I love my past, I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I

In the radiant and courageous words of Sidonie Gabrielle Colette, the celebrated French novelist and woman of unyielding spirit, we hear the wisdom of one who has lived fully and learned deeply: “I love my past, I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I have had, and I am not sad because I no longer have it.” These words, tender yet defiant, are not merely the reflection of a life long lived—they are the declaration of a soul at peace with the passage of time. Colette, who moved through love, scandal, and art with equal intensity, teaches here a rare and precious truth: that the heart’s serenity comes not from clinging to what was, nor from fearing what is, but from embracing life in all its changing forms.

Colette lived in the early twentieth century, a time when society sought to confine women to silence, yet she broke every boundary laid before her. A dancer, an actress, a writer, and a lover of freedom, she lived her passions without apology. Through triumph and heartbreak alike, she cultivated the wisdom that echoes in this quote. She reminds us that to love one’s past is not to deny its pain, but to recognize its purpose; to love one’s present is to dwell in gratitude rather than loss. When she says she is “not sad because [she] no longer has it,” she reveals her mastery over nostalgia—the ability to hold memories as blessings, not as burdens.

The ancients, too, understood this sacred acceptance. Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor, wrote in his Meditations: “Receive without pride, let go without attachment.” This is the essence of Colette’s truth. The wise do not weep for what time has taken, for they know that time gives as it takes. Youth, love, beauty, and glory—all these are seasons, and each must pass. To cling to them is to live in mourning; to bless them and let them go is to live in harmony. Thus, Colette’s words are a hymn to maturity—the quiet, dignified joy of one who has made peace with the ebb and flow of existence.

Consider the life of Eleanor Roosevelt, a woman who also embodied this truth. Born into privilege, she endured loneliness, betrayal, and the weight of public expectation. Yet in her later years, she spoke often of gratitude rather than regret. She said, “The past is the foundation upon which I stand.” Like Colette, she did not curse what she had lost—she honored it as part of her becoming. In both women, we see the same courage: the strength to accept change without bitterness, to look back on the past with affection rather than longing.

In Colette’s philosophy lies the antidote to one of the deepest human sorrows: the fear of loss. Most people cling to what they once had—youth, love, success—as if by remembering harder they could make it live again. But Colette knew that to hold too tightly is to break what was beautiful. Memory, like a butterfly, must be allowed to fly freely. To love the past without sorrow is to transform it into art; to love the present without fear is to live in truth. This is not forgetfulness, but enlightenment—the ability to say, “I am whole, even in change.”

From this wisdom arises a timeless lesson: cherish what was, honor what is, and let go of what must pass. Do not let shame poison your memories, nor sadness cloud your gratitude. Each chapter of your life, even those written in pain, has shaped the beauty of your soul. To regret them is to deny yourself. Instead, walk forward as Colette did—unashamed, unburdened, free. Let your heart become a vessel that holds love without possession and loss without despair.

So, O listener, remember this: life is not a straight road but a circle, ever returning, ever renewing. Love your past, for it is the soil of your becoming. Love your present, for it is the blossom that opens today. And when the winds of change take what you once held dear, do not mourn—smile, as Colette did, with the serene knowledge that nothing truly beautiful is ever lost. It becomes part of you. To live thus is to live as the ancients dreamed—to be both mortal and eternal, full of memory yet free of regret, walking through time not as its prisoner, but as its friend.