Umbraphile

Lover of space | chaser of shadow

“BECAUSE THEY ARE HARD”

We really need a Moon Moment.

President John F. Kennedy had a dream that he first delivered in an address to a joint session of Congress on May 25, 1961:

I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth. No single space project in this period will be more impressive to mankind, or more important for the long-range exploration of space; and none will be so difficult or expensive to accomplish.

But the famous moon speech that gives me goosebumps and captured the imagination of the country happened when JFK trotted this spacey vision out to the public for approval, here at Rice University, Sept. 12, 1962:

We shall send to the moon 240,000 miles away, a giant rocket, more than 300 feet tall on an untried mission to an unknown celestial body, and then return it safely to Earth. But why some say the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask, why climb the highest mountain? Why 35 years ago fly the Atlantic? We choose to go to the moon. We chose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. Because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we’re willing to accept. One we are unwilling to postpone. And therefore, as we set sail, we ask God’s blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure that man has ever gone.

And, unlike anything our government may set out to do these days, they reached the goal, a few years ahead of schedule even—though sadly years after the President himself had already been assassinated in that convertible. It only took eight years for not one, but two men, to land on the moon with the Apollo 11 mission on July 20, 1969—children sitting at home on their rugs watching in rapt wonder, with their own dreams now forming of becoming astronauts.

Most of my generation (X) never had such a Moon Moment. We rather had quite a deflating one (“and do the other things”) when the Challenger combusted on live news across American classrooms. Nonetheless, I had Astronaut on my earliest “to be” lists—which seemingly never got past the letter A: A is for artist, author, astronaut.

As I aged and diligently OCDed my way through the A’s of all my grades, I reached an interesting crossroads upon high school graduation: One moment, I got called up to the podium to accept an award for the best English student going on to major in English; the next I got the certificate for the best science student going on to a career in science. A is for Awkward. Ack! And I—I took the road less…academically intimidating and more obviously laid out for girls of the time, or at least a nervous one like me, to proceed to the softer “humanities” side of things. Astronaut and/or astrophysicist seemed too hard to achieve, too scary, especially after I tried a few days of freshman Calculus class at Yale with boarding school sort of kids, apparently with way better early educations than me, and had no idea what they were talking about and quietly backed out the side door.

Instead I found myself having to memorize (in the 1990s) the first 18 lines of Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales”: So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages, / Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, which I went home and complained about over Thanksgiving break but found both my aunt and mother there reciting along with me the the same lines from their Connecticut childhoods.

And instead I dabbled in some science-lite, an amazing Life in the Universe course that captured my imagination forever—and wrote and read my heart out in all the English and Creative Writing. Which brings me here to this grand age of newslettering I’m in where I can go, virtually, wherever the heck I want.

“IN THIS DECADE”

A few years ago I googled, “Am I too old to become an astronaut?” to which the internet answered emphatically “yes.” Having been known to ignore obvious stop signs, imagine my delight when the NASA eblast that comes to my inbox regularly summoned me with: Astronauts Wanted! Unlike the www, NASA itself is quite encouraging:

They provide some myth-busting about astronauting:

• You do not have to be a pilot, though it helps.

• You don’t have to have 20/20 vision. Faking it through LASIK, as I have, would be fine.

• You don’t have to have an advanced degree. A Master’s is sufficient (though not the MFA I have).

• Military experience is not required.

• You don’t have to be a “certain age,” though they do say past selections have been between 26-46.

Requirements:

• US Citizen

• Master’s degree in engineering, biological science, physical science, computer science, or mathematics

• At least three years of related professional experience after degree completion

• Be able to pass the NASA long-duration flight astronaut physical

If all this sounds like you, well skedaddle: applications are open through April 16! I figure if I hustle and get into some science grad program, and then spend three years after that working somewhere appropriate, maybe I have a chance to apply in another round by my late 50s or early 60s…is that weird? Would my knees and eyes and brain hold up by then? Dare I say, I signed up for something to get information from National University, wherever that is, 100% virtual graduate science degrees, but now there’s a 1-888 number calling me around the clock.

There were over 12,000 applicants when NASA last had an open call in 2020, from which only 10 were chosen as candidates, which, as someone noted in a “can I be an astronaut” forum online, makes this 30x harder than being accepted to Harvard. Another wrote, “becoming an astronaut is the most selective job in the world. Not even 600 people have been to space. Over the course of a few years, there are more Fortune 500 CEOs than there have been astronauts.” So despite NASA’s optimism, in the face of such steep competition, you really need to prove you’re worthy. Being a prime physical specimen at the top of your field/education is probably more necessary than they are allowed to make it sound. Perhaps a faster route for me to get to outer space before I die would be to become rich enough to buy my own damn ticket.

“AS WE SET SAIL”

In the meantime, we have shooting stars, comets, eclipses and other rare but recurring celestial events that keep me, and other starry-eyed children of the cosmos, agog about space, albeit with the appropriate eye wear should I fetch them from school.

I got my paper solar glasses a month ago from the local library for the near-totality viewing on April 8 in our area of NY. Everyone is calling me at my post at Town Hall on a frantic search now for glasses, which the library no longer has and it’s too late for Amazon. Our local school district has glasses for all the kids, and an email to parents went out from the Superintendent about using them or else, but weirdly the district isn’t planning a school-wide event, which is making my blood boil when this event happens just before and after school lets out. Mom-on-a-mission, I called both the middle and high school offices where my kids attend and both said it’s up to individual teachers whether they would go outside to watch or not, which only two in the whole high school were doing. I took this as a cue to write to both principals, encouraging them to embrace this moment already “for the sake of education!” To no avail. One daughter’s science teacher said they would be too busy prepping for a test, but they “could look out the window.” My other daughter’s orchestra instructor wrote an email saying the school encouraged her to keep kids inside until after 4:30 pm, so she was actually holding a longer chamber orchestra practice than usual. Bahumbug to science and the unused solar glasses! So now in order to ensure we experience the eclipse rather than just sit in our respective bunkers of concrete work and school, I guess I have to leave work early and bust them out.

Yes, I realize we just did this in 2017 but not as close here to totality then, and no time again soon. The last total solar eclipse in New York was in 1925; next in the US will be in 2044. The next total solars in New York will be 2079 and 2144. I am not fleeing to Buffalo for the real totality moment this time, but how about maybe making a road trip for 2044 to somewhere fun like Cape Canaveral, FL, where I’ve always wanted to go anyway for the Kennedy Space Center? Anyone, anyone? I’ll be 70.

This plan has me entering the shady world of those known as umbraphiles, the hundreds or so shadow chasers who regularly seek out the best spots for these eclipses all over the globe. From an Atlas Obscura article:

Solar eclipses occur when the moon passes between the Earth and the Sun. During most solar eclipses, only part of the sun is obscured. Total solar eclipses, during which the sun is completely obscured and “totality” occurs, happen around every 18 months. And unless you live in their “path”—a thin band of around 100 miles (give or take) circling the Earth, you won’t witness totality. So eclipse chasers go to the eclipse.

NASA has an eclipse site if you want the coolest maps and best timing for this. The best part about the sun disappearing is how, only then, do you get a rare chance to actually see it. The corona and the solar flares come into focus.

Luc Viatour, CC BY-SA 3.0, Solar Eclipse France 1999

More from the chasers, in the Atlas Obscura article, who go deep on reaching this high:

Here is what you might see if you get totality and clear skies: As the Moon, Earth, and Sun align, a shadow pours over the Earth and the Moon gradually devours the Sun, which sends out flares of bright light around the black orb. Twisted filaments spill out in every direction as the Sun’s corona is revealed. The temperature drops, the wind slows, and darkness falls.

“There’s a whole roller coaster of emotions that happen and these emotions are really quite intense,” says [Kate] Russo, [a clinical psychologist and author of three books about the psychology of eclipse chasers]. “Awe is at the central part of the eclipse experience, but there’s something I’ve termed ‘primal fear,’ this eerie feeling in the environment. The primitive parts of our bodies are picking up that things aren’t quite right in the natural order of the world.”

[Bill] Kramer, [a freelance computer programmer who runs Eclipse-Chasers.com and organizes viewing expeditions,] also describes the experience grandly.

“The total solar eclipse,” he says, “it’s like the eye of God is staring down on you from the sky.”

Eclipses trigger a range of physical responses in viewers, according to Russo, including weeping, crying out, goosebumps and chills. It can be literally hair-raising.

I don’t really get the panic—the handful who aren’t hunting for paper glasses seem to be reaching Y2K-level toilet paper-hoarding craziness—but also don’t appreciate the apathy of my very own local school district, when there’s an hour of free awe out there at the ready.

My imagination is gravitating instead to these dedicated shadow chasers, with whom I feel I have way more in common. “Umbra” comes from the Latin for “shadow.” The umbra the innermost and darkest part of a shadow, where the light source is completely blocked by the occluding body, says Wikipedia. I often find myself far more pulled by the darkness than the light, metaphorically speaking. I’m the darkest, yet most optimistic, person you’ll ever meet. I go giddy for a sad song and a bad ending. (“The most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure that man has ever gone.”)

According to Russo’s research, apparently these chasers are my target dating pool—average age 46, majority US citizens, 92% male, “with a stronger desire for adventure than material possessions.”

If not this Moon+Sun Moment to stagger blindly into my soulmate, then when?