Deeply Connected Strangers

Lately, I’ve buried myself in my studies as both a psych major and a yoga instructor, and one thing that keeps standing out to me is that being human is really just learning to balance our inner world while staying connected to the people around us.

Whether with family, friends, lovers, or even coworkers, every relationship requires some level of care and awareness. I call it connection maintenance: you check in, reflect, and ask yourself whether you’re truly nurturing the connection or just coexisting with someone out of routine. 

I do this a few times a year, and I actually just did it recently. I’ll take a few quiet hours to sit with myself and think about the people in my life who have access to me. Not in an intense “spreadsheet of emotions” kind of way, but more like a casual check-in.

I ask myself, have I been showing up for the people I care about? Do these relationships still feel healthy and fulfilling, or am I holding onto certain dynamics out of habit, history, or comfort?

And if the answer is no, I try not to judge myself for it. Sometimes relationships need more effort. Sometimes they need more honesty. And sometimes, people grow in different directions without either person being the villain.

There’s actually a scientific concept that’s similar to this, called “parallel orbits.” I love researching scientific topics and finding humanistic concepts within them, especially in astrophysics. 

Parallel Orbits describes, much like a rocket orbiting parallel to the earth’s surface, two people who remain close in proximity or history but, emotionally and mentally, move on separate tracks. You’re still in each other’s orbit, but not necessarily meeting each other where it counts - the surface.  

Honestly, I think a lot of us live this way without truly realizing it.

Which brings me to the topic of discussion, deeply connected strangers. I know,  the phrase sounds a bit odd at first - like something somebody would caption under a blurry moon photo on Tumblr in 2014 (guilty). But the more you sit with it and say it out loud a few times, the more it makes sense to you, and you can likely think of a few people. 

Some people know your coffee order, your texting habits, the memes that will make you laugh instantly, yet have absolutely no idea what your daily life looks like. Others can talk to you for a couple of hours and somehow understand you better than people who see you every week. Human connection is weird like that.

Take family, for example. Some relatives would absolutely donate a kidney to you, but cannot survive a peaceful dinner conversation without somebody bringing up politics or why you’re still unmarried, with no child (double guilty). You love them dearly, but sometimes you leave family gatherings feeling like you just completed an emotional escape room.

Then there are the distant friends, the ones you speak to sporadically throughout the year, but somehow end up discussing the meaning of existence or whether Mercury retrograde is beating your ass again within the first five minutes of the call. You may not know what fitness routine or diet they’re on right now, but they understand, to a certain degree, the architecture of your mind. 

Coworkers are another strange category entirely. Nothing bonds people faster than shared suffering under bad office lighting. These people have seen you moments before a deadline, looking emotionally and spiritually dehydrated. They know your “I’m about to lose it” face as soon as you get on Zoom. Yet the second it hits 5:01 pm, they disappear into the void like supernatural corporate vampires. 

And then there’s a very specific type of lover, the parallel orbit lover. Not every relationship is like this, thankfully (unless you’re into the cosmic idea of this - another blog). Some people are deeply integrated into your real life in healthy, grounded ways. But now and then, you meet someone where the connection feels almost too magnetic. The chemistry is immediate, emotional, spiritual, physical, like your nervous systems recognized each other before your brains had time to catch up (guilty times infinity).

But as time passes, you start to realize the relationship mostly exists within a carefully curated bubble. You know their inconsistent communication patterns, what turns them on, the songs they play when they can’t sleep, the version of them that appears during your late-night texts, yet somehow you still don’t fully know them IRL. You’ve never really met their friends. Never fully entered their world. Never figured out if they’re emotionally unavailable to everyone, aren't attracted you, or just simply fiercely independent.

And that’s the strange part.

Sometimes you can feel deeply connected to someone while also realizing you’re still standing outside the full picture of who they are.

But maybe that’s the point.

If you really think about it, every relationship isn't supposed to fit neatly into a traditional box with labels, timelines, and matching Christmas pajamas. Some people are here to teach you something. Some are here to mirror parts of yourself back to you. Some are temporary shelters. Some are mysteries you’ll carry forever.

And maybe connection - in all its forms - is less about fully possessing someone and more about accepting the unique, beautiful ways people pass through our orbit and change us for the better anyway.