Every moment happens once.
You’ll have dinner with someone you love hundreds of times. But this dinner, the light coming through the window at this angle, the way they pause mid-sentence, the particular weight of what you’re both carrying today, this version doesn’t repeat. Tomorrow you might sit in the same chairs, possibly even with the same individual, but you’ll be different people having a different conversation. Time doesn’t rewind or pause. So yes, this is the last time you’ll have this dinner.
The same is true for every meeting, every conversation, every ordinary Tuesday. You may see and talk to someone again. But this version is a memory as soon as the interaction is complete. You both leave changed, even slightly. The context shifts. The relationship adjusts. You never step in the same river twice, even when it’s your own kitchen table.
When you truly absorb this, something shifts. You don’t get dramatic about it. You don’t treat breakfast like a funeral. You don’t cling to moments as they’re leaving. That would be exhausting, and it would miss the point entirely. Instead, you pay better attention and focus on being more present.
Because if a moment happens only once, then half-showing up is a waste. Not because the moment disappears, but because you weren’t fully there while it existed. The lesson isn’t to hold on tighter or make everything meaningful. It’s simply to treat this moment as complete.
Say the thing that doesn’t need a follow-up, listen instead of internally rehearsing your response, and let the conversation stand on its own, instead of borrowing significance from a future version you’re assuming will arrive.
Most of 2025 felt routine while it was happening. Conversations I had, I assumed would continue. Meetings I treated as interchangeable. Time I spent half-present, confident there would always be another chance to really show up. And there were more chances. Just not the same ones. Each moment stands on its own and can’t be repeated.
Moments aren’t fragile. They’re non-refundable. Once they pass, they don’t come back in the same form. That’s not sad. That’s what gives them weight.
If there’s a next dinner, it will matter on its own terms. It won’t redeem or replace anything. It will simply be what it is. And this one? It already had its turn.
“The present moment is the only moment available to us, and it is the door to all moments.”- Thich Nhat Hanh
If this idea resonates, or if you’ve had a moment recently that made you notice time differently, I’d love to hear about it. Feel free to DM me and share what you’re seeing.
Have a great first 2026 weekend!!!
Happy New Year,
Vijay