The Stars, How I’ve Missed Them

Thursday, May 6th, 2010 in: News, Travel

Flying is a strange feeling for me. There’s something about being so far removed from the Earth that makes me feel disconnected from everything. Being on a plane is like being in stasis, where your only job is to occupy yourself en route. Some sleep, some read, others watch videos or try to get some work done. We’re all in this together, yet everyone is absorbed in their own little stasis pod, segregated by headphones as we all watch the same in-flight movies. Sometimes my time aboard leads to reflection of the events happening 30,000 feet below, but rarely do I concern myself worrying about such things. I might as well be in space, all that’s left to cut is the umbilical cord of gravity and I’m completely free to float away.

We’ve broken through the layer of clouds blanketing the landscape. It was dusk when we took off, so the last bits of reflected sunlight are glowing in the distance, but soon enough it’s complete darkness outside the plane. I cup my hands to the sides of my head and press my face against the window like a child making faces at the sky. In a moment my eyes adjust and the darkness comes into focus. The clouds don’t seem too far below us, forming a silver landscape floating just beneath the plane. I peer off on the horizon and see the blinking lights of other planes, full of people encapsulated in their own stasis pods, reading SkyMall in Chinese and listening to pop music.

And then I catch a glint of it. At first I think it’s another plane, but it’s fainter and steadier. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the stars; with the haze and light pollution of the city, it’s easy to forget the beauty of the night sky. I keep my face pressed against the window, marveling at the beauty that is always overhead whether we see it or not. Every time I see a sky like this, I think of the midnight canoe rides on Loon Lake where my dad first taught me the names of the constellations; getting stranded at a rest stop in the middle of Idaho, lying on the roof of the van gazing at the uninhibited heavens; reclining in the middle of the road in the Lava Beds, drinking in a meteor shower with my family shouting each time they catch sight of  a shooting star. I’d never put it to words before, but the night sky has a lot of strong familial associations for me. A lot of warm memories are tied up in those twinkling lights.

We begin our descent into the clouds. It’s as if we’re touching down on the silver landscape, but we instead sink through into the mist, the strobing lights on the wingtips highlight water droplets hanging in the air as white horizontal lines, emphasizing the plane’s speed. Mounds of cumulous begin to pass by my window like mountains in the distance. The starry sky begins to fade and creep towards the top of my field of view. Right before the cloud engulfs everything, I see the faint trail of a shooting star. No one else saw, this one belongs to me.

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