There’s something oddly predictable about human nature: we recognize the value of something only when it’s slipping through our fingers. A friendship we never nurtured, a love we took for granted, a person we assumed would always be there—until they aren’t. And suddenly, what felt ordinary becomes irreplaceable. But why? Why does absence make the heart grow fonder? Why do people only realize what you meant to them after you’ve walked away? There’s a reason why people suddenly want you back once you stop trying. The answer lies in what our very own Bhawagad Gita preaches so succinctly.

The Gita says that human desire is fueled by attachment (raga) and aversion (dvesha). We want what feels just out of reach and disregard what seems secure. This isn’t personal. It’s the way the mind works. When you were present, your worth blended into the background. But the moment you left? You became the thing they couldn’t have—making them want it all the more.

The Gita further teaches that the mind is clouded by illusion (maya). We get caught in distractions, failing to see what truly matters. And often, only a shock—a deep loss—can cut through the noise.

That’s why people realize your value when you leave. Not because they suddenly changed, but because they are forced to see what they refused to before. Loss sharpens awareness. It removes the layers of assumption and makes people confront reality. Think about the sun. You don’t wake up every day in awe of its presence. It rises, and you move on with your day. But if one morning it didn’t? If the sky remained dark? You’d feel its absence with your entire being. People in your life do the same. They stop noticing your warmth because they think it will always be there. Until it isn’t. You mattered more than they understood at the time.

Gita says that everything in life is fleeting. Yet, as humans, we struggle to grasp this. When something is always there—be it a person, a moment, or even good health—we assume it’s permanent. We stop seeing it for what it truly is: temporary, fragile, and worthy of appreciation.

There’s another layer to this: ego. Most People identify too strongly with pride and possession. And when you leave, it’s not just your absence that affects them—it’s the loss of control.

They assumed you’d always be there. They assumed they could return whenever they wanted. When that assumption shatters, it’s not just love or appreciation that rises—it’s the sting of losing something they thought was theirs to keep.

At the risk of going off on a tangent- The enemy is the fat relentless ego, driven from deep seated inferiority complex. Some great thinkers have said there is no such thing as superiority complex. When an ego is bruised, it can be particularly dangerous. I have thought about this a lot, and I feel we never quite understand the role that humiliation plays in the making of a monster. The Arab world (where many dictators are still governing – had been humiliated by the feeling that it was no longer the great global “intellectual and military powerhouse”. Or take the case of Adolf Hitler, who was humiliated by having been rejected, twice, from the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna because his paintings were “unsatisfactory”. One look at all the monsters in modern history and they always have an element of humiliation which [leads them to feel]: ‘I’ll get’em.’ Humiliation — rather like its more frivolous sister-emotion, embarrassment — is the unpleasant feeling that comes from the sense that your social status or self-image has been harmed. But unlike embarrassment, some kind of a perpetrator is usually involved, often leading the person who has been humiliated to seek a type of revenge (even if this is not targeted at the perpetrator directly). I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a monster — indeed for the most part I think it unwise to categorise people as heroes or villains — but I do notice that, in a slightly circular fashion, the once “politically moderate” Elon Musk seems to lurch further into extreme rightwing territory the more he comes under fire . He might be the richest man in the world, he might be best buddies with the US president, but I get the distinct sense that Musk is a man with a problem: a fragile ego.

He is not the only one. A lot of us — particularly in the internet age — spend far too much time worrying about ourselves and how we are coming across to other people, and far too little wondering how those other people are themselves feeling. The important thing, though, is that if we were to abandon our fat, relentless egos and focus on what is going on in the world around us, we would end up feeling far better ourselves.

So how to manage that ego …. my take: You owe nothing to the world and world owes nothing to you. It is transactional. So treat others as would like to be treated. But if somebody does you wrong then fight your ground but don’t go looking for a fight. Look around, the world is full of beauty be it in art, nature or just in the good behaviour of the person next to you. The appreciation of beauty in art or nature is not only the easiest available spiritual exercise, but what I am really describing here is something we often refer to these days as “mindfulness”: being present in the moment. It has become slightly unfashionable to talk about love outside of the romantic context, just as it has to talk about virtue and honour. But ego is about fear. And, the one thing that can overpower fear is love.

So what do you do? Do you resent people for realizing your worth too late? Do you play the game, making yourself scarce just to be valued? The Gita offers a different path: detachment. Today I am remembering what my departed Sister used to preach. She used the word “surrender”. I did not understand her then but perhaps this is what she was trying to tell us. And to her credit she always seemed at peace with how others behaved, never loosing her calm. Choose smile between a smile and a frown -choose good feelings instead of deeply buried feelings of humiliation and embarrassment – your good health depends on this.

But let’s be clear—detachment isn’t coldness. It doesn’t mean not caring. It means you no longer place your sense of worth in whether people recognize it or not. It means understanding that human nature is flawed, but your peace doesn’t have to be.

Gita teaches and so did my sister that true wisdom lies in doing your part, giving your best, and then letting go of the need for validation. If someone doesn’t appreciate you while you’re there, it’s their blindness, not your burden. If they realize too late, that’s their lesson to learn, not your responsibility to fix.

The truth is, some people will only understand your worth in hindsight. Some will never understand it at all. But the lesson from the Gita is this: you don’t have to wait for their realization to know your own value. And when you truly embrace that? You won’t need to leave for people to appreciate you. Because you’ll already know—you were never the one who needed convincing.

Let Them Learn, While You Move Forward