The first time I really became aware of the April 8th eclipse was the day of April 8th, 2022. I was working in local TV news at the time and part of my job was hosting an evening talk show. I was informed I’d be conducting a live interview on the subject.
“When is this thing?” I remember saying. Then, after hearing the answer, “are you serious?”
Despite its scientific significance and rarity, It seemed a little silly to me to talk about an eclipse that was a full two years away. When I inquired further about why we were doing the story, I was told, “millons of people from all over the world are expected to come to Buffalo.”
“Really?” I wondered before asking, “do they know what the weather is usually like around here in April?”
Carry on like this for too long and the next thing you know you’re being accused of having a “negative attitude,” especially once an interview has already been booked, a whole segment of a show sorted out.
So, I interviewed a man named Dan that night about an eclipse two years away.
Two years later, I could still appreciate the scientific significance and the rarity of the event but, as the big day approached, I have to admit my enthusiasm about the whole thing hadn’t changed much. It was not high. It wasn’t low either. I was experiencing a state of good old-fashioned ambivalance…in totality.
One thing I was over the moon about, though: no longer working in local TV news which meant I didn’t have to take part in hours of live coverage, droning on and on for whoever would choose to watch a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event happening overhead… on their local news.
For the first time in a long time, I could experience a newsworthy event for myself in my own way.
When a sunny-ish morning gave way to a cloudy afternoon, whatever interest I had managed to muster started to wane. The weather seemed like a cruel joke, particularly when the day before had been clear as can be, the sun shining, the sky a vibrant blue.
Still, when the big moment drew closer, I set aside work, closed my laptop and joined the family for a viewing in the backyard — all of us saying some version of the same thing: what a drag.
Still, a cloudy day in the backyard with your favorite people is still a pretty great way to spend an afternoon. We gathered around a little bonfire and kept our eyes on the sky and on the clock.
Right on time, it got a little darker. We all acknowledged it but kept talking. Then it got a little darker still and we acknowledged that and still kept talking. Then… oh.
The crackling fire was the only sound as we got up from our chairs and stared out into the sudden darkness; a glowing orange and pink ring lighting up the entire horizon, the burners of two nearby hot air balloons aflame in the inky distance.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “This was cooler than I expected.”
Moments later, the darkness just lifted — as if someone flipped a switch or took the lid off the world.
“Wow.”
I had only a very vague idea of what to expect and very much enjoyed the surprise and delight of the real thing being beyond what I could imagine. I also felt a little ashamed of myself for not being more open to, excited about or even interested in the whole experience to begin with.
Who am I to be sulking around, too cool for a solar eclipse? What else, quite literally, on Earth was so important, demanding my full attention for just a few minutes? What’s wrong with giving in to a little wonder, especially ….especially….when it is in your own backyard?
Funny enough, I was not alone.
Scrolling through social media that night I saw person after person sharing very similar stories. Much like me — they weren’t really into the eclipse, until they were. It reminds me of something I heard comedian Mike Birbiglia say about comedy: “nothing is anything until later.”
There’s something weird about being resistant to awe, hesitant to give in to the part of us that’s longing to smile wide and laugh loud and even gasp at things we find exciting.
We often worry about looking silly or frivolous to a largely imaginary audience rather than embracing our most joyous selves.
It was nice of the universe to give us this excuse to let go for a bit — stop, look up and wonder.
This essay originally appeared in my weekly column in the April 18, 2024 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY under the title “Made You Look.”
I looked forward to it, then was disappointed when the sky was filled with clouds but like you, having seen partial eclipses over my lifetime, didn’t expect what happened… true emotion when it got as dark as night and one little opening showed the sun through the clouds! Amazing!
I love your perspectives and how open you are in your writings. Thank you!