Back into Orbit

There’s this theory I have about feelings, processing, time, and energy. I think that when something really big happens, it becomes a planet—or maybe a star—in your own metaphorical solar system. And then you start orbiting around it. At first, your orbits are so small that the feeling is huge, constant, ever-present. But slowly and surely, the orbits widen. You get little breaks between the big feelings. The breaks grow longer—and yet, of course, you orbit back and feel it all over again.

Sometimes that return is surprising, unexpected. Months after my pup Nieta passed, I was driving home and had a fleeting thought: Oh, I’m excited to see Nieta at home. But… hello? Nieta hadn’t physically been in my home for months. I was surprised to find myself back at Planet I Miss My Dog again.

But that’s how the theory works: the orbit around Planet I Miss My Dog, or Planet Self Worth, or Planet Regret, Loss, Shame—those orbits are permanent. Those planets and stars make up your own star chart. They anchor you in this universe.

Lately, my orbit swung me back to Planet I Am Alone. I’ve been here many moons, so even though it was a sad visit, I felt a sense of acceptance. I knew I’d be slingshotting back into space soon enough. But in that moment, I noticed something new—the gravity felt different. Planet I Am Alone must have a powerful moon or a dense lava core, because I could feel how it had formed—its lineage, its purpose.

And I realized: this planet isn’t just about sadness. Spending time here is critical to becoming the human I’m designed to be. Like any celestial body, Planet I Am Alone is evolving. It still holds sorrow, yes—but now also pride, peace, and grace.

And when you start allowing and seeing your planets evolve.. You start to allow and see your universe expand. See the black holes that lead you to a different dimension where Planet I am Alone is a spec of dust. Dimensions where Nieta is in charge of the Aurora Borealis. Worlds where Betrayal and Relief live in Harmony. 

I’m grateful for the journey.
Until next time, Lonely Planet.