EVERYTHING HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE

 

We live in a world that often glorifies permanence. We’re told to invest in things that last “forever,” to build relationships that will stand the test of time, and to create work that will outlive us. And so, many of us, myself included, grow up with the belief that once something is ours, it will always remain. But life has a way of reminding us otherwise.

It’s in the moments when something breaks, when systems fail, or when change knocks unexpectedly at our door that we’re forced to face a humbling truth: nothing is truly permanent.

I once had a conversation with my dentist that changed the way I look at life. My crown had broken, and I was upset about it. I remember asking him why it broke and what use it was to me if it couldn’t last a lifetime. His answer was simple, yet so profound that it has stayed with me ever since: “Everything has a lifespan. Nothing on this earth is permanent. Even we as humans eventually die.”

Those words struck me. In that moment, I realized how often I hold on to the illusion of permanence, expecting things to last forever. But the truth is, everything has an expiration date, whether it’s objects, systems, relationships, or even habits.

The Illusion of Permanence

We live in a world where marketing sells us the dream of “forever.” A phone that will serve us endlessly. A website that will run smoothly once it’s built. A crown that should stay in place for life. Yet reality is different. Everything requires maintenance, repair, or eventual replacement.

Take my website, for example. When it recently experienced downtime, I was frustrated. My first thought was: “Why isn’t this permanent? Didn’t I already put in the work?” I had subconsciously assumed that once I created it, it would remain stable without further effort. But websites, just like people, need check-ups, updates, and care.

My frustration revealed something deeper: I struggle with the idea that things I build or invest in won’t last forever. I want them to, but they don’t, and that dissonance unsettles me.

The Price of Value

This also occurs when I purchase expensive electronics. The moment something breaks, I feel cheated: “Why spend so much money on something that won’t last?”

But that’s the reality, we aren’t paying for eternity. We’re paying for value within a time span. Even the most durable products eventually wear out. And perhaps that’s the point: value isn’t measured by how long something lasts, but by how much use and meaning it provides while it lasts.

Patterns of Attachment

I’ve realized this mindset of permanence affects not only my possessions but also my habits, my work, and even my relationships. Somewhere deep down, I’ve always believed that once something is mine, it will always be mine.

That’s why letting go has always been difficult for me. Whether it’s a broken phone, a failed project, or even a piece of art I don’t like, my instinct is to hold on, to finish, to see it through. If I start a painting and dislike it halfway, I can’t just abandon it. I’ll push through until the end, even if I remain unsatisfied with the result.

At first glance, that may look like discipline and consistency. And in some ways, it is. This is why I always see things through to the end. It’s why people often describe me as reliable, consistent and loyal. Those are strengths.

But there’s also a downside. The same consistency that keeps me finishing projects also keeps me stuck in patterns, a loop, even when those patterns don’t serve me. I remain consistent in failure as much as in success. I cling tightly to things long after their expiration date, sometimes out of loyalty, sometimes out of habit, sometimes out of fear.

The Double-Edged Sword of Consistency

Consistency is both my superpower and my struggle.

On the one hand, it has taught me perseverance. It has allowed me to complete works of art, to finish difficult projects, to maintain routines when motivation falters. It is the quiet force that ensures progress.

On the other hand, it can chain me to things I should release. A project that no longer excites me. A routine that no longer nurtures me. A relationship that no longer serves me. By insisting on finishing everything, I sometimes forget that not everything deserves to be finished. Some things are meant to be paused, reimagined, or simply let go.

Learning to Embrace Expiration

This lesson about impermanence is still unfolding in my life. I am learning that expiration dates are not failures. They are reminders that life is dynamic. Just as seasons change, so too do the things we create, use, and experience.

Permanence was never the promise. Presence is.

The crown that broke served me for years. The website downtime taught me to be attentive and adaptive. The phone that eventually failed gave me countless moments of connection and creativity. Even the artwork I dislike teaches me something new about my craft, an opinion formed at a glance, but still shaped by the act of creation.

And maybe the deeper truth is this: expiration dates force us to keep moving. They prevent us from clinging forever to the old, and they make space for the new.

A Gentle Shift

So instead of resenting impermanence, I’m trying to embrace it. To see the lifespan of things as part of their beauty. To remind myself that endings are not betrayals but natural transitions.

Everything has an expiration date, but that doesn’t diminish its worth. It only means we must be present while it lasts, grateful for the value it gives, and willing to let go when its time is done.

Because in the end, maybe the point isn’t for things to last forever. Maybe the point is to let them shape us while they last.