Welcome back to Unfiltered with Love. I'm your host, Carrie Love, and I'm so glad you're here. Let's get into today's conversation. So I've been thinking a lot about love lately. Not just romantic love either. More about the way love stays with us, how certain connections change us, remain meaningful, cross distance, and somehow continue even after someone is no longer physically here. And I posted something the other day that said, presence is precious. The astonishing permanence of love in a life where almost everything else is temporary. That thought has really been sitting with me. Because almost everything changes eventually. Our lives shift, relationships evolve, families look different, we get older, people move, things happen that we never expected, and yet somehow love can remain. Which is beautiful. But when you really think about it, it's also a little terrifying. Because loving someone deeply means accepting that you can't control how long you have to have them in your life, or what that relationship will look like years from now. And I had a conversation recently that made me think about all of this in a different way. I was out with some friends and they had a friend visiting who I'd never met before. And as the night went on, he and I started talking. It was one of those conversations where you start out talking about regular life, and somehow an hour later, you're talking about love and grief and relationships. So he started telling me about this woman who has been one of his closest friends for about 15 years. And the more he talked about her, the more I was sitting there thinking, okay, you obviously love this woman. I mean, he was telling me all the things they do together and how close they are, and things he was planning for her when he got home, places he wanted to take her, little things that she likes that he knew would make her happy. And you know, when somebody starts talking about someone and you can just feel it, their whole energy changes. That's what was happening. So eventually I was like, why aren't you two together? And he explained that they've talked about it, but they're worried about changing the friendship. They've had this connection for years. It means a lot to both of them, and they're just concern that if they cross that line, they could somehow lose what they already have. And I understand that, I do. But while he was talking, all I could think was, okay, but what if you don't ruin it? What if this actually turns into something really good? What if this person is the love of your life, and the only reason why you never find out is because you're too scared to let the relationship become something different. And then there's another layer to the story. Years ago, I guess she was supposed to marry someone who was also very close to him, and that person died unexpectedly before they got married. So obviously, there's a lot wrapped up in that. Grief, history, loyalty, maybe even some guilt. And he said something about feeling like, you know, this was his friend's fiance. And I said, But your friend is gone. And I would imagine that somebody who loved both of you would want both of you to be happy. I don't think loving someone who died means you're supposed to stop living. And I wasn't trying to tell this man, go home and marry her. I had just met him. But I did ask him, why are you letting fear make the decision? Because from everything you're telling me, this already sounds like a really meaningful relationship. Maybe it stays a friendship, maybe it doesn't, I don't know. But there's a difference between making a choice because it's genuinely feels right, and making one because you're afraid of what could happen if you change anything. And he kept talking about her, and I kept thinking, you clearly care about this person so much. So I said something like, Maybe you need to go home and actually have the conversation. And he laughed, but he agreed. He told me he was really glad he met me, and I said, Next time you come back, I hope you bring her with you. And I hope he does. I think what stayed with me afterward was the fact that there was already loss woven into this story. These two people know firsthand that life doesn't always go according to plan. And yet here they are with this connection that clearly matters to both of them, trying to decide whether it's safe or not to touch it. And I get that. There are things in our lives that matter so much to us that we almost become afraid to move them. Like, don't touch it, don't change anything, don't risk it, because at least I know what I have right now. But what if protecting something and fully experiencing it aren't always the same thing? That was the question I walked away with. And somewhere in that same conversation, we started talking more generally about relationships and how hard some of them are to explain to other people. And I said something I've said before. Some relationships are just really difficult to put into words. You can tell somebody the story and you can explain how you met, you can talk about the history, the timing, the circumstances, and somehow it still doesn't fully explain it. Because sometimes what you feel about someone is bigger than the facts. And I remember saying, it's hard to explain, but he is my soul. And that is really the only way I know how to say it. Sometimes love just doesn't fit neatly into logic. We want it to. We want to know why this person, why now, why this connection, why this particular story. We want something clean and easy that somebody else can hear and immediately understand, but sometimes they won't. And maybe they don't need to, because they're not the one living it. There are things you know from inside a relationship that somebody standing outside of it may never completely understand. And I think I'm becoming more okay with that. Not everything meaningful needs to be made sense to someone else. Sometimes you just know. And that brought me back around to this idea of love being permanent in a way that physical presence isn't. Because I think about people I've loved who are no longer here. And the strange thing is the love didn't go anywhere. Their physical presence did. But the memories are still there. The way they affected you is still there, the things they taught you, the way they made you feel. Sometimes even little things they said that you still hear in your head years later. And maybe that's part of what grief is. You still have all this love, but you don't have the person physically here anymore. Where does all that love go? I don't know. Maybe it doesn't go anywhere. Maybe you just learn how to carry it differently. And actually, this reminded me of something else. I was watching the movie Ghost recently, which I've seen before, obviously, but there's a line at the very end that hit me differently this time. Sam says to Molly, It's amazing, Molly. All that love, you take it with you. And I thought, that's it. That's exactly what I've been thinking about. We spend so much of our lives worrying about what changes, what ends, who leaves, what we lose. But what if love is the part we actually get to keep? Not the circumstances, not the physical presence, not necessarily even the relationship in the form we once knew it. But the love itself, maybe that becomes part of us. Maybe we carry it forward, and maybe the people we've loved carry something of us with them too. I don't know exactly what happens after this life, but I love the idea that love isn't wasted, that none of it disappears, that somehow in whatever comes next, we take it with us. And that's probably why ordinary moments have been feeling more important to me lately. A phone call, dinner, sitting beside somebody on the couch, hearing a familiar voice, the person you want to tell something to the second it happens, the inside joke, the good morning text, the little things somebody remembers about you. None of that seems extraordinary when you're in it, but that's where so much of love actually lives. And I wonder how often we miss some of it because we're busy trying to protect ourselves. We don't say what we mean because we don't want to make things awkward. We stay guarded because that feels safer. We keep something exactly where it is because at least we know we won't lose it that way. Except we don't actually know that. None of us do. So I'm not saying everybody needs to go confess their love to somebody today. That's not the takeaway. Not every friendship needs to be romantic, not every relationship is meant to last forever, not every feeling has to turn into something. But I do think it's worth asking yourself, am I making this choice because it actually feels right, or am I making it because I'm afraid? Because those things are different things. And maybe courage and love isn't knowing exactly where something is going. Maybe it's just being honest about what it means to you right now. This person matters to me. I love them. This connection changed me. I don't know exactly what happens next, but I know it's real. Maybe that's enough, and maybe we don't have to explain every important relationship in our lives to everybody else. Some people will get it, and some won't. That doesn't change what it means to you. And when I think about love being permanent, I don't mean that every relationship lasts forever in the same form. Obviously, it doesn't. Lives change, relationships end, people take different paths, we lose people, but loving someone leaves something behind. It becomes part of you. It gets woven into your memories and your stories and even into the way you love afterward. And I think there's something really beautiful about that. Also sad, but beautiful. So I guess what I'm thinking lately is maybe the goal isn't to hold on to everyone forever. We can't. Maybe it's to recognize how precious it is to have someone in your life while they're still actually here. To be present for it, to say what matters, to have the conversation you keep putting off, to let somebody know what they mean to you, because presence is precious. And before I go, I want to leave you with this. What would you say, do, or risk differently if you stopped assuming there would always be a later? It doesn't have to be some huge dramatic gesture. Maybe you call someone, maybe you say I love you, maybe you finally have that conversation. Or maybe you simply put your phone down and actually appreciate the person sitting across from you. Because there really is something astonishing about the permanence of love in a life where almost everything else is temporary. Thanks for hanging out with me today. If you enjoyed this conversation, I'd love to hear from you. Send me a message, leave a review, or share this episode with someone who might need it. And before I go, what would you say, do, or risk differently if you stopped assuming there would always be a later? Until next time, keep asking good questions, keep being curious, and most importantly, keep showing up as yourself. This is Unfiltered with Love. I'm your host, Carrie Love, and I'll see you next week.