Winter Solstice was a big day this year. The great conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn — the closest those two planetary bodies have been since 1623.
To say this doesn’t happen often is an understatement.
We moved to Texas last year. We’re both from up North — he originally from Michigan, me from Maine. We met in Ohio, where we’d both moved — me for an adventure, him for school and an adventure.
We both love adventure.
December 21, 2020
It isn’t even sunset yet, since we’re on Central Time instead of Eastern Time (also new for us), when I start getting the texts from people back Northeast. Are you going to see the Christmas star? You should go outside. See if you can find the star of Bethlehem.
“Star of Bethlehem?” I say to my partner.
“Oh, that’s what they’re calling it,” he replies.
It’s a little extra — but you know what, the holidays are always a little extra for a lot of people. And I get people looking for new ways to get excited this year especially, with how rough the COVID-19 pandemic has been.
I text back, We’re going for a walk after dinner. We’ll see it then.
I get several other texts. It turns out it’s cloudy up North — both in Central Maine (where I’m from) and around Cleveland (where I lived for a decade). So people are frustrated and watching live feeds from other areas where the skies make it visible.
After dinner, we go to the park, and there it is. We both take pictures. Mine suck; his don’t.
Sometimes It’s Your Clear Sky, Other Times It’s Theirs
When I get home, I note my phone is blowing up again. People want pictures. I get one from my partner and send it. You’re so lucky.
I joke about clear skies tonight being the consolation prize for having so many tornadoes around here (since I now live in the heart of Tornado Alley).
It’s curious. A lot of people with cloudy skies are jealous, which I get — but there’s almost a bitter and hostile tone there, too, one that I have a hard time understanding. Because it’s not like I ruined their skies for them.
But it’s easy to be nasty when you’re disappointed, I suppose. (It’s not like I haven’t been that way myself in the past.)
However, other people with cloudy skies are quite grateful. They thank me for sharing the photo.
Thanks for sharing your clear sky with us, they say.
And I realize that’s what makes for the best relationships — whether they’re romantic ones or friendships or what have you.
Life is like that. Sometimes it’s your turn to have a clear sky, and other times it’s theirs. (And yes, sometimes you’re both clear at once or both cloudy of course.)
In the best relationships (of any kind), you can share your clear sky with someone else — and instead of bitterness and focusing on what they don’t have in the moment, they can appreciate what you have alongside with you.
And in a small way, that clear sky becomes something you both have.