How often do we really look up?
In the literal sense, of course. Not in the way of someone cooler than us who we aspire to be. But the neck craned, eyes fixed kind of looking up. Not so often, I’m sure.
The reality is that there’s not a whole lot upwards, though, that is what’s best – the great big nothing that sits everlasting above our heads (and even under our feet) – space.
Perhaps the biggest shame of city living is its light. Although shiny and appealing, bright lights have blinded us of views that were once a standard sight for so many. We are so used to being deprived from the true look of space that it becomes a somewhat humbling experience to simply see more than a handful of stars in the sky.
I write this from a privileged beachside view, where the waves strike up as much deliberation as the stars I talk about. With the sea offering itself as the perfect background track to ponder just why things are the way they are.
Something clicks. A feeling of awe becomes inevitable. It’s the kind of feeling you wish you could bottle up and carry it around to sip on during times of sadness.
A sort of enlightenment draws near, only to be promptly brought back to the seemingly inescapable general worries of life. How is it the anxieties of modern day still manage to override the revelation that we are literally stood on a giant rock spinning in space?
The thought alone should be enough to subdue any niggling voices that remind you of that one report for work you forgot to file last Friday. Yet, here I am.
Time to get back to work.
Side note: So you don’t think I am escaping lockdown restrictions, I am no longer at a privileged beachside view and instead locked down back where the stars don’t shine. In true Ryan hates writing fashion, I wrote most of this months ago and only now decided to edit for sharing.