From Every Day I Love You More (just not today)
Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction. – Antoine de Saint-Exupery
The stars are out tonight. I would have missed them completely had my husband not cut me off in mid-sentence, pulled the car over, pointed up at the sky, and said, “Look.” I was more than a little put out with him at the time for having disrupted my diatribe on the slimeball who’d stolen a parking space out from under me earlier in the day. Then I saw what he was pointing at. Oh, my.
It is hard to be petty while gazing up at the stars. It’s also hard to be angry or cranky or mean, or anything other than awestruck. The stars have a way of putting you in your place. They have done this for us many times in our marriage, on warm summer evenings and cold winter nights, interrupting our squabbles, refereeing our fights, and generally butting into our lives with a late-breaking bulletin from the cosmos: Hey, you two! Get over yourselves! It’s embarrassing to admit it, but I tend not to notice the Milky Way on my own. Earthbound by nature, I’m scared of heights, anxious on airplanes, and prone to recurring nightmares in which I tumble out of the sky. I often walk with my head down, oblivious to anything above the tree line. A lone crocus or woolly caterpillar can stop me in my tracks, yet eclipses and comets blow right by me. I truly dislike what this suggests about me, that I’m reductive and cautious and overly pessimistic. I may be reading entirely too much into a metaphor, but then again, possibly not. After all, it’s tough to soar with the eagles if you refuse to let your feet leave the ground.
My other half is just the opposite. A sailor who loves science fiction, he’s forever scanning the heavens for clues to tomorrow’s weather or signs of some alien force. An optimist who believes that the sky is the limit, he’s always dragging me outside at night, pointing out pinpricks of light from the past that instantly change my perspective: from the center of the universe to an infinitesimal speck, a much healthier view in the long run. It’s a neat trick, and one that works equally well on my husband. In fact, I daresay it could work on us all. I defy anyone to feel consumed with his own self-importance after even a brief interlude of gazing at the stars. And I defy any couple to stargaze without reaching out for each other, two infinitesimal specks huddled together against the vastness of infinite space.
What’s more, unlike most other mind-altering substances, stars are widely available, legal, and free, although I do recommend such optional extras as a hot tub, a hammock, or a quilt. Bear in mind that champagne marries perfectly with the night sky. It’s like having your own private glassful of stars.
