Hoard

If you died today, your job would advertise the vacancy before the funeral arrangements have been finalised.

It doesn't matter that you trained half the department. It doesn't matter that you know the system better than anyone or that clients ask for you by name. Someone else will take your spot and the company will continue exactly as it did before you arrived.

We all know this. We’ve watched colleagues get let go and wondered how they didn’t see it coming. Then when our own turn arrives, we stand there with this stupid look on our faces… frozen in disbelief.  After everything…how could they? How dare they? As if the rules that applied to everyone else somehow excluded us.

The arrogance is remarkable.

Despite witnessing the pattern repeatedly, acknowledging it openly…we still manage to convince ourselves that we're the exception.

We're not.

We believe jobs should hoard people the way people hoard things.

Objects that stopped being useful years ago. Hobbies that feel more like obligations than joy. Retro versions of ourselves we've outgrown but refuse to let go of simply because letting go might mean introducing a period of starting again without the comfort of familiar.

But resistance isn't really about the thing, is it? Releasing means admitting that we're not permanent. That nothing we build, collect or become will last and we're all just passing through, leaving behind a faint trace that the wind ends up blowing away.

Optional delusion. 

The item you thought was unique? The one that held your favourite memory? You'll find another. Probably a better one. That one song you thought perfectly described your life as if the lyrics were written specifically for you? You’ll forget the words, the tune and the artist. You’ll end up with a playlist on shuffle.

 The dream you abandoned yourself for? The goal that defined you? You'll discover a new obsession that consumes you just as completely, maybe more so. Success will resemble mood rather than accomplishment.

Friends you've built history with, shared secrets and survived moments that bonded you? You’ll lose them. Distance, priorities and the slow drift of change. You'll try for a while. Then try less. And then stop trying. One day you'll realise you haven't spoken in months, and you won’t feel guilty.

The love of your life? The one you swore was different? It could end through a breakup, death or the quiet erosion of two people becoming strangers overnight. And yes…you'll say you'll never love like that again. That no one will understand you the way they did. You're lying. It will suck for a while but eventually you’ll get over it, and you’ll find a new person to promise forever to.

Everything you think is permanent will be replaced. You'll move on from losses you thought would destroy you. You'll forget faces you swore you'd remember. You'll build a new life on top of the old one and barely recognise the person you were before.

Life doesn't stop. Like your old workplace, you just continue. Replacing, rebuilding and pretending each new thing is finally the permanent one.

So, if it’s all replaceable. If everyone leaves and nothing lasts.

Then why does any of it matter?

Because you choose it.

Choosing is the only thing that makes something irreplaceable. 

In a world overflowing with options and drowning in alternatives, it is your choice that determines if something fades or fosters.

The worn-out hoodie. The friend who’s late. The love that drives you up the wall.

You don't choose them because they're perfect. You don't choose them because nothing better exists. You choose them because despite their flaws, despite the easier alternatives, despite knowing you could survive without them…you don't want to.

And that choice, repeated daily in small and large ways, creates something: Meaning where none existed. The ordinary becomes sacred by simply deciding it matters.

The hoodie matters because you keep choosing to wear it.

The dream matters because you won’t stop chasing it.

Your person matters because you keep choosing them. Morning after morning. Fight after fight. Flaw after flaw.

That's what irreplaceable is.

It’s not that it can’t be replaced but that you refuse to replace it. You choose it over choice. That in a world designed for disposal, you've decided this one thing is worth keeping.

Be brave enough to walk away from the familiar. Have the courage to recognise when someone you love might be killing your soul.

But be wise enough to figure out what’s worth hoarding. Worth fighting for.

Not because you need them or couldn't survive without them.

But because you want them. Because you've looked at the flaws and the difficulties and the alternatives, and you've decided that this imperfect thing is the one you choose.

Everything has an expiry date. Nothing is forever.

But with the time we have.

Choose what is.