Time is a beautiful thing. It's like when you meet an old lover

The poetess of song, Sarah McLachlan, once reflected on the strange gentleness of passing years with these words: “Time is a beautiful thing. It's like when you meet an old lover on the street six years later and they don't look so ugly anymore.” At first her words seem light, almost playful, yet hidden within them is the profound power of time to soften, to heal, and to transform bitterness into memory. For time is not only the destroyer of all things, but also their redeemer. It reshapes wounds into scars, anger into acceptance, and ugliness into something tolerable—even beautiful.

The origin of this saying lies in McLachlan’s own gift for weaving the emotional truths of human life into words. As an artist, she often sang of love, loss, longing, and reconciliation. In this quote, she acknowledges what so many of us learn: that the harsh edges of memory do not remain sharp forever. A lover who once brought pain, betrayal, or disappointment can, with the distance of years, be remembered with tenderness, even gratitude. Thus, time itself is the artist, painting forgiveness where once there was only hurt.

The ancients, too, spoke of time in this dual nature. Aeschylus, the father of tragedy, declared: “Time, growing old, teaches all things.” The Greeks believed that Chronos, time itself, devoured pain as surely as it devoured days. The Hebrews sang in their psalms that “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” McLachlan’s metaphor is but a modern echo of these eternal truths: that what seems unbearable in one season becomes softened by the passage of years, until even the face once despised can be looked upon without bitterness.

History gives us examples that bring her words to life. Consider the long reconciliation between Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, once allies, then bitter enemies, divided by politics and pride. For years their friendship lay in ruins. Yet in their old age, after the sting of rivalry had dulled, they returned to one another with letters full of respect and affection. Time had made their grievances smaller and their bond more beautiful. Just as McLachlan said, the old wounds no longer looked so ugly.

The meaning of this teaching is deeply human: we must not despair when our hearts are broken or when bitterness seems unending. Time is a healer, though often in ways we do not expect. It does not erase the past, but it alters our vision of it. What we once saw through the lens of pain, we later see with perspective. The lover who once wounded us becomes a chapter in our story, no longer the villain, but a fellow traveler whose presence shaped us into who we are.

Therefore, the lesson is this: trust in the work of time. Do not cling to resentment, for time will soften it if you allow it. Do not fear that pain will remain forever sharp, for time has the power to blunt its edges. And when you encounter those who once caused you grief, let the years speak for you. You may find that what once looked ugly is no longer so, and that you yourself have been changed in the seeing.

In practice, I counsel this: when faced with bitterness, do not rush to erase it, but give it time. Keep living, keep growing, keep moving forward. Write down your pains if you must, and return to them later to see how time has altered them. When old memories arise, look upon them with gentleness, asking, “What beauty has time uncovered here?” In this way, you partner with time’s quiet work of healing.

Thus, remember the wisdom of Sarah McLachlan: “Time is a beautiful thing.” It is not only the measure of our lives but the healer of our hearts. Allow it to do its work, and you will find that what once brought sorrow can, with distance, bring peace. Even the faces that once tormented you may one day appear softened, no longer ugly, but woven into the tapestry of your becoming.