I looked at the sky. A star was falling. A second one joined it. They fell in parallel for a moment. Then their paths diverged.
I smiled. Just like in life.
“It’s not working,” he told me powerlessly.
“What isn’t working? Being with her, or being without her?” I asked.
“Both,” he replied.
Have you ever experienced this? When you love those who reject you or reject those who love you?
It’s as though we were comets with different trajectories. At a certain moment of our personal development we met and gazed into each other’s eyes, but at the next moment it occured to us that all this happened only because we passed each other—that our trajectories crossed only temporarily. And ever since then we have been moving further and further away from each other in our life.
Why does it happen at all? It’s an important topic that we need to understand, particularly if we want someone to support us; or we want to support someone.
Seven Billion Comets
The world sometimes seems like a sky with seven billion comets; each one with a different trajectory.
We meet, we accompany each other for a time and then we separate. It’s as if life were a book in which the characters at the beginning start to fade away after the first few chapters when they no longer have anything to contribute to the story…
We are all comets with a certain attraction. We try to have an effect on everybody around us. We attract some people through our appearance, others through our behaviour, others through our wisdom, assets, position. All this is our gravitational ability.
The basis of relationships between all these comets is that they pass each other and look for each other. Sometimes, given our current attractiveness (because what we attract people with changes with age), it can take a long time before we find a completely kindred comet that has both a similar trajectory and similar gravitation, that makes an impression on us and, in particular, that is able to share the same trajectory with us for a longer period of time.
The problem is that flying on a common trajectory is not easy. One issue is that in some uneasy stages we can get in each other’s way and bang into each other, and another is that during flight we have to maintain our mutual gravity in such a way so as not to lose the other—our trajectories will certainly be crossed by lots of other comets, maybe even more attractive ones. And what happens then?
After all, change is life! A “short” flight with someone else won’t do any harm! “My” comet isn’t going anywhere! Maybe that’s how we think. Or perhaps, as time passes, we will stop liking things about our accompanying comet here and there. It will stop being the way we like. We won’t be used to it. Or, on the contrary, we’ll be too used to it and it’ll start to bore us.
And the surrounding comets that come close will always be something new, something different. How could they not be—when no two comets in the sky are the same! And then we may ask ourselves: Why do we stay with a strange, aging comet that is always the same? Why are we limiting ourselves to one close trajectory? How could we have been so stupid that we found this one? We don’t find it attractive at all anymore! And suddenly we reject comets that love us or, indeed, love comets that have long rejected us as uninteresting.
And yet, we are still two comets that are aging at exactly the same speed. The only thing that differs is our view of our common trajectory. It may be that whereas one focuses more on what it appreciates when flying together, the other concentrates more on what flying together takes away—and what it would suddenly like to change in the other comet. Yes, in the one that always suited it so well.
What sort of comet should we try to convince that flying with us is still the best option? And when is it a waste of time, primarily our time?
I have been getting requests for my opinion about your specific situation in personal relations and questions: IS this or is this NOT over the line? Please take the following lines as my opinion, influenced by my life, experience and primarily my pain threshold. What hurts me may not necessarily hurt somebody else. And what hurts others, I might not feel.
So what are the moments when we start to draw apart a little?
What 7 progressive stages does such disconnection take place over?
Please, continue to the 2nd page