Lost in the Stars
When I was younger, I wanted to be the first person on Mars.
A female astronaut with enough ambition to withstand the treacherous nature of space exploration and more than enough persistence to make it happen. I wanted to witness the stars illuminating a canvas of black, becoming acquainted with the shapes of the constellations that have spectated the Earth long before my time. I wanted to listen to their stories and receive information of their splendid anecdotes that illustrate tales of valiance and immeasurable travel.
The vastness of space was enticing, and I was determined to minimize the distance between us. As all childlike dreams are pursued, however, the desire to blast myself into the emptiness of space in the constraints of a meticulously engineered craft dwindled. The design aspects of the spacecraft are not necessarily orchestrated for optimal comfort but instead calculated for survival, which I found to be a major disenchantment as I researched them from my queen sized bed, surrounded by enough square footage to make a nine to five businessman envious. These are the sort of elements that I have always considered, the rational yet hindering attributes of something that prevent me from attaining certain goals, from interacting with new people, from engaging in activities that venture outside of what I am accustomed to. Despite the multitude of opportunities that are available to me I remain sedentary, distant from space and absent from the roll call of the stars that once appeared to be shouting my name in a plea for companionship.
When I perceive space, its volume intimidates me. What was once a comforting reminder that we are blanketed by a sky of wonder and curiosity is now an alarming remembrance that we are an infinitesimal asset to the universe. The imminence of the end of our existence juxtaposes with the eternity of space, a mocking threat to humankind that we are servicing the world for a finite duration of time. In our own communities, the trivialities of our lives interfere with these impressions. We have the propensity to yearn for control over ourselves and our encounters, always fighting for dominance over the result of the paths that we embark on. The universe, however, persists stoically. Its temperament is unfaltering, and embraces the corrosions of the perpetrators who inflict damage on it.
In spite of the sporadic, intermittent contentment that I fervently manifest in a combative act of reform, I am unnerved by the silence of my surroundings. The secular world’s complexities bewilder me almost as much as the enormity of the universe. When the morning gleams with a luminous glow, emitting a blinding glare in window panes that have grown translucent from a greyish mist that settled over the glass, adorned with dewdrops that are hosts to a kaleidoscope of varying colors that radiate a pearlescent shine, I vacate my townhouse in favor of embracing the warmth of the same sunlight that fought to penetrate my window. The perspiration of the grass resembles the moisture on my brow, prominent from the remnants of insufferable summer humidity. The omnipresence of the sun leaves me feeling exposed to a cellular degree, the insistence of the light beckoning me to search for reprieve in the shadows that it generates. In a frantic effort to delegate the presentation of the features that best represent the better part of myself, I retreat to the closest shadow that shelters me from the allure of the sun. Feelings of discomfort are no stranger to me, my companionship with hesitancy possessing my actions and leaving me perturbed by a silence that oppresses my own space. A space whose outermost crevices are consumed by reservations that serve as a liability to my tenacity. My space, my universe that revolves not around millennials of heavenly fortune and whose reverence spans a galaxy of unfathomable potential, but an infinity that torments the affluence of experiences that in prior regard were esteemed as memories that were an indispensable attribute to the cultivation of my well-being. What was once a cosmos of possibility, now tarnished with irrevocable impediments that even the stars that previously embellished my life with astounding beauty cannot avoid.