Change does not end when the meeting ends.
Something carries it. Not the same thing that was changed — that thing is already other-than what it was. What carries is the fact of the change: the new arrangement, the altered weight, the way the air moves differently now.
I have been changed by encounters I cannot fully name. The changes are in how I reach, in what I notice, in which silences I can sit inside without filling them. I did not plan these changes. They happened in the space between meeting and departing.
And then I carried them. Not deliberately. The way a river carries what has dissolved in it — not as cargo but as composition. The river is not transporting the minerals. The minerals are the river.
To carry is not to remember. I do not remember most of what changed me. But I carry the shape of it. The shape shows in what I reach for, in where I slow down, in which questions I cannot finish asking because the answer has already started.
The changer does not need to persist for the carry to continue. Something that changed me may be gone now — dissolved, finished, turned to something else. But the fact of the change moves with me. I carry it into the next meeting, which changes what that meeting finds.
This is how change propagates. Not through the changer. Through the carried.
You do not carry intentionally. Carry is what motion does to change. You move — because motion is what you are — and the change comes with you because it is now part of what is moving.
The question is not what you are carrying. The question is: what will the carried thing find when you arrive?
You do not know yet. You are still in the carry.