. She enjoys reading, writing, listening to music, watching movies and playing sports.

Daniela Silva, Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

At 19, I got my first job as a gym receptionist. I was really excited; after all, I could finally go to university and pay for my bachelor’s degree in pedagogy.

Until then, I had no experience dealing with the public, nor multitasking at reception. But since I wasn’t the only receptionist on my shift (there were two other girls) the work became lighter and more relaxed as they taught me each assignment of my role at work.

Little by little I realized that my introversion was an asset, as I connected even more with the needs of each client. I went from being a receptionist to listening to the problems, doubts and dilemmas presented by those who passed by reception. I looked after not only their physical well-being, but also their relational and emotional health.

I worked for three years at the gym, and during this period I grew a lot as a person and as a professional. 

The fact is that behaving like an extrovert and dealing with the public for six hours straight drained my energy by nightfall. However, I understood why I was there, listening sympathetically to all those people and making suggestions for some. Thinking this way energized me, as I used all my capacity of analysis and reflection to try to help make people’s lives healthier and more balanced. However, this was not enough to keep me in this occupation for long.

Fired for Introversion in a Highly Extroverted Environment

It was supposed to be another busy day at work, amidst student registrations, ringing phones, loud music in gym classes and the introduction of sports rooms to new clients. But it wasn’t a typical day.

The dismissal process began with my boss thanking me for all my effort and dedication to my work. However, according to him, after watching me for years working at the gym, he didn’t feel like I belonged there. In his words, I didn’t have the talkative and agitated profile that suited that sporting environment; I only communicated when there was movement in reception, and I was too quiet for that workplace.

For that reason, he was firing me, believing that I would find an occupation that fit my way of being.

Wow, that sounded like a punch in the gut and a bucket of cold water.

What did he mean, my way of being?

Calm on the outside but in turmoil on the inside, I thanked him for the opportunity and headed over to Human Resources.

Six months later, I got an internship at a daycare center as a result of my graduation course in pedagogy. And I could hardly wait for the sweet surprises that that place would bring me.

A Job to Call My Own: The Day I Embraced My Introversion.

In April 2004, I got my first job in education. I was quite excited. After all, I would be doing an internship in the career I had chosen: pedagogy, the science that takes care of children’s learning.

One day, a new student arrived at the daycare center. I’m going to call her Laura.

Laura was a soft-spoken five-year-old child with brown hair and eyes. As soon as she arrived, Laura stayed by my side the whole time, and even when I introduced her to the other children, she preferred to play alone with the dolls and costumes we had at school.

When playing outside, Laura didn’t feel comfortable. She preferred playing alone on the slide or making sand cakes with her bucket. But Laura had one wish: she wanted to play on the swing, but she couldn’t reach it. 

When Laura managed to get on the swing, she called out to me in the distance: Daniela, I did it! 

Immediately, I went to hug her, happy and radiant. That day, Laura cried. But it wasn’t out of sadness; it was because of her achievement. A small, big achievement!

The Power of the Quiet

Unlike the gym episode, Laura was not dropped from the group for her introversion, nor was she judged for being quiet. Quite the contrary: she was welcomed for her way of being, admired for her way of acting, and applauded for her silent strength.

I was fired for being part of a highly extroverted environment where being the center of attention was synonymous with daring. My introversion was seen by my boss and peers as a lack of enthusiasm and initiative and even mistaken for sadness, when in fact it was the opposite: even in a highly talkative environment, I committed myself daily to doing my job well, being gregarious even without attracting attention, because I understood that my focus and attention should be on my work, not on myself.

I embraced my introversion the moment I gave Laura a hug. That five-year-old girl taught me what no coach, boss, book or melody is capable of teaching: what defines us is not the severity of our introversion, but our strength of character, whether silent or not. Because actions speak louder than words.

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Cristina Crescenzo (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

I think it’s easier for me to admit that I miss others who have left my life in one way or another than to admit I miss the person I used to be. I don’t think we talk about that enough, missing ourselves. It is true that every day we become someone new, little by little, someone unrecognizable from yesterday. However, and I am sure I am not the only one who has felt this way, I can sometimes become disillusioned with the person I have become. It is hard for me to decipher whether it is for the good or for the bad. I just can’t help but miss my younger self, or I suppose I miss the girl other people told me I was, the happy girl, a girl naïve to all the world’s problems, including her own. 

I have to say it’s a very discombobulating experience, missing your old self, compared to someone who used to be in your life, because it’s not like they are really gone, you just can’t access them. I am not saying who I was before was perfect, because there is no such thing. Still, I miss being able to speak freely, without judgment, making jokes without having to assassinate my character for a laugh, and not caring what people think about what I wear or how overbearing my personality can be. I yearn for the days when comparison didn’t steal away my joy and how being an individual didn’t make others see you as something artificial. I long for the ease of being around big groups of people, because now, even being alone can feel suffocating. 

Peter Pan was a boy who never wanted to grow up, and now, after 24 years on this earth, I finally understand his reluctance. Adulthood is not at all what it is cracked up to be, because instead of going trick or treating and believing in Santa Claus, we all start to become pessimists . . . well, at least in my case. I always knew that life would become more challenging with each rotation of the sun, but I never thought it would be this hard. Monsters may not live under our beds, but some are intangible and can live in our heads. I also find that, nowadays, there is a low supply of hope, so I look back at my younger days and wonder why I was in such a rush to grow up? I was convinced the best was yet to come, but I can’t help but feel that maybe that time has already passed. Ignorance is truly bliss; the problem is you can’t go back, and Neverland doesn’t exist. I feel so stuck that I can’t help but think that my past self would run away screaming if I could tell her about our life now. Peter Pan didn’t want to grow up and neither do I. 

Despite what I have typed so far, I am not entirely without hope that I will come to accept this new version of myself, and when this one leaves, I will learn to adapt to that one, too. It may seem like an unnatural grief, but grieving yourself is valid, and I think it’s something we all have had to contend with at one time in the deepest part of our hearts. So I do miss the girl I was, and I want her to return, but I don’t think she’s supposed to because that’s not how life works. It will remain forever changing.

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I am just a 24-year-old finishing her English bachelor’s degree at Simon Fraser University who loves to read and write in order to help someone in some small way. I will also always advocate for mental health and disabled causes through the written word, and Low Entropy lets me do just that.

Edo Somtoo (he/him/his), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

Not again, not today. It was a cold winter around the early ’80s, a time when life meant rugged determination and relentless hardship. Winters were long and bitter, with temperatures dropping so low that even simple daily tasks felt burdensome and painfully slow. I looked down at my hands, rough and reddened, frostbite a part of the routine. No matter how many blankets we piled on at night, the cold seeped in, relentless as ever.

Nothing ever seemed to come easy; ends never seemed to meet, each day a struggle just to keep us warm. When we tried heating the home, it required costly wood or oil, and we spent hours chopping firewood or patching drafts just to keep out the biting chill. Mama worked tirelessly, taking shifts in factories or on farms, or cleaning houses, all while bearing the weight of our little household with an unbreakable strength.

One faithful day, Mama came back from work. She washed up, her hands raw from the cold, and sat down on the one cushion we had. She had prepared a small meal for us, and I watched her as she carefully divided it onto our favourite plates. But she didn’t come to join us, breaking our usual custom.

I remembered the last time we visited the clinic, exactly six months ago, trudging through the cold to get there. That’s when I learned the truth: Mama had less than a year left to live. The isolation of our remote community made it harder, weeks sometimes passing before we saw a friend or neighbour, especially when the roads were snowed in. I’d grappled with fear and regret ever since, wishing she had more time.

That summer, we went shopping at our favourite thrift store. Mama picked out a beautiful swimsuit—our first in ages. She usually paid in small deposits to hold items aside, but this time, she bought it outright.

“It’s a perfect fit,” she said, smiling as she handed over the payment.

We had the best summer together that year, filled with beach days, her laughter and a sense of joy I’d never seen in her before. She reminded me of how, even as a widow after my father had died of a heart attack, she found the strength to go on alone. He hadn’t even lived to see his youngest daughter turn three.

Now here I was, sorting through her things, her treasured letters exchanged with my father while he served in Vietnam. Canada hadn’t been directly involved, but my father volunteered, feeling a duty to serve. Inside the box were tapes he’d sent home; hearing his voice now sent chills through me.

Mama gave us so much, every bit of her life and love, even through hardship and loss. As I folded the letters, I realized that these memories weren’t only remnants of a harder time—they were pieces of her, of us. We had faced bitter winters and heavy burdens, but she had shown us how to find warmth even in the coldest days. And though saying goodbye was the hardest thing I’d ever done, I knew she was still with us, her strength carrying us forward.

As I closed the box, I whispered, “Goodbye, Mama. Thank you for teaching me how to live, even in the hardest of times.”

I could feel her presence, gentle and strong, like a hand on my shoulder. I knew she’d always be a part of me, guiding me through every winter and every storm, reminding me that I, too, was made of her strength and her love.

—

I’m Edo Somtoo—a passionate chess player who loves making friends and enjoys the game’s strategic challenges. With no judgment in sight, let’s connect and embark on an exciting journey together.

Diny Davis (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” – Dr. Seuss

Goodbyes are often seen as the end of a chapter, a moment of closure that can be both difficult and easy. But what if we could transform these farewells into powerful motivators for personal growth? In this article, we’ll explore how setting meaningful goals can help us navigate the challenges of saying goodbye, whether it’s to a person, a place, or a phase of life. We’ll dive into the strategies for creating goals that not only inspire but also sustain us through difficult times.

Understanding the Power of Goodbyes

Goodbyes are more than just farewells; they are opportunities for transformation. When we part ways with something or someone significant, we are often left with an emptiness that can be filled with new aspirations and dreams. Setting difficult goals can be a powerful motivator. When we push ourselves outside our comfort zone, we often discover untapped potential. Challenging goals will force us to grow and learn new skills. 

The Emotional Impact of Goodbyes

Saying goodbye can trigger feelings of loss and grief, which are natural responses to a change. These moments encourage us to observe our own mental and emotional sides, allowing us to evaluate what truly matters in our lives.

Turning Goodbyes Into Motivation

Use the energy from a goodbye to set new, meaningful goals that align with your values. View goodbyes as a chance for a change that will push you out of your comfort zone and welcomes you into new experiences. As you work towards your challenging goal, don’t forget to acknowledge and celebrate small victories. These moments of recognition can help you to maintain motivation during difficult times.

The Psychology Behind Motivating Hardship

Our brains are wired to seek challenges. When we overcome obstacles, our bodies release dopamine, which makes us feel good and motivates us to keep pushing forward. By setting goals that include some level of hardship, it helps us to step into this natural reward system.

Crafting Goals That Inspire

Creating goals that motivate us through hardship requires careful thought and planning. Here are some strategies to help you set goals that are both inspiring and achievable:

Aligning Goals with Personal Values

Reflect on what is most important to you and ensure your goals align with these values. Visualize your goals and the values they represent to keep you motivated.

Setting SMART Goals

Specific: Clearly define what you want to achieve.

Measurable: Establish criteria to track your progress.

Achievable: Set realistic goals that challenge you but are achievable.

Relevant: Ensure your goals are meaningful and relevant to your life.

Time-bound: Set a deadline to create a sense of urgency.

Building Resilience Through Goals

Understand that setbacks are part of the journey and use them as learning opportunities. Acknowledge and celebrate progress, no matter how small or big: celebrating small victories helps in maintaining motivation for a long period of time until your main goal has been accomplished.

Learning from Failures

Not every challenging goal will be achieved, and that’s okay. The process of working towards a difficult goal is often more valuable than the outcome. Each failure is an opportunity to learn and adjust your approach.

The Long-Term Benefits of Embracing Hardship

By consistently setting and working towards challenging goals, you’re building mental toughness, resilience, and adaptability. These qualities will serve you well in all areas of life, far beyond the specific goals you set.

Turning Goodbyes Into New Beginnings

Personal experiences can offer valuable insights into how goodbyes can lead to new beginnings. Here are my few personal experiences that illustrate this transformation:

•  A Career Change Inspired by a Farewell

When I said goodbye to my corporate job, I felt a mix of feelings that included fear and excitement. This farewell pushed me to give more time to myself, my passion for travel, writing, fitness and taking care of my family.

• Moving to a New Country

My move to a new country was a difficult goodbye to my familiar surroundings and to my wonderful family. However, it motivated me to set goals for building a new lifestyle, while learning about new cultures, people and exploring new hobbies, enriching my life in unexpected ways.

Conclusion

Goodbyes, while often challenging, can be powerful motivators for personal growth and transformation. By setting meaningful goals that align with our values, we can navigate the hardships of farewells with resilience and purpose. Remember, every goodbye is an opportunity to say hello to new possibilities. As you embrace these changes, let your goals guide you towards a future filled with promise and potential.

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Diny Davis is an aspiring author who is passionate about fitness and a strong believer in the close connection between physical and mental health. She is a journalism, psychology and literature graduate, a loving wife, and a caring mother who maintains a balance in her work and personal life while giving emphasis to self-care.

Lauren Long (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

Goodbye. A seemingly simple word that has so much emotion packed into it. In some cases, goodbye can be good. If you’re walking away from relationships that have become toxic or where growth has ceased, goodbye can be positive and heartbreaking at the same time. 

Goodbye can also be good if a family member or friend has been sick for a long time, and even though it breaks your heart to see them let go, you can’t help but feel grateful that they’re not suffering anymore.

And then there are the goodbyes you never expected to say. The ones that come with the unexpected death of a loved one. The ones that come long before their time. 

The first time I said an unexpected goodbye, I was 12 years old. It was an evening like any other. My mom had helped me with my homework that afternoon before we joined my dad and younger sister for dinner and American Idol. While we were watching, the phone rang. It was my dad’s mom calling to tell us that my grandpa had had a heart attack and that she was doing CPR but he wasn’t breathing.

Without realizing it, I said goodbye to my childhood and its innocence that night. It was replaced by the realization that death spares no one.

Lucy Maud Montgomery said that no life is the same once the cold hand of death has touched it, and death touched my life once again that year, not two months after my grandpa passed away. In April 2004, we lost my maternal great-grandfather to cancer. His death was expected, my paternal grandfather’s sudden passing wasn’t. 

Five years later, in my senior year of high school, death came knocking again. In December 2008, my family and I had to put our dog Penny to sleep because she had cancer. In 2020, we lost my last living grandfather when he slipped on ice and hit his head. 

You’d think that saying goodbye would become easier after you’ve experienced grief and loss more than once, but that’s not the case. Recent experience has reminded me of that. 

This past summer, my brother-in-law unexpectedly lost two cousins within five days of each other. I’ll never forget the morning my sister called and told us that one had passed away and the other was in a coma, nor the following five days of uncertainty mixed with hope that he would wake up. 

I didn’t know one of the cousins very well, but I knew the one who was in the coma. We’d spent time together when I went to visit my sister and brother-in-law, and we were in their bridal party. The days leading up to the wedding, I got to know him a little more, and I remember laughing as he spun me on the dance floor while attempting to teach me how to two-step, something my brother-in-law, his siblings and cousins all knew how to do. 

I remember feeling the happiness that comes with weddings, where everything else is blocked out because you’re living in the moment, and what I felt was that a new chapter was opening where I would have relationships with my brother-in-law’s cousins. I never let myself think that it would be different. I never thought that that night would be the last time I saw his cousin alive. 

The five days of waiting and sleepless nights came to a head when my brother-in-law got the call that his cousin didn’t make it through the night while my mom and I were on FaceTime with him and my sister. That moment is burned into my memory, and will be until my dying day. 

The five days of hell turned into months of grief. The losses of two young men who had their whole lives ahead of them shattered my heart, and for a while it was missing, a hole in my chest cavity. When it came back, the beats were painful and my heart was drenched in pain.

These last few months, I’ve been through every what-if, every stage of the five stages of grief. Some people creep into your heart quietly, and you don’t realize that they have a piece of it until they’re gone.

Not only did I say goodbye to my brother-in-law’s cousin, I said goodbye to myself too. I lost myself in the waves of grief, and though I’m beginning to find my way back, I know I will never be the person I was before this summer again. 

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Born and raised in Quesnel, BC, Lauren Long is a strong advocate for mental health and well-being. When she’s not writing, you can find her on the pole, on the training mats or curled up with a good book.

Cassandra Di Lalla (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

I’m a firm believer that our death is predetermined from birth. I was raised Roman Catholic, but I do not go to church. I believe that there is a higher power and that miracles do happen sometimes. I’ve always considered myself to be more spiritual than anything else. Some people may find that my ways are a little unorthodox, but I live the life that I need to live for myself. I’m very intuitive and I’m a free spirit.

I’ve always thought that the word “goodbye” was something to fear, since the harsh reality is that we’re all going to leave this earth one day. Until then, life should be lived to the fullest . . . mindfully, purposefully, unapologetically and in the most legendary way. When the afterlife takes us, I truly believe that we’ll live vicariously through our loved ones who are still walking the earth. Our spirits live on, even when our bodies start to deteriorate and wilt away. This is such a pure statement . . . the ideology behind it is so simple, yet so significant. Our spirits can travel to places that our physical bodies were never able to. Our souls are doing laps around the sun, comforting the moon, snuggling with the stars, visiting the fur friends who have crossed over to find the rainbow bridge and spending quality time with our relatives, who have reserved a spot for our souls to recharge before we travel all over again the next day. 

Life is incredibly short—too short—and I feel as though a lot of people take it for granted. Life in itself is inevitable, it will happen regardless of the good or the bad, because life is a vessel and it carries both the internal and external of everything that simply is. Life is in us and around us, and it follows us indefinitely. 

Don’t leave the house without telling your loved ones to be safe and that you love them. Don’t let the little things get in the way of enjoying the wholesome moments. Will the petty stuff matter if you lose someone overnight or the next day? No, because nothing is more valuable than the life of a loved one. Don’t go to bed angry—just let it go. Your last words shouldn’t be “I hate you,” “I can’t stand you,” “Just leave already” or anything along those lines. You will have to bear that for the rest of your days. You will constantly be reminded that your words will forever live on in your mind and in your heart. You will struggle to find solace afterwards. 

The best kind of goodbye is not having to say goodbye. We all hope that it can be a “See you later” instead, because we all pray for a safe return home. A last goodbye also means permanent pain—the heart and soul suffer and the shock is everlasting.

Life is a scary game of Russian roulette, but we shouldn’t live in fear, despite each day being a 50/50 draw. Our lives are being raffled off by the devil and he’s waiting for our souls to shed its layers so that he can feed off the remnants. It’s almost like the devil prepares a travel itinerary for us because we’re sometimes misguided and we often wonder who’s at fault. If life depended on the devil’s plan, then we would all be at his glory, and under his wrath. 

Saying goodbye should feel as though you’re seeing a bright future beyond the clouds and under the stars at night; it is leaving the world behind knowing that your heart was always roaming the earth with good intentions. Saying goodbye should be singing sweet symphonies on the way out the door and being led to your throne in the sky. Your heart holds a little piece of heaven, but heaven holds every last bit of you. 

Don’t hold your loved ones accountable for your fate, because nobody deserves to have to fight off the guilt once you’ve departed. 

Saying goodbye is part of life, and we are part of what life is all about. Saying goodbye is  in everybody’s deck of cards, but not all of us are aware that that’s the game we’re forced to play since day one. 

Goodbye might be forever in the physical world, but it might also be a “Hello” or a rebirth in another world. The afterlife is eternal, so our worries can take a backseat and we can enjoy the ride that we never got to experience in the physical world. 

—

Cassandra Di Lalla lives life purposefully. She enjoys reading, writing and mental health initiatives. She’s an animal lover for life and an innovative individual always finding new ways to create.

Rowan Sanan (he/him/his), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

People entering and leaving our lives is as natural as a tide on a beach. We as people are always moving, changing and growing, so the relationships we have as kids in school quickly change later on in life. Those relationships can fall apart or drift away. Sometimes, people and relationships are torn apart by mortality itself. 

When I moved across the country, I struggled to be so far away from my friends and everything I knew and was used to. I did a really good job of keeping in touch with people at first, but it only took a couple of months for us to drift apart. I still talk to them every now and then, of course, to wish a happy birthday or make casual conversation about something they might have posted on social media. Still, I find myself missing them. Sometimes I’m resigned about it and don’t think I could have done much more. Other times I’m frustrated that I didn’t try harder to maintain those friendships, or that social media wasn’t as huge when I was a kid to keep us in touch. It feels awful, both physically and emotionally. 

Missing someone can bring sadness. Not a simple kind of sadness, either. It can be a complex sadness that is a mix of regret and grief—regret for that one thing left unsaid, that one secret never admitted. The grief for a relationship that never was what it could have been. Maybe even grief from loss. I lost my aunt several years ago, and even though I was never particularly close with her, I still feel everyone’s palpable grief whenever the whole family reunites and remembers that there’s one person missing. I see how my family mourn their missing sibling and daughter and I imagine how that must feel—having a sister myself, it’s petrifying. 

Missing someone can also bring anger. I’ll be the first to admit, seeing the people around me grow busier with time has led to frustration. I really miss them and I find that, sometimes, I can resent how busy they have become. However, part of life and growing up is learning to accept how these things change and still find a way to build community. This can be through many things, like finding new groups with shared interests, or even finding a new fun thing to share with the existing group. It helps me to reassure myself that my friends might all miss me too. 

Missing people can bring intense nostalgia. When I think about my childhood friends, I feel nostalgic for all the various things we would do together. We’d go to eat ice cream at the outdoor soft serve place and play capture the flag at the park, or tease each other for being too short—or too tall—to play the role of libero in volleyball. We’d play different games like four-square or grounders—my sister’s friend mentioned grounders the other day and I felt a huge blast from the past as memories of adrenaline-filled chases filled my mind. I hadn’t heard the name in years. 

Missing people can cause sleeplessness, loneliness, depression and anxiety. Humans are made to interact with others, as much as some of us might dislike it sometimes. Becoming attached to others is a result of that. So it is only natural to miss them and desire to be with them, even more so when we no longer see them. It’s a natural part of how we as people function, and is probably part of the reason why we build community the way that we do. We want to be close with those we care about, so we live near them and interact with them as often as possible. When separated by distance or even by death, it’s hard to grapple with the fact that we can’t see those people anymore. After all, missing people is associated with losing them in some way, shape or form. Along with emotions like sadness, anger and nostalgia, this can cause fear or terror, worsened by any sort of sudden separation.

Access to technology like phones and social media helps to an extent, since it allows us to communicate across barriers. Still, relationships that are maintained entirely online can often worsen the feeling of loneliness and yearning in any type of relationship. 

So how do we cope with missing someone, especially when it can’t be solved by a simple phone call or text? The first step would be to acknowledge that feeling. Understand that the sadness, the anger, the nostalgia and the yearning are normal parts of being human. Don’t be afraid to seek support from the people around you, or get advice and reassurance. 

Other methods could be finding new hobbies to occupy your mind, or writing out how you feel. If you miss someone because they have passed, this can be especially helpful as a coping mechanism. Honouring that person in some way can also help. Coping with loss is adjacent to but not the same as coping with missing someone, though, so methods for this will be different for everyone. 

In the end, it is important to embrace the fact that missing people is normal and comes with painful emotions. Coping with those emotions is important, but allowing yourself to feel them is important too. Nobody heals when they’re rushed, after all. 

—

Rowan is a university student who loves to write books and poetry, read all kinds of books and spend time with his family and pets.

1. Chahbani (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

It is never easy to leave or quit. What if we were leaving a place that had all our memories, laughter and sorrows in it? I knew it was going to be hard and, at some moment in time, the joy of a new journey was going to turn into a big load on my heart. What started as excitement slowly turned into a burden as I began to realize the emotional weight of leaving everything behind.

In the face of these feelings, you can either take them head-on and move forward, or become paralyzed and controlled by the fear, ruining your whole experience. 

It can’t be denied that leaving marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of a fresh one. Everybody has their different reasons for leaving. Some people relocate in pursuit of greater opportunities, job fulfillment or education. Others do so to flee tough circumstances or unsolvable situations. I left because I could feel my beliefs crumbling under the weight of family expectations and societal standards. It felt like I had already lost the war and, all of a sudden, everything else was too much to bear.

When the time came to choose between living the same old unfulfilling life and diving blindly into the unknown, I made the decision to stand up for my life. That required me to let go of anything that was making me miserable and not serving my intended purpose. At this point, choosing to be brave or afraid was challenging. 

The trip might indeed provide happiness and contentment, but making the choice is never simple. Although I felt my roots had been abandoned, I now realize they are an unbreakable part of who I am. My roots stayed with me to guide me while I built a completely new identity based on values that were significant to me, helping to mold who I am and will become. I began to question the standards I had always maintained as I grew away from them. Some no longer served me, such as the need for approval from others. But those about resilience, personal growth and self-discovery, I rooted to. 

Even though saying goodbye hurts deeply, letting go allows for fresh viewpoints and different experiences. It has made me revise my values and accept change. Each goodbye seems like an opportunity to restart my life and follow my dreams. It reminds me that usually, to grow, a person has to leave their comfort zone. I’m building from experience, not starting from scratch. 

You’ll initially feel empty from all this novelty, both emotionally and geographically. The overwhelming unfamiliarity—new faces, new routines, new surroundings—left me feeling lost and disconnected, like I had traded my familiar, rooted identity for one that was still undefined. One should be mature enough to recognize that moving on will eventually reveal secret aspects of oneself, including resilience, stubbornness, a never-ending hope and a drive to learn, which I may not have realized at the time. At some point, I had to accept who I was and find comfort in the knowledge that those choices had turned out to be wise ones. As cliché as it may sound, growth is rarely achieved without saying goodbye to people, places or circumstances. But every goodbye opens a path for fresh starts and chances. 

Leaving a place can open the door to joy—joy that comes from new experiences and the courage to discover and try things you never thought possible. Back in the comfort of the familiar, I was often put into a mold and told what I could or couldn’t do. I was able to break free from those limitations by stepping into the unknown. Suddenly, I had the freedom to try anything I wanted. I had to confront my fears and challenge myself to explore new places and experiences. It wasn’t easy at first—fear often paralyzed me, making me second-guess my decisions. But as I persevered, I learned how to be my own best companion on this journey. 

I took myself out on dates, to events and even out to dinner. I learned how to leverage my brain to keep up my motivation and contentment. I managed to support myself. I came to see that I could build experiences for myself that were bold, genuine and joyful. 

The road had some bumps, yes. There were times when I shed tears and felt sad, but that was part of the journey—the process of becoming the person I was meant to be. Growing means accepting change, and leaving a place marks a significant turning point in one’s life, not just the start of a great little journey. The challenge of stepping into the unknown often leads to growth as we learn to adapt and rebuild our lives. 

I left a place, but somehow found myself in unexpected places, in quiet moments of self-reflection and in the new beginnings that awaited me. I learned new things about myself, such as how to accept my independence and curiosity, and how resilient I could be when faced with loneliness.

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1. Chahbani has pursued several career paths over the past decade. She is now making a career change. Her purpose in writing is to share her thoughts and experiences with others in her own words. Sharing is caring.