I’ve written often about experiencing awe while looking at the stars. Of course, moments of awe have occurred at other times as well.
I remember once when I was a relatively new grandfather and had the opportunity to take my grandson to a park. My job was to catch him as he swept down the slide. Each time he approached I couldn’t get over how he looked. It wasn’t just his smile. His whole face was aglow. Again and again he climbed the steps and then barreled feet-first toward me. I’m glad he was too young to ask why I was crying. I’d just never seen such happiness before.
That’s the wonder—the surge of emotion and adrenaline—of awe. I didn’t think anything could come close to matching it. Until now. Until now, I’d never given serendipity—that surprisingly fulfilling glimpse of the unexpected—much thought. On February 28—the night of the big planet alignment—I went outside to see how many of the seven planets I could find. The weather was not cooperative. I wound up just catching four: Mercury, Venus, Jupiter and Mars. What I didn’t expect, however, was spotting a shimmering sliver, a half-ring actually, of a very faint waxing moon.
It quickly became my focus as it tried to stay away from the encroaching clouds. I would have never known it was there had I not been looking for Mercury just above the Western horizon. I don’t think serendipity always precedes awe but, as I discovered that night, when it does it’s just a perfect moment. The two together are unbeatable.
Each month I try to zero in on a specific celestial object or event that might provide a few minutes of redirection from everything else. Right now, I’m thinking just the opposite. My hero Yogi Berra once said that “you can observe a lot by just watching.” As with all of his quotes, the simplicity of this one makes it all the more striking. This month, it’ll be my mantra. I’m just going to watch and see what comes into view.
Now, I suppose celestial serendipity—with the right equipment—can take the form of spotting a comet or asteroid frightfully heading straight for us. But, seriously, the odds of that are so small as to make it—especially for the backyard astronomer—ridiculous. Rather, serendipity among the stars is a moment of purity, of possibility, that can carry one far beyond our homes and towns. And, right now, that’s what I need.
I’ve gone out stargazing knowing that I’d soon be in awe of Saturn’s rings, or the great Orion Nebula. But, there’s no way to prepare, no way to influence the chance that something will serendipitously appear.
And, knowing that, I begin to understand and accept how much of everything is really out of one’s control. That’s the gift of serendipity. The unexpected can remind us of all the things we’ve tried to do to instill some structure into our lives. It’s the unexpected, however, that always seems to laugh at how much stock we put into those efforts. None of that is to say that nothing matters. It just gives it perspective.
Each moment of serendipity tells me that the illusion of control can become the cause of so much disappointment. It was disappointing to not find all seven planets. However, the fleeting view of a barely visible moon more than made up the difference. I got the message. There’s freedom in letting go of limitations.
This month, I suggest you don’t look for anything special in the sky. Sometimes, you just have to let it come to you, and allow yourself to be surprised, to admit that the wider your view, the better the opportunity to see something you would have otherwise missed. It’s that way in the heavens, and it’s that way here on the ground.
Sometimes, putting aside expectations and desires can open the door to a welcome visit by a moment of unanticipated joy.
Harold Meckler can be contacted at byaakov54@gmail.com