We discovered this summer that the Newport Public Library has a telescope that anyone with a library card can take home with them! The kids and I were really excited about all of the amazing things we would see in the night sky that night. We could hardly wait until dark.
I’ll admit that the incredible Hubble Space Telescope images that we’ve all seen of Saturn or Jupiter popped into my head. As is often the case, my enthusiasm carried me away. So, of course, I was disappointed when darkness finally arrived. Even the brightest star was still just a speck in the sky through the telescope’s lens.
But, the Moon! The moon was a different Story! The craters and peaks on the moon’s surface were so crisp and clear! The whole family took a turn at the telescope. As my children, my wife, and my 82 year-old mother-in-law each saw the moon for the first time they too exclaimed: “Wow!” “Amazing!’ “Cool!”
How is it that each of us had lived our entire life (so far) seeing the moon in the sky above us, but not really Seeing it? What other amazing things do we walk by every day without truly seeing or appreciating them? What amazing people do we interact with every day without truly appreciating their accomplishments, talents, and contributions to the world around them?
I was restless that night. So, I went out for a walk. It was very quiet in our little neighborhood far from the tourist and sailor filled Thames street, Bellevue Avenue, and Broadway. I could see the blue glow of contentment in many of my neighbor’s houses as they watched baseball or sitcoms in their living rooms.
I walked down to Braga Park and sat on a bench overlooking the reservoir. I could hear the waves washing ashore on Eason’s Beach about a quarter of a mile away. With my Hubble Telescope optimism I imagined that other restless and discontented wanderers had gathered around a bonfire on the beach, playing guitar, telling jokes, and drinking beer. Maybe “my tribe” was waiting for me there! The warmth of the fire and companionship were just as clear as the rings of Saturn in my mind’s image, tempting me to walk to the beach. But, my coyotephobia (fear of coyotes) kept me seated.
It was one of the loneliest moments of my life. I had just witnessed proof that there are amazing, cool, and exciting things to discover out there in the world and the universe, and that some of them (like the moon) are much more accessible than we think. Yet, everyone except me seemed completely content to just go about life as usual, stay in the rut, and watch TV.
I sent a text to a friend: “I think I need to start doing hallucinogenic drugs. Everything around me is just so boring.” I was joking. But, with that comment, I suddenly realized that I knew a lot more about drug and alcohol use and addiction than I thought I did. Maybe people that suffer from the illness of addiction are not so different from myself? They love their family, and they want to be with their family. But, they’ve also seen the craters on the moon.
How can we experience wonder and amazement when our commitments and responsibilities forbid us from wandering more than a quarter of a mile away?
We could alter our minds in a way that allows us to see everyday things as extraordinary. I do recall a few hazy college nights where the soap bubbles in the kitchen sink were SO interesting. If only washing the dishes could always be so fun. But, it can’t.
Instead of altering our minds with chemicals, maybe we just need a new perspective. Maybe we need to see the world around us in a different light.
The next morning I woke up just before dawn and walked back down through Braga Park, past the reservoir, to Easton’s Beach. I was amazed by how much different the beach looked at sunrise. The color of the light, the length of the shadows, and the emptiness of a place that I have only seen crowded with people all contributed to its otherworldliness.
The shadow of the empty lifeguard chair stretched far into the distance, emphasizing both the emptiness of the chair and the emptiness of the beach itself. My own long shadow reminded me how alone I was.
Never have I been so alone. Never have I been so unlonely.