the accidental star-gazer
on my mind
In the two months since I moved back to Arizona, I have spent half that time in my new home and the other half out of town. Because of that, I still struggle to explain what it’s been like so far.
In some ways, I feel like I’ve regressed, as if I’m living in a small time loop of 2020, experiencing my own personal lockdown. But I know that’s quite the exaggeration, because I’ve been able to travel and don’t experience the same level of fear of getting sick or getting my parents sick.
During the moments of panic or jealousy of everyone else’s seemingly content and interesting lives, I find myself checking my bank account to remind myself that I am saving so much more money than I could in my former life without exorbitant rent, utilities and grocery bills. Of course, this is more satisfying for my future self- the present one still craves excitement and fulfillment.
Then I’d measure the level of quality time I am getting with my parents who are nearly always around me, because my dad is working from home while he recovers from his surgery and my mom stopped working early on in the pandemic. Shared breakfasts of scrambled eggs and ful, enjoying coffee breaks at the same time in the backyard, playing dominos, taking turns brushing my now incredibly spoiled cat and arguing over whether it’s worth trying to cut her nails while she’s in a good mood- it’s these small moments that I know I was missing over the years, the ones my parents were looking forward to having with me again.
By far, the hardest adjustment has to be not living in a walkable area and only seeing dirt, cars, mountain and sky around me. As I rush to finish up my work day, eager to take a break away from my screen and move my body, I am at a loss because the darkness beats me nearly every time. Once the sun sets, it’s pitch black in this area because there are no street lights. And when I say no street lights, I mean no street lights.
The Tucson area is known for star-gazing and observatories, so there are ordinances to protect the sky from light pollution. Having such strict limitations on lighting has been tough because it feels like another form of entrapment, another thing I cannot control, a way to limit my activities. Walking outside, socializing, and getting fresh air was such a crucial part of my routine for my mental and physical health, so I was confused by suddenly having that privilege taken away from me. So many days I would resign myself to simply sitting inside because I was unable to wrap up work before the light vanishes, suppressing the urge to leave the house.
Then the other day, I decided enough was enough. I was going to walk at night around my neighborhood, no matter how unsafe or uncomfortable it may be. Armed with a weak flashlight and my phone, I proceeded to walk down the street at a much slower pace than usual. This walk was not a confident one. My strides were not matching the beat of my Spotify walk playlist. The shadows from the ghoulish Halloween decorations and flickering orange lights on the neighbors’ bushes were the only things giving me a sense of place and direction. But the air was cooler now, a perfect 74 degrees, the kind of weather I had been waiting for.
I turned at the corner of our street to a cul-de-sac that has a direct view of the highway and planned to circle it. As my eyes looked upwards and I dimmed my flashlight to take in the vastness above me. I realized after a few moments, that I was actually able to see an entire sky of stars and recognize the connection between tiny balls of light into constellations I had studied years ago. The one that got me misty eyed for some reason was recognizing the Little Dipper. I couldn’t remember the last time I was able to identify it so easily and here I was down the street from my house like it was as casual as the neighborhood mailbox.
There was a certain kind of peace that came from standing there being witnessed and being a witness to something that gets obscured so easily. I felt the anger I had been carrying towards the darkness and my loneliness begin to dissipate as my eyes began to adjust to all the sky’s elements. How silly of me to be upset at these stars. I was okay with being this close to them. I was okay with just being small and alone in that moment. It was like I was supposed to be right there on purpose. My life may not seem very clear to me, but here was a form of darkness that I was able to see some beauty and reason in. I felt grateful to be overwhelmed…and that it was dark enough that no one was around to see my sentimental self pausing my Apple Watch to cry lol.
I am trying to hold on to that idea in the months ahead-that darkness can be beautiful and have purpose-as I stumble and fumble my way towards decisions with clarity. And I guess while residing in a city that has one of the darkest night skies, I may as well become a star-gazer too.
what i’m noting
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If you’re interested in strategic communications, progressive advocacy and social impact, check out the Radical Communicators Network. I went to their Narrative Power Summit last month in Long Beach and connected with so many inspiring organizers and media-makers.
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— Nesima