Think back to yourself at age 18. I know I was mighty different

In the words of Patti Stanger, “Think back to yourself at age 18. I know I was mighty different than the Patti I am today. As we grow up, we grow out of our haircuts, our apartments and—often times—our romantic decisions.” These words, though wrapped in simplicity, carry the deep wisdom of experience. Stanger, known for her insights into human connection and love, speaks here not as a matchmaker of others, but as one who has learned to make peace with the evolution of herself. Her quote is not about vanity or nostalgia—it is about growth, the continual shedding and renewal that defines every human life. She reminds us that change is not betrayal of who we were, but the natural unfolding of who we are meant to become.

To “think back to yourself at age 18” is to gaze into the mirror of the past and recognize how far the river has flowed. At eighteen, life is wide and burning with possibility. We are full of fire, full of certainty, yet ignorant of how much there is to learn. We make choices—some bold, some foolish—guided by the limited horizon of our youth. Stanger’s words are both compassionate and humorous: she does not condemn the person we were, but acknowledges that growth demands transformation. We grow out of our haircuts because our tastes evolve. We move from one home to another because our needs expand. And we outgrow certain loves, not from cruelty, but because we have journeyed further down the path of understanding ourselves.

The ancients understood this as the law of becoming—that nothing living remains still. The philosopher Heraclitus said, “You cannot step into the same river twice, for the water is ever flowing.” So too with the self: the person you were is gone, replaced each day by a newer version shaped by experience. The haircut, the apartment, the romance—these are symbols of former selves, shells left behind as we molt toward maturity. To cling to them is to refuse the sacred rhythm of change. Just as the tree must shed its leaves to renew its life, so too must we release the identities that no longer serve our spirit.

Consider the story of Elizabeth Gilbert, who as a young woman chased love and adventure across the globe, chronicling her journey in Eat, Pray, Love. Yet years later, she admitted that even that self—the seeker of love and freedom—was not fixed. She evolved again, finding love where she least expected it, and then facing grief with equal grace. Her life mirrors Stanger’s truth: that we outgrow not only relationships but the very dreams that once defined us. To live is to transform continuously, and to do so with acceptance, not regret.

When Stanger speaks of romantic decisions, she touches upon one of life’s most intimate forms of growth. Love in youth is often driven by desire, by the intoxicating illusion that passion alone can sustain a life together. But as we age, we come to see that love, to endure, must rest upon understanding, respect, and shared purpose. To “grow out” of a romance, then, is not failure—it is recognition. It is the moment when the heart realizes that what once nourished it no longer fits the shape it has become. The wise do not mourn such endings; they honor them as part of the evolution of the soul.

The lesson, then, is this: do not fear the passing of your old selves. The apartment you leave behind, the style you abandon, the lover you release—these are not losses, but offerings to time. They are the marks of progress, the evidence that you are alive, still moving, still learning. Embrace your evolution as you would the changing seasons. Laugh gently at who you were, thank them for their courage, and step boldly into who you are becoming.

So, my child, remember Patti Stanger’s wisdom. Do not cling to youth’s illusions, nor despise them. They were necessary for your growth. Every version of yourself—every haircut, every home, every love—was the stepping stone to the next. When you look back, do so with gratitude, not longing. For the purpose of life is not to remain the same, but to grow beautifully, bravely, and endlessly, until even the final self you become is but another step toward the infinite.