Gravity is patient. It doesn’t shout or chase—it simply holds on, steady and relentless, pulling everything back toward the ground. Some days, life feels exactly like that: an invisible weight keeping us pinned, making every step upward feel impossible.
Rockets know this feeling well. They don’t pretend gravity isn’t there. They meet it head-on with fire, physics, and a little stubborn magic. And somehow, they rise anyway.
Here’s how they do it—and how we can too.
First: The Push (Thrust)
A rocket doesn’t gently float away. It fights.
At the base, engines ignite, hurling hot gas downward at incredible speed. Newton’s third law takes over: for every action, an equal and opposite reaction. All that force rushing down creates thrust pushing the rocket up—stronger than gravity’s pull.
On hard days, we need our own thrust. It might be a deep breath, a playlist that lights a fire, a friend’s voice saying “you’ve got this,” or sheer refusal to stay stuck. It doesn’t have to be huge—just enough upward force to overcome the downward drag.
Then: Letting Go of What Weighs You Down (Staging)
No rocket carries everything forever. They’re built in stages—big sections that do their job and then fall away.
The first stage burns fierce and fast, lifting the rocket through thick atmosphere and heavy gravity. Once its fuel is spent, it separates. Gone. The rocket is suddenly lighter, faster, freer to climb higher. Later stages do the same—shedding weight so the payload (the satellite, the crew, the dream) can reach its destination.
We do this too, even when it hurts. Old habits that once helped but now hold us back. Relationships that drain more than they lift. Beliefs about ourselves that feel true but aren’t. Letting go isn’t failure—it’s staging. It makes room for altitude.
Finally: Finding Your Orbit (Balance)
Once a rocket escapes most of gravity’s grip, it doesn’t keep blasting forever. It reaches the gentle curve of orbit—moving sideways so fast that it keeps “falling” around Earth without ever hitting it. Gravity is still there, but now it’s a partner, not a prison.
The hardest days don’t vanish. But after enough thrust and enough letting go, we find our orbit: a rhythm where the pull doesn’t crush us anymore. We circle, steady and graceful, seeing the same old world from a brighter view.
Rockets remind me that rising isn’t about ignoring gravity—it’s about meeting it with enough fire to break free, enough wisdom to release what’s heavy, and enough trust to settle into the beautiful balance waiting above.
On your next hard day, remember: you don’t have to float effortlessly. You just have to ignite. Shed. And keep moving forward until the view changes.
You’re built for orbit, Starling. Keep rising.