We are all made of stars

The comet NEOWISE was expected to be seen by the naked eye in the northwest sky at about 325 degrees northwest and around 11 degrees above the horizon. Low light pollution was recommended and since we live surrounded by trees and lights, I headed out in the Alfa in the search of darkness. 

In Ann Arbor, I had a dedicated spot that I would often visit, just north of the city. But after moving to Plymouth three years ago, this would have been the first time that I needed to find to my own piece of dark sky. I headed west between Ann Arbor and Plymouth and circled around to find a low tree line with an unobstructed view. I found it on North Territorial just after a stop sign and pulled my car on to the side of the road. I was in two minds regarding the blinkers, and ultimately chose to let them on as I preferred not getting side swiped on rural roads in the middle of the night. Star gazing is relatively low key in suburban Michigan. 

My eyes adjusted to darkness as I perused the night sky in the region of interest. I saw the Big Bear and some stars but the comet did not stand out. I had read that it would be better with telescope or binoculars but was possible with the naked eye. So I let my naked eye hope as it scanned up and down and side to side, looking for a distinct tail. Then, quite suddenly, lower than where I was looking I saw something fuzzy. Not bright like a planet and nor twinkly like a start but rather an blurry object with a tail of hazy dust shooting up-ward. That had to be it, in all its glory. NEOWISE was spotted. 

My wife struggled to understand why I headed out the next few nights to get a better view (I didn’t). How could it possibly affect our lives, which already had rearing of an growing infant, as its thematic highlight? I told her about how old the comet was ( it was almost as old as the universe itself) and how the last time it was near earth, ancient dynasties in 5th Millennium BC were forming. In fact, the next time it would be visible would be 6800 years from now. At that point, I am certain humans would have (would have to) left Earth. These facts did not quite convince her.

But I should have told her about what I really felt. I like looking at space and affirming how inconsequential my earthly tribulations feel. The stars are sometimes much too far for any perspective but when a visitor arrives from outer reaches, it makes me wonder about the scale of time. This entire year when the earth was making its way around the sun, I felt my life had come to juxtaposed stillness. Inside the house there was a growing and thriving baby who made each minute of his waking hour count. Outside the house there was virus was raging and I had no where to go, safely at least. Each day felt like the one before. Each night felt blurry, like a comet’s tail. 

Life was on pause, but time was on overdrive. I remembered spring as much as I expected the summer heat to disappear in a few weeks. I looked ragged, unkept and nonchalant about the passage of this time.  But inside, my internal clock was whirring madly. I was about to swallow a year and it was making me mad. This comet, in its eccentricity of orbit, was helping me stay grounded to my reality of inevitability and finite forgettable existence.

I was so excited to see the comet but missed having my wife next to me to celebrate with. She was dutifully keeping an eye on our son, who she put to bed, on a 3 inch baby monitor screen and filling her time by entertaining herself with the internet. So, as much as I wanted to stay and absorb the blurry-ness of the comet, it seemed that I was being just needlessly alone. 

I started the Alfa and her white luminescent dials quick outshone the darkness of the night sky. I pulled back carefully on the road and drove back home, to my wife and my baby’s life on earth.