There is no doubt about it — I’ve entered a new season of my life.

Funny how a few years back I started thinking about making some of the changes I have recently made. It began with those little internal whispers we all get. The “I want to.” The “I need to.” The “I probably should.”

But wanting and doing are two very different things.

I think a lot of us get stuck in that space for far longer than we should. We know something needs to change. We know we’re being nudged. We know we’re outgrowing a habit, a routine, a relationship with something or maybe even a version of ourselves. Yet we stay put.

Then one day, at least in my case, the universe looks down and says, “Girl, you’ve known this was coming. You’ve known this was something you were meant to do. Since you’re not moving, we’re going to help you out a little.”

Granted, I still had a choice.

I could have fixed whatever needed to be fixed and went back to the old version of myself. Afterall, it wasn’t terrible.

But the passageway back suddenly became very narrow, while the path forward became impossible to ignore. Once you’ve peeked around a corner and seen what might be waiting for you, it’s hard to pretend you haven’t.

So I made some changes.

And with those changes came something unexpected.

I started noticing more.

Now, anyone who knows me knows I love experiences. I love them all. The old ones, the new ones, the repeated traditions and the spontaneous adventures. I love discovering a new restaurant. I love walking down a trail I’ve never explored before. I love strawberry picking. I love finding hidden gems.

Heck, I crave my first bite of a Molnar Farms tomato every summer.

Now, if you’ve never had one, let me save you some time. Everyone talks about their corn, and rightfully so, but those tomatoes deserve their own fan club. I don’t know what kind of magic they’re working over there, but that tomato was practically a religious experience.

Those things matter to me.

They hit me right in the heart.

But even with all of that, people will always trump the activity. Every single time.

My husband and I have had countless debates about this over the years.

I will do what wives often do and make plans for us. If he doesn’t like the location, the activity, the restaurant, the venue or whatever I’ve chosen, he will put up a fight worthy of an Olympic event.

Not going to lie, this is probably one of our top three recurring arguments.

And neither one of us likes backing down — which, on a side note, I actually love. I wouldn’t want to be married to someone I could simply push around. Where would the fun be in that?

Now, with that said, I do not always win these debates. That part I don’t particularly enjoy. But what are you going to do?

When it comes to this particular argument, however, I always believe I’m right. Because my response is always the same.

It’s not the food. It’s not the activity. It’s not the location.

It’s the people.

If people I love are gathered around a picnic table eating mediocre hot dogs, I’m in. If good friends are sitting in lawn chairs watching a baseball game, I’m there. If meaningful conversations are happening in a place with terrible parking and uncomfortable chairs, sign me up.

The people are what make the experience. Or at least that’s what I’ve always believed.

What I’ve been discovering during this new season of life, though, is that maybe my husband’s way of thinking is more common than I realized.

Maybe a lot of people really do prioritize the activity. Maybe they prioritize what they’re doing more than who they’re doing it with. And if I’m being completely honest, that realization stung.

Not because they’re wrong. They’re not.

People get to value whatever they value, but somewhere deep inside me, I think I believed relationships held the same level of importance for everyone that they do for me.

When I realized that wasn’t necessarily true, it hit my ego a little. It hit my sense of worth. It hit my assumptions. Because if you’re someone who prioritizes people, it’s easy to assume that other people are prioritizing you too. And sometimes they’re not.

Sometimes they’re prioritizing comfort. Sometimes they’re prioritizing convenience. Sometimes they’re prioritizing the event itself. And that’s okay.

It just wasn’t something I fully understood before. The beautiful thing, however, is that every realization comes with a gift. The gift here has been clarity. A cleansing, if you will. Because when you stop assuming everyone values relationships the way you do, you stop taking things quite so personally.

You stop trying to convince people to show up. You simply notice who does. You notice who makes the effort. You notice who values connection over convenience. You notice who will drive a little farther, stay a little longer or rearrange their schedule simply because spending time together matters. And you become incredibly grateful for those people.

This season has taught me that not everyone is meant to walk every path with us. Not everyone values the same things. Not everyone measures life by the same yardstick. Some people collect experiences. Some people collect accomplishments. Some people collect possessions.

I’ve realized I collect people. The conversations, laughter, the stories, all the relationships and moments that happen in between whatever activity brought us together in the first place.

Years from now, I probably won’t remember every restaurant, every event, every venue or every activity. But I will remember who was sitting across from me. And for me, that’s always been the whole point.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.