As far as friendships go, things change even without the fame.

In the words of Jordin Sparks, we hear a truth as old as the turning of the seasons: that friendships change, and that the paths of those we love often diverge in ways both wondrous and strange. She marvels at her companions who step into marriage, who cradle children, or who wander in solitary pursuits. What she names is not sorrow, but awe—the recognition that time itself reshapes the bonds between us. This is not the work of fame, nor of distance alone, but of life itself, ever flowing, ever urging us forward into new stages of being.

The ancients spoke of friendship as one of the greatest gifts, but even they knew that it is a living thing, not a stone idol. Cicero, in his great treatise Laelius de Amicitia, declared that friendship must be cherished, but he also warned that it changes as men change. For when values alter, or when destinies unfold in different directions, bonds may stretch, shift, or fade. Jordin’s reflection echoes this wisdom: whether in youth or in fame, friends will sometimes walk beside us for a season, and then their path will curve away into another horizon.

Think of Alexander the Great and his companion Hephaestion. In youth, they were inseparable, bound by affection and a shared dream of conquest. Yet even in their closeness, their roles diverged: Alexander became the conqueror of worlds, while Hephaestion stood at his side as general and advisor. Their fates intertwined, yet their duties separated them. This tale reminds us that life’s journeys rarely run parallel forever. Some friends march with us through every battle, others remain only for the first few campaigns before turning to build families, tend lands, or pursue quieter dreams.

In Sparks’ words there is also a tender humility. She does not scorn those whose lives differ from hers; instead she beholds them with wonder, saying, “Oh my goodness gracious—that’s so insane.” This is the voice of respect, the recognition that each soul has its own calling. One marries, another raises children, another follows an untrodden path. All are valid, all are beautiful. To honor this diversity is to practice the highest form of friendship: to rejoice in the flourishing of another, even when it carries them away from us.

And yet, there lies a subtle grief. For when friends drift into new lives, we may feel the echo of loss. The evenings of shared laughter, the youthful freedom, the unbroken closeness—all these cannot remain unchanged. Here we must practice what the Stoics called acceptance: to embrace the reality that change is not the enemy of friendship, but its inevitable companion. What remains is not always the constant presence of the friend, but the memory of their love and the continued goodwill we hold toward them across distance and difference.

The lesson, then, is clear: treasure the friends you have, but do not seek to chain them to the past. Allow them the freedom to grow, to marry, to raise children, to wander into new worlds. And in doing so, keep your heart open. Reach out when you can, send blessings when you cannot, and never let envy poison the bond. For friendship is not measured in constant proximity, but in the enduring wish for the other’s joy.

Practically, this means reaching across the seasons. Send a message to the friend who now lives far away. Celebrate the child of the friend who has become a parent. Honor the solitude of the one who seeks their own path. And when your turn comes to walk a new road, do so without fear of losing all; for true friendship adapts, transforms, and, when well-tended, survives the changes of time.

So let us remember Sparks’ wisdom: friendships change, but change is not their death. Rather, it is the mark of life’s unfolding. Rejoice in the variety of paths, honor the sacred bond while it lasts, and carry in your heart the gratitude that you walked together at all. For in this way, friendship remains eternal, even as its form shifts with the years.