nature – Heather Hoyt

I was watching John Green’s video about the average American, and he said something that haunted me: the average American spends more time in social media than going outside.

I was doing that.

I love being outside, I really do, but it seems like all the work I have to do is often indoors. My research is inside. My housework is inside. Lots of things are inside. And that’s fine.

But when I need a break, do I go outside, or do I go into a screen?

And I usually go into a screen. Much more than I really want to. It can become a default: whenever I feel stressed and overwhelmed, go to a screen (or stay on the screen).

I don’t want to do that anymore.

Yesterday, I was cleaning out the car and I went to put some stuff in the trash can, and I looked up at the sky. The sky was clear, and I could see the Milky Way cutting through it. It was the sort of sky where there were stars absolutely everywhere.

I noticed. And I tried to get my kids to come and see (they came, but didn’t care quite as much). I delayed the things I had to do to just stand out there, craning my neck up to see the universe above me.

I went on a walk today, and it is the perfect kind of weather: a little bit windy, the sort of temperature you can wear whatever you want and it will be only a little bit uncomfortable, and crunchy leaves flying across the ground. The world is turning yellow, the sky was cloudy, muting the sun. It was beautiful.

The things that I often use for stress relief actually cause me more stress. They tired me out and drain me.

What actually invigorates me is going outside, playing with my kids, being active. Having space to exist.

I’ve spent a lot less time on my phone and on a screen the last few days, and I have felt freedom and a lot more peace inside.

Trying to split my mind between my life and junk on my computer is just hard. Being in my life is a lot better.

We drove to Texas in order to see an eclipse.

In 2017, we lived in the path of totality of a total solar eclipse. My kids were all little then, the oldest barely in school and the youngest literally breastfeeding during the eclipse. Dillon was working at the state park we lived at and coordinating all the visitors who had come. Some of my family came out to experience it with us.

When it was over, I just wanted to experience it again. And I had to wait almost 7 years, but we put the 2024 eclipse on our calendar (on the wrong date, but we fixed it later).

Things changed a lot in 7 years. We moved and moved again. Dillon switched jobs a few times. I started graduate school. We renovated a house. Our kids are now all in school, all old enough to remember.

5 months before the eclipse, I reserved a campsite in the path of totality at Cedar Hill State Park. And then eventually made the rest of the travel arrangements. As the day got closer, though, I was worried: cloud cover. I kept checking the weather app, and it never changed. There was always cloud cover.

But we drove over 20 hours to Texas (and then over 20 hours back). We planned out stops along the way and saw some cool things: a faux waterfall, structures built almost 1,000 years ago, my aunt, vintage RVs, rocks interspersed with iron or copper, old airplanes, turtles swimming in a river, longhorn cattle, vintage video game consoles.

I was somewhat distracted during the trip as I am towards the end of the semester, and final papers are looming. I had to do some school work even when I just wanted to be on vacation.

The day of the eclipse came, and the clouds rolled in. We went on a hike in the morning through forest and grasslands, and the air was misty with humidity.

And then the clouds rolled away as the eclipse started.

I have words I could use to describe the eclipse: awe, sublime, beauty. In the middle of totality, I felt like I needed to get a picture, but I could never capture that moment. Pictures and videos do not show what it is like. It is an experience: aesthetic, spiritual, awesome.

The sun had come out and the day was hot, and then the temperature dropped. The birds stopping singing. The crickets chirped. I could see planets and stars and the moon and the sun all together in the heavens.

It was worth it.

***

We drove back home after it rained on our camping stuff. We dropped by a museum filled with random old stuff, a conservatory of tropical plants, and a frontier prison where we heard macabre stories. We arrived home to clean up, drive off our camping stuff, and go back to normal.

***

During this weekend, it was General Conference for my church. I listened to quite a few talks, and we tried to watch sessions together as a family. We heard about miracles and prayer.

And I was praying.

Sometimes, it is not easy to believe, to have faith. I am friends with many who have stepped away from faith, all for their own unique reasons. And for a moment, I was just filled up with questions and worry. I need spiritual experiences regularly in order to keep my faith, and sometimes they seem too far away.

I don’t know if it counts as a miracle that I was able to view the eclipse, free of clouds. The forecast never changed, but the clouds went away for many. Yet some places were still cloudy.

I do view it as a blessing, a tender mercy. The total solar eclipse is spiritual: heavenly bodies so perfectly sized and timed to bring night when it should be day.

I wonder how it would feel like it you didn’t know that an eclipse was coming. If it got dark and cold, the shadows trembling as the heavens move in inexplicable ways. If you could see the sun disappearing through the clouds. Everything changes. It is night for a few minutes, that fades back it into day. It would be terrifying.

We can map the heavens now, and yet there is still so much that remains unknown. I find myself often in inexplicable moments where I do not understand.

I worked on a research project on my trip, getting feedback back and forth from a professor who knows much more than I do. I am interested in a topic because I do not understand, and because the more I read and think, the more questions I have. I don’t think there is a way of figuring it out at all.

And life is like that. There is a type of comfort that can come inside the terrifying unknow: that with everything I do not know, I can still live and breathe and love and experience beauty greater than I can understand.

Tag: nature

Total Solar Eclipse