Welcome to the Staring At The Moon Club
Sometimes, if I've had a particularly difficult day, I find myself wanting to escape. Not necessarily to be alone, but to free from the noise, the routines, the expectations and the pressure of everyday life.
Herman Melville expressed this feeling better than I ever could in the very first page of Moby Dick. For Ishmael, this escape was the sea:
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
Unfortunately, a modern life in suburbia prevents me from easily setting sail, let alone hiking to a solitary hilltop, walking a trail along a riverbank, or any other of the escapes that would otherwise ease my malaise.
So instead, sometimes I step outside at the end of a long day and stare up at the moon.
Sometimes I take note of it's phase, colour or position. Sometimes I sit in awe with the knowledge that a few of us have set foot on that distant rock. Sometimes, I just stare.
I recently realised that it's more likely than not that in not the only one doing this. At any one moment, there are almost certainly others looking up at the same moon at the same moment, reflecting on their own challenges or escaping their own stressors. And despite the urge to seek solitude by staring at the sky, there is something comforting in knowing that I'm not alone.
So, if you need it, feel free to join us at the Staring at the Moon club. And if the silence isn't to your liking, this song might help.