Wide awake at midnight, I wondered what is out there? What will I see?  I saw stars out my window, the first time in several months. I was restless just imagining the photos. Staring at a computer for 14 hours a day, I started to lose my grasp of reality. I almost forgot stars could be seen by just simply looking outside my window. In the past weeks, whenever I take a short break outside, there is a dazed sensation of mediocrity. It’s almost as if being outside was an unfamiliar feeling for me now because I’m so used to having the exuberant world fed to me via two-dimensional screens with speakers. 

This year I decided to focus on photographing the Milky Way so I ordered a star tracker, something I’ve been wanting to get but feared of the potentially complicated setup. I asked myself as I do with every potential challenge, how hard can it be? It turned out, not difficult at all. I spent two hours in my backyard doing a test run right when the first stars were visible. At first I couldn’t tell if I was looking at the north star. I even looked south, east, and west, and realized, it was futile to be looking in those directions. The Little Dipper was too dim, but the Big Dipper was obvious even with the city lights. I finally thought I was certain of which star was the north star, got in the car at 12:30am and drove south along the coast. With no sight of fog or clouds, a rare occurrence, I knew a starry sky was waiting. There were only a few cars on the road the entire way and back, an eerie but serene feeling. When I got to the location, I could see other photographers light painting, and some with large telescopes; the excitement started.

It’s always a bit frightening being alone in the middle of the night somewhere out and about. Once I setup the tripod, aligned the tracker with Polaris, my remote release beeping, a sense of tranquility transpired. The stress I had all day about losing sleep, about venturing out, parking the car, had vanquished in that moment. I just stared up at the plethora of stars and nodded to myself in agreement with my decision. I simply wanted to see the stars to regain my connection with nature. I met another photographer and we chatted about the Milky Way alignment and the glaring amber boat lights in the distance. It’s always great to meet other people who enjoy the same pleasures.

Whenever I stare up at the cosmos, I realize I’m just a tiny speck living on a tiny speck in the universe, and no matter how big I think my ego is, I am insignificant. This rumination keeps me humble, makes me think about what it means to live, and to understand there is always something greater than myself.    

The stars are calling.