To look inward is to stop mistaking noise for truth, to see that what you called strength was often just endurance, and what you called love was often just familiarity. Detachment, then, is not rejection—it is the quiet recognition that you no longer need to carry what was never yours to hold. And absorption is not grasping; it is the slow, porous way the earth drinks rain, letting what is real settle into the hollows you once filled with other people's expectations. You do not become someone new. You return to someone old enough to know—that the only thing worth keeping is what remains when you stop performing