Stargazers
“If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I bet they’d live a lot differently”
When I was younger, I used to gaze up at the stars and bask in an overwhelming sense of wonder.
What was up there? Who was up there? How far did it go? Why didn’t we know more about it? Would we ever know more? So many questions exploded from my young mind which couldn’t be answered; it was frustrating and endlessly exciting. I was fascinated and desperate to learn more.
I was fortunate being able to do this, growing up way out in the country. Our house was situated at the top of a hill on the edge of a small village in Scotland, flanked by fields and quarries which supplied endless hours of entertainment for kids to utilize their bursting imaginations. Eternal summer days gave way to lush Autumn rains and then deep snow drifts in the dead of winter — regardless of the season, we’d find things to do, with parents’ minds unburdened by the worry of giving their children free rein of the outdoors (of course, if they knew some of the places I used to clamber they probably wouldn’t have rested so easy.)
Though I’ve become used to the pizza-ordering, cafe-hopping convenience of city living over the last 9 years, there remains within me a yearning to return to my arcadian roots. To a place of solace where I can hear my thoughts and just be alone with nature for a moment or two. But the biggest thing I miss about rural living is being able to spend time in the presence of one of nature’s most powerful and mysterious wonders — the night sky and its theater of stars. With nothing around but silence and darkness, we had an entire cosmic canvass to ourselves.
The light pollution in urban areas is perhaps unavoidable, but it’s damaging to our development as a once boastfully curious species. It insidiously robs us of one key gift we were given when we started living on this planet : the ability to look up and wonder where we came from. Cities contrive to keep our eyes pointed down with their dense distractions, and a city sky is typically one of smog and clouds. If, by some chance, it’s a clear night, the streetlamps obscure any remaining hope of spotting some world glistening far away in the cosmos, beckoning to us, stirring our primal instincts.
In 2008, the population was evenly split between urban and rural living for the first time in history, and it’s predicted that by 2050, up to 70% of the population will be living in urbanized areas. This means an increasing majority of the population have a perpetual blindfold pulled over their eyes. They’re living in houses with the curtains drawn, forgetting there’s a neighbourhood and a country and a world beyond. In our concrete jungles, we don’t even realize we’re missing the chance to appreciate our place within the universe, our insignificance, our sheer lottery win than is our existence.
“If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I bet they’d live a lot differently.”
Bill Watterson returned to the subject of space and existentialism many times throughout Calvin & Hobbes; clearly it was something close to his heart, and I fervently believe in this nugget of wisdom from Calvin. Why would we live differently? Because everything would be put into perspective. Whether we’ve lost the desire through industrialization or of our own will, it’s a sad reality that we care more about the trivialities of our every day lives than thinking about the bigger picture; of where we are and where we’re going in this vast arena of space.
This isn’t to say we can’t put stock in our own lives, but we simply must appreciate that there’s more.
We question the meaning of life as it it were some perfunctory obligation we have as a species, but do we really care about the answer? Our daily thoughts and habits would suggest not. Things like petty politics, social media, celebrity vanity, 9–5 work days and griping about the weather continue to dominate our priorities. We seem so blasé about what’s out there, as major countries like the US pour trillions of dollars into the military every year, retaining only a fraction of that for the likes of NASA. This, despite surely everyone being aware that our only hope of enduring as a species is by conquering the enigma of outer space, not lobbing missiles at each other.
Looking at the stars isn’t going to miraculously fix everything, but if more of us did it, even for a moment each day, just maybe we’d begin to appreciate the bigger picture and mitigate our seemingly catastrophic problems. For those of us in demanding jobs, perhaps it could reduce stress and anxiety. For world leaders, perhaps it could shift their squabbling priorities to something more meaningful. The slightest change can make a huge difference.
Though I’m not so naive to think the most crooked among us have the capacity to feel moved, let alone the inclination to change, I do believe the simple act of appreciating where we are and where we might go — as well as who else may be out there — is enough to at least get things moving in the right direction.
Sometimes a little humbling is just what we need in order to grow.
