Our dilemma is that we hate change and love it at the same time;

Host: The train station was half-lit in the soft light of dusk — that strange in-between hour where departures and arrivals blur into one long heartbeat. The air was filled with the scent of rain-soaked metal, the distant hiss of steam, and the echo of hurried footsteps. Overhead, the loudspeakers murmured schedule changes that no one seemed to hear.

On a worn bench by Platform 9, Jack sat with his coat folded neatly on his lap, a ticket sticking out from between his fingers. He wasn’t waiting for anyone — or maybe he was, though he wouldn’t admit it. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against a column, her umbrella dripping quietly onto the floor. Her expression was calm, but her eyes held that familiar mix of curiosity and sadness — the look of someone who’s learned that every arrival is also a kind of leaving.

Jeeny: “You look like a man trying to run from a decision.”

Jack: “I’m not running. I’m… delaying.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “That’s just running with better posture.”

Jack: “You always have to make it sound poetic, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “Someone has to.”

Host: The train horn called in the distance — long, low, almost mournful. A gust of wind carried through the station, scattering old newspapers and echoes of conversations left unfinished.

Jeeny: “You know, Sydney J. Harris once said, ‘Our dilemma is that we hate change and love it at the same time; what we really want is for things to remain the same but get better.’”

Jack: (smirking) “That sounds like every relationship I’ve ever been in.”

Jeeny: “Or every civilization.”

Jack: “So, we want miracles without movement.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We want evolution without inconvenience.”

Host: He looked out toward the tracks, where the lights of an approaching train shimmered faintly through the mist.

Jack: “You think that’s human nature? Wanting everything to improve without having to give anything up?”

Jeeny: “It’s more than nature. It’s habit. We build our comfort like a nest — and then complain when the wind reminds us it’s not permanent.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve made peace with change.”

Jeeny: “I’ve learned to stop treating it like an enemy. Change isn’t here to ruin us, Jack. It’s here to reveal what we cling to too tightly.”

Jack: “And what if what we cling to is good?”

Jeeny: “Then it will return — but in another form.”

Host: He chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that hides its disbelief under charm.

Jack: “That sounds like the kind of thing people say when they’ve already lost something.”

Jeeny: “It is.”

Host: The lights flickered above them, throwing quick shadows across the platform. A child ran past holding a red balloon, his laughter echoing through the hall — bright, fleeting, unbothered by time.

Jack: “You ever notice how we all say we want change? New job, new city, new life. But the moment it happens, we start longing for what we left.”

Jeeny: “Because change is honest, and honesty is uncomfortable. It doesn’t flatter our expectations — it corrects them.”

Jack: “So, change humbles us?”

Jeeny: “Always. It strips us down to see what actually matters.”

Host: A pause. The rain began again, softly this time, tapping on the glass roof above like gentle fingers.

Jack: “You know what scares me? It’s not change itself — it’s how it keeps happening even when you’re not ready.”

Jeeny: “That’s the secret, Jack. You’re never ready. You just learn how to walk while the ground moves.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. It’s just necessary.”

Host: She crossed her arms, looking at him the way someone does when they’ve already walked through the fire they’re describing.

Jeeny: “We keep wanting the world to stay still while we improve. But stillness and growth can’t share the same breath.”

Jack: “You mean, something always has to die for something else to grow.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But sometimes, it’s not a death. It’s a transformation.”

Host: The train pulled in with a metallic sigh, the platform shuddering beneath the weight of its arrival. The doors slid open with a hiss of air — the sound of opportunity disguised as interruption.

Jack: “You ever wonder if maybe we hate change because it keeps proving we’re not in control?”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why we need it. Control isn’t peace, Jack — it’s stagnation dressed in discipline.”

Jack: “So you think surrender is better?”

Jeeny: “Surrender isn’t giving up. It’s giving in — to the current instead of fighting it.”

Host: He looked at the open door of the train, then back at her. The light from the carriage spilled onto the platform, catching the raindrops in midair like diamonds suspended in motion.

Jack: “You know, I used to think life was about building something solid. Foundations. Permanence.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I think maybe it’s about learning how to rebuild every time the wind changes.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: She stepped closer, her voice soft, but her eyes bright with conviction.

Jeeny: “We hate change because it asks something we never want to give — comfort. But everything beautiful we’ve ever become came from losing that comfort.”

Jack: “Like what?”

Jeeny: “Like wisdom. Like resilience. Like love that knows how to stay even when everything else shifts.”

Host: He nodded slowly, his reflection rippling in the puddle near his feet.

Jack: “So maybe Harris was right — we want everything to stay the same but get better.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But life doesn’t work that way. To get better, something has to give.”

Jack: “Then what do we keep?”

Jeeny: “Only what matters.”

Host: The whistle blew — long, final. The train was ready to move. Jeeny gestured toward it with a small, knowing smile.

Jeeny: “Well, are you getting on?”

Jack: “I don’t know where it’s going.”

Jeeny: “That’s not the point.”

Host: He hesitated — then stood. The door stayed open, the world waiting. He looked back at her one last time.

Jack: “You know, I think I’ve been trying to get better without ever really changing.”

Jeeny: “That’s everyone’s first mistake.”

Jack: “And the second?”

Jeeny: “Believing it’s too late to start over.”

Host: He stepped onto the train, the doors closing behind him with a sigh that sounded almost human. As the train began to move, Jeeny watched it fade into the rain, the lights disappearing into distance.

She turned to leave, her footsteps echoing across the empty platform, her reflection merging with the shimmering tracks.

And as the night swallowed the sound of departure, Sydney J. Harris’s words seemed to whisper through the station like a truth we’re all still learning:

“Our dilemma is that we hate change and love it at the same time; what we really want is for things to remain the same but get better.”

Because we’re creatures of comfort who dream of transformation —
wanting tomorrow to sparkle
without ever letting go of yesterday.

And maybe the secret isn’t choosing between love and hate of change —
but learning to stand
in the middle of both,
while the train keeps moving.