It all started with the twilight colored sky. During my college years, I would go out late at night sometime late in August and I would just listen to the night. I used to live in my grandparents’ row home and there wasn’t much privacy or a feeling of being out in the woods. Make no mistake about it: I was in the city. But that didn’t matter. I would stand in the driveway in front of the garage and I would look up. In late August, the temperate would change late at night. On a crisp, clear night, I’d see low hanging clouds quickly moving on their way out of the city as though they were late for an appointment or party. The clouds appeared a faded ruddy color and were low but fast moving. Above them I could make out a few stars. Living in a city all of my life, I’ve been impressed that I could even see the Pleiades from my backyard.
Each year before going back to college, I would take a peek out my window and look at the sky. When the sky was clear and the temperature was cool enough, I would know that I had found the right type of night. I’d rush outside and put my hands in my pockets and then just look up, watching and listening. I’d open myself up and just let myself think about whatever crossed my mind. Typically, I’d be nervous about school starting up again and I’d worry about how I’d do in my classes, what I would do with my life, and if I had enough strength in me to “make it.” Whatever “make it” meant at the time. Looking back now (it’s been about 14 years since I did the night sky routine), I can almost time travel back into the past to myself.
Here I am writing this and I can see my young self looking up at the sky, wondering all the big questions in life: Would I ever find love? Would I complete school and find a job? Would I ever achieve some of the dreams that I had been dreaming? Those nights being out in the late summer air used to calm and help relax me. I never had to worry about anyone judging me or anyone bothering me. I simply went out there and relaxed to be with as much of nature as I could, taking in the big dark sky and holding that moment tight. I don’t have much time to enjoy moments like that these days and many people in my neighborhood like to keep their back lights on all night long. The light pollution is pretty bad. Trying to star watch isn’t easy to do now. Not that it was ever easier to do back then in the city, but I believe more people didn’t keep their lights on all night long. Now with fear of crime or security, many home owners opt to light up their backyards all night.
But 14 years ago, this wasn’t a problem for me. I would hearing an answer come from inside, telling me that I would be okay. I would make it. I would find what and who I was looking for. And the irony of it all is that there wasn’t any outside voice that I was trying to hear. No, I was listening for my own inner voice. I needed to connect with myself and know that I could make it through the rough times. And I did.
The time of year is changing. The temperature is starting to be a little bit cooler at night. The humidity is starting to go down. The moon is up high in the sky casting its light on me and I am wondering if I will find a night to go out, look up, and listen. Maybe I’ll look to the past and listen to what I had thought back then instead of searching for the future. Or maybe I’ll acknowledge the present and be in the moment for once rather than worrying about “how will I do this” or “what am I going to do about that?” I can spin my wheels a long, long time, wondering about such unanswerable problems or I can just accept that I can’t control the future and might as well enjoy the moment—before it’s gone.
When I was younger, I’d look up into that sky and I would be making a deal with myself and the powers that control he universe. Those moments of communing with nature would present me with a simple means to enter my own private rite of passage. It was me, the row house behind me, and the sky, clouds, and stars above. That’s it. When I was 21 years old, I’d desperately want to know how was I going to climb out of my shy shell and succeed in the “big bad” world of college and the working world. I need to find a way to look into the infinite and see my curious self looking back at me. I realized out there late at night that I would be okay. I could make it and that I would do well. Friends and family who know me might see the mistakes that I’ve made, the successes I’ve accomplished, but I wonder how much they know of my introspective side. The part of me that does look up into the night sky and wonders, questions or just listens to what’s around me. That cricket in the backyard, the car turning the corner, a wind chime singing in the night, or the sound of my own breathing.
Many, many years I would go outside and look up at the stars (I love astronomy) and although I’m a little older, grayer, and heavier, I still keep looking up. Not so much to look outward, but to reflect what’s inward. I stare up so that I can mirror my spirit against the brilliant night sky and smile. It’s that simple.
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