That’s the strange part of existing today. We are constantly evolving as human beings, but we’re doing it in a world that doesn’t always allow for that growth. In previous generations—take the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s—you could say something, hold a strong opinion, or even make a mistake, and it would exist in the moment. It could be discussed, maybe debated, and then it would pass. It wouldn’t follow you like a shadow. You were allowed to move on, to become someone new.

But today? The internet never forgets. Society rarely forgives. We’ve built a culture that is so obsessed with documentation and judgment that we’ve forgotten one core truth: human beings are not static.

Let’s take someone in the spotlight—say, Donald Trump. Or Obama. Or whoever the current president may be. Or an actor, or an entrepreneur, or a musician, or even just someone who went viral one day for doing something funny, heartfelt, or foolish. The moment you gain any level of attention, notoriety, or even success, society digs. They look for that one comment you made in 2008. That interview from the early ‘90s. That tasteless joke you made when you were 20. And they hold it up as if it’s still a reflection of you now.

But the truth is: none of us are who we were ten years ago. Or five years ago. Or maybe even six months ago.

I know I’m not.

There are things I’ve said—on camera, online, in conversations—that I don’t stand behind anymore. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. Sometimes I evolve slowly, over years. Other times it happens quickly—almost overnight—because of new experiences, new insights, new pain, new joy. And I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve changed my stance on something because life humbled me enough to see it differently.

That doesn’t make me inconsistent. That makes me human.

I still stand firmly on my core values. I still live with integrity. But I’ve learned that certain perspectives shift when you’re exposed to more. When you’ve lived a little longer. When you’ve failed. When you’ve loved. When you’ve lost. When you’ve raised kids, lost friends, seen injustice, or been forgiven for something you didn’t think you could come back from.
Growth is not betrayal of who we were. Growth is the reward for having the courage to keep living.

So what does this mean for us as a society?

It means we need to begin honoring that process. It means giving people room to change. It means understanding that a mistake made in someone’s youth—whether they were 16 or 36—is not always an unchangeable indictment on their character. And no, that doesn’t mean we forget the harm some actions cause. Accountability matters. But so does redemption. So does maturity. So does the trajectory of a person’s life over time.

There are so many people walking this earth right now who’ve never been given a fair shot at growth. People who turned their lives around and were still treated like they hadn’t. People who learned the lesson but were never welcomed back into the room. People who carry the weight of who they were because we refused to let them show us who they are now.

Let’s scale it down from celebrities and politicians for a moment. Think of someone you know personally who’s made mistakes. Maybe it’s a family member. A friend. Maybe it’s you. Now ask yourself—how would your life look if every poor decision you made in your youth still defined you today? If there were no space for your evolution? If the person you’re becoming was constantly being discredited by the person you used to be?
That would be a tragedy.

Because the truth is, some people don’t change. I’ve met them. I’ve watched them go decades without ever evolving. But many people do change. And when they do, they deserve for that change to be seen. Not just tolerated. Not just tested. Seen. Acknowledged. Respected.
We don’t have to agree with them. We don’t have to like their new beliefs. But there’s something beautiful—even sacred—about witnessing someone grow into a better version of themselves. Not better because they aligned with our views, but better because they’re deeper, more reflective, more alive.

We miss that beauty when we hold people hostage to their past.

So no, I’m not saying we should delete the past. I’m not saying we should ignore it. But I am saying we should respect the arc of a human life. We should admire the transformation—not in a self-righteous, “they finally came around to my way of thinking” kind of way—but in a humble, awe-inspired recognition that change is one of the most courageous things a person can do.
And when we start honoring that in others, we just might give ourselves permission to keep evolving too.

Because if we’re being honest, none of us have it all figured out.

But maybe that’s the point.