I don’t feel depressed. I’m actually sleeping more soundly than normal. My appetite remains robust. I’m able to focus. Energy is good. My self-esteem is relatively sturdy.
Why then am I having trouble mustering total solar eclipse fever? There’s got to be something wrong with me. My plans for 3:26 p.m. on Monday call for me to step outdoors, perhaps after donning a jacket, putting on a pair of American Astronomical Association certified shades and staring at the sun; or rather the three or four percent of it that shall remain visible to the naked, or rather, protected eye in my corner of the Hudson Valley.
I didn’t make plans months ago to secure lodging and dinner reservations in the Adirondacks; though Burlington, Vermont, also on the path of totality, sounds like a more civilized option, less climbing, with better dining opportunities.
I also didn’t buy the solar eclipse glasses I’ll be wearing. They come courtesy of my older daughter who seems far more jazzed about the spectacle than I am. I understand that the state’s prison population is even agitating for a peak. So what’s wrong with me?
The hype might have something to do with it. I’m constitutionally resistant to hype. I refuse to become my father for any number of deep-seated psychological reasons that are unnecessary to discuss here. But he spoke wisdom when he used to say, apropos of a sold-out Broadway show, or a popular nightclub, or a movie that was drawing lines around the block: “I’ll stay home so everybody else can have a good time.”
I defer to no one when it comes to exercising awe about the natural world. But leave it to American media to make you feel jaded about something that hasn’t even happened yet. There’s been so much coverage of the coming eclipse – when and where, what’s the chances it will or won’t be cloudy, how school teachers are using the event to break the spell of their students’ devices and turn them into young scientists – that I find myself tuning out.
Apparently, I don’t understand the full magnitude of the spectacle or the excitement it’s causing. Electronic message boards were flashing along the state’s highway last Saturday as we drove to Long Island for Easter, “Come early, stay late”.
I thought the signs were encouraging eclipse tourism; goading motorists to spend time and money along the path of totality from Buffalo to the Adirondacks. But my wife educated me that the government feared epic gridlock and was instructing the citizenry to give themselves extra time so they don’t find themselves without food and water, as well as having to watch the solar show from the side of the highway.
The other thing that annoys me – many things annoy me but I’ll stick to this event – is that it shouldn’t have to take a light show, a once every few decades phenomenon, to get people to become sky gazers.
I don’t want to get all wu-wu – my younger daughter, who could have been a flower child in a previous era, and who lately announced plans to drive up from the city for the eclipse, has that part of the psyche covered – but life is an ongoing miracle.
We should routinely be pausing to acknowledge that persistent state of grace, stepping outside and turning our faces to the sun (with eyes closed, of course, when solar eclipse glasses aren’t reality available) or the moon, or waking up in the middle of a cloudless night to admire the stars.
It shouldn’t have to take a celestial anomaly to get us outdoors.
I’m not completely cynical. I was under the impression that totality – or the ninety-six percent of it that the passing moon will cover in our neck of the woods – was happening around 2:30 p.m. leaving me enough time to make it to a scheduled physical therapy appointment. Turns out I was off by an hour.
So now the choice is between physical therapy and a partial solar eclipse. I’m afraid I need to cancel. Physical therapy, that is. As attentive as I try to be to my health my body is going to have to surrender to a larger imperative, especially since the whole family is descending on the house to see the show.
I recall one previous eclipse I participated in. It occurred in Europe on August 11th, 1999 and I happened to be airborne on the way from London to Venice. The sky grew eerie but I was too high above the clouds to notice whether birds stopped singing, crickets ceased chirping and bees returned their hives, as is rumored to happen.
By the way, the experts say the safest way to view the eclipse is to examine its reflection through dappled leaves. Do they think we’re living in San Antonio? It was snowing two days ago. There are hardly buds on the trees, let alone leaves.
But I’m sure it will be fun, especially since the forecast uncharacteristically calls for good weather. I won’t be around for the next total solar eclipse to hit New York on May 1st, 2079. But I’m not too broke up about it. It’s unlikely that I would have exerted any extra effort to witness that one either.
Ralph Gardner, Jr. is a journalist who divides his time between New York City and Columbia County. More of his work can be found be found on Substack.
The views expressed by commentators are solely those of the authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views of this station or its management.
