Last Saturday, I spent all day doing work in my apartment (nerd, I know). After about six hours straight, I was drained. I know all you college students reading will understand the feeling of your brain turning to mush after a long day of studying.
For me, I also experience a sense of disconnect from myself and others after a day's work and because of this, I knew I needed some time for reconnection.
I reached out to one of my friends to see if she was around. My plan was to ask if she wanted to watch a TV show or movie. Instead, when I got to her apartment, she started throwing out ideas from throwing around a football to taking a drive to nowhere.
Somehow, we ended up looking up on Google Maps for a beach nearby. Our good friend Google Maps told us there was a river about 20 minutes away, so we decided to check it out. We were both skeptical, but took the leap anyways.
Well, when we "reached our destination," we found ourselves in a neighborhood separated by a fence and freight trains. Not the river we were looking for.
Yet when we stepped outside to investigate the situation, we both happened to look up and boy oh boy, could we see the stars.
There has always been something so reassuring, so reaffirming to me about looking at the stars. When I truly take the time to "look up," I have always found myself reminded that there is something so much greater than us out there, that we are so small and insignificant in comparison.
This is not meant to belittle our experiences as humans, but show how inextricably connected we are to something that goes beyond what we can see.
I couldn't tell you how long we spent looking up, but it was just enough to bring me to a state of peace that I didn't know I needed. Both wanting more of that feeling, we decided to drive to Valley Forge next, where we had an even greater view of the night sky.
The feeling we were experiencing carried through in the conversations we had along the way, which were some of the most honest and true ones I have had in a while. My friend opened up to me, and me to her.
I could sense a certain vulnerability and sacredness in the moment, a space that was created for both of us to share.
Rooted in this strange adventure we went on together, I felt a sense of solidarity to her and to being a part of her story and she a part of mine.
While staring at the night sky at Valley Forge, my friend shared an idea about the stars that has stuck with me since. She talked about how when we look at stars, all we see is a bright light, yet within stars, there is so much going on, their atoms are constantly moving (I don't really know the science behind this, but you get what I mean). Humans are the same way, she said.
You may see a person simply for their face value, but there is always so much going on inside them, so much that can't simply be seen by our eyes.
This, I think, is our goal as humans: to go beyond what can be seen and connect with those around us, to find out their hopes, dreams, and fears.
This late night adventure is something that has stuck with me because it was something so spontaneous that gave me such a great sense of reassurance in a transitional time. We may have been looking for the beach, but we found the stars, and we shared a moment that I could tell affected us both deeply, reminding us of our humanity.
The same applies for life. Sometimes you go out in the search of one thing, and you find something you weren't expecting at all.
There's something beautiful about how the Universe is constantly leading us not to the places we thought we'd go, but the places where we are meant to be.
So readers, next time you have the chance to take that late night ride or other spontaneous action, I urge you to do it. You never know where it could lead you.
Talk soon,
Sam
