There is a fundamental human longing for permanence, for something unshakable to grasp amidst the chaos of life. We seek it in relationships, beliefs, and in our sense of self. Yet this desire for constancy often leads to our deepest suffering. Trust, which we regard as the foundation of connection, is particularly vulnerable to this longing. We imagine trust as something solid, something that, once earned, can be held onto indefinitely. But when it is betrayed, we are reminded of a harsher reality: trust, like everything else, is transient.
This realization brings us face-to-face with impermanence and, with it, a certain disgust. It is not merely the disgust that arises from betrayal itself, but a deeper aversion to the idea that nothing can ever be fully secured. In a sense, disgust is not a reaction to any specific act; it is the expression of disillusionment with the fragile nature of the world we inhabit, and more poignantly, the realization that human behavior—so often assumed to be predictable or governed by moral codes—can shift and betray us when we least expect it.
In a sense, disgust is not a reaction to any specific act; it is the expression of disillusionment with the fragile nature of the world we inhabit, and more poignantly, the realization that human behavior—so often assumed to be predictable or governed by moral codes—can shift and betray us when we least expect it.
Disgust has a protective quality. It acts as a shield, guarding us from further hurt and the vulnerability that comes with the desire to trust again. It is easier to reject what we fear will inevitably fail us than to open ourselves once more to the risk of disappointment. In this way, disgust transcends its emotional quality, becoming a strategy—a defense mechanism employed by the psyche to preserve itself from the pain of loss and disillusionment. It distances us from what we perceive as corrupt or unworthy, not only rejecting the external source of betrayal but also protecting the core of our emotional well-being.
Yet, beneath this protective disgust lies a deeper discomfort—the recognition of impermanence itself. It is not only trust that betrays us; it is the very fabric of reality. Everything we attempt to hold onto, from relationships to ideas, proves to be fleeting. What we often fail to acknowledge is that impermanence is the rule, not the exception. This realization can be both liberating and unsettling. For if everything is in constant flux, there is nothing solid to grasp, no stable ground on which to stand.
A philosopher might ask, is this not the very essence of life? The fleeting nature of things is not a flaw in the human condition, but its defining feature. To resist this truth, to seek permanence where none exists, is to misunderstand the nature of existence. And yet, we cannot help but resist. The desire for certainty runs deep, and when it is denied, we often retreat into nihilism or disgust. We condemn the world for its lack of stability, and in doing so, we shield ourselves from further engagement with its impermanence.
However, there is a paradox within this disgust. While it protects, it also isolates. To live in disgust is to live at a distance, to remove oneself from the vulnerabilities that give life meaning. If trust can be shattered, if desire can be tainted, what then remains? This is the question that haunts those who confront the fleeting nature of things. The answer lies not in retreat but in the acceptance of impermanence as a fundamental aspect of existence.
Trust, when viewed through this lens, is not something that, once established, can endure unchanged. It is a dynamic process, continuously built, broken, and rebuilt. Its fragility is not a flaw but a reflection of the human condition. Relationships, both with others and with ourselves, are similarly transient. To demand permanence is to set oneself up for inevitable disappointment. But to embrace the fluid nature of trust is to free oneself from the tyranny of disillusionment.
This does not mean that betrayal ceases to hurt or that disgust is unwarranted. Rather, it invites a different engagement with these emotions. Disgust, instead of being a permanent state, can be seen as a signal—a moment of confrontation with the gap between our expectations and reality. It calls us to examine what we hold onto, and why. In the face of betrayal, we often fixate on the loss of trust, but perhaps the deeper issue is the loss of the illusion of permanence. The challenge, then, is not to restore trust to its former, idealized state, but to rebuild it in a way that acknowledges its inherent fragility.
This brings us to the core of the matter: What do we do in the face of impermanence? If everything is fleeting, if nothing can be definitively grasped, how do we move forward? Some may see this reality as paralyzing, a source of despair. Yet others may find in it a profound freedom. If nothing is permanent, we are not bound by the failures of the past. We are free to rebuild, reimagine, and re-engage with the world on new terms. This does not mean we must forget betrayal or dismiss disgust, but we can choose not to let these emotions define our relationship with the world.
If nothing is permanent, we are not bound by the failures of the past. We are free to rebuild, reimagine, and re-engage with the world on new terms.
To live authentically in a world of impermanence requires a shift in perspective. It means embracing the transient nature of life, not as a flaw, but as a fundamental condition of existence. It involves recognizing that while trust, love, and connection are fragile, they are no less valuable for it. In fact, their very impermanence is what gives them meaning. If we can navigate the shifting tides of these experiences without clinging to the illusion of certainty, we may discover that impermanence is not something to fear, but something to embrace.
To live authentically in a world of impermanence requires a shift in perspective. It means embracing the transient nature of life, not as a flaw, but as a fundamental condition of existence.
In this light, the disgust we feel toward betrayal or the impermanence of relationships becomes less about rejection and more about transformation. We can view it as an opportunity to release the need for solidity and instead find beauty in the fleeting, the momentary, and the ever-changing. After all, it is through the acceptance of impermanence that we can truly begin to live—free from the need to grasp, and open to the endless possibilities life offers when we stop demanding that it remain unchanged.
