Eclipse Season.

“I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.”

– Gilda Radner

On Saturday, July 27th, there was a full moon lunar eclipse, and I missed it. I knew the eclipse itself wouldn’t be visible from North America, but the moon would still be large and full and red-tinged (a so-called “Blood Moon”), and I wanted to see it. But I couldn’t find the moon that night, because the skies above New York were socked in with thick grey clouds, the result of intermittent rain and thunderstorms that had been rolling through the region over the last several days.

I should have suspected what I was in for when, ten days earlier, my afternoon flight to New York was grounded in San Francisco due to east coast thunderstorms. When I finally slipped into a cab at JFK, picked up two weeks’ worth of mail, watered the plants, unpacked, and ran the AC long enough to cool my swamp of a bedroom, it was the next day, and the sun was coming up over Manhattan.

That was how the dog days of summer began, and that’s how they’ve stayed. There have been a handful of days I’d call “sunny,” but for the most part, the ceiling has been low, the skies gloomy, the city shrouded in a blanket of humidity, and the threat of rain ever present.

It’s my first New York summer. The last of the four seasons I am experiencing here for the first time. As far as New York summers go, I’ve been told this one has been pretty mild. But still. For a Pacific Northwest girl used to the desert climate of Southern California, the cool breeze off the Pacific Ocean, and the safety of my air-conditioned car, it’s an adjustment.

The crush of sticky bodies on the subway, the wall of stifling, stagnant air in my un-airconditioned eighth floor living room, kitchen and bathroom, the stench of midtown Manhattan. . . I’ve been feeling the heat of the city in the heaviness of my limbs and the haze of my brain. It has made me cranky and tired, even though I have no real reason to be. It’s just that everything seems like it’s moving in slow-motion these days, especially my writing: a laborious process layered with plenty of self-doubt.

I haven’t published anything on this blog in over a month, the longest I’ve been away from Extra Dry Martini in forever. While it’s true I’ve been consumed with other writing projects, it’s also true I’ve been avoiding this space because I haven’t known what to say. Like the heat outside, I sort of feel like I’ve been waiting for something to break within me, something that will crack me open and make me feel like myself again.

The full moon lunar eclipse on July 27 was the second in a trio of eclipses that began with a partial solar eclipse on July 12th and ends tomorrow, August 11th, with a new moon lunar eclipse. In the world of astrology – which I admit, I put some stock in – eclipses are significant events, known to be catalysts for change, sometimes delivering that change in unexpected and dramatic ways. Their energy can be emotionally-charged and volatile, leaving us on edge and out of sorts, inviting us to confront uncomfortable truths that push us to end one chapter of our lives and begin another.

In these long, languid late summer days, as we approach the end of eclipse season and I approach the end of my first year in Manhattan, the question of the future sits heavily on my mind. I don’t feel ready to leave New York, but I’m not quite sure what I’ll do here if I stay. And if I return to California, what will I do there? More of the same? That doesn’t feel right, either.

I’m stuck.  And, well – hot.

Maybe I’m hoping the last of this trio of eclipses will flick on a light switch inside of me, illuminating some long-buried insight that I haven’t seen. Maybe I’m just waiting for the end of August, when I’m done with my writing classes and I can grab one more blissful week in the Pacific Northwest to swim in Case Inlet and pose questions to the moon and the stars and get really quiet and just listen.

It has been eleven months since I arrived in New York City with nothing but three suitcases and big dreams. My life today looks nothing like I thought it would eleven months ago, and I think that’s OK. I’m proud of myself in some ways, disappointed in myself in others. And I think that’s OK, too.

I have no idea what the future holds. But then again, neither do any of us. So, rather than tying up this blog post up in a neat little bow, I’ll simply end it with one of my favorite quotes, from Anaïs Nin:

“You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right too.”

Until next time, friends.

17 thoughts on “Eclipse Season.

  1. That’s now one of my favorite quotes, too. That unknown future can be really exciting or really scary, depending on how we want to face it. Hope yours is just plain great.
    And don’t worry about keeping up with your blog; anytime you want to check in, we’re ready!

  2. Oh, I feel the heat radiating off these words and images…it’s been dreadfully muggy here in the South, too, and it’s oppressive–everyone gets crotchety and snappish and dull at the same time. And I hear you on the not-knowing-what-to-say; sometimes you just have to fumble your way through. Best wishes to you wherever you end up!

  3. Great writing Sarah, wow!

    That thunderstorm you had there scared the hell out of me, and I am over here upon the West Coast, dodging all the fire smoke and searing heat. Oh and that blood moon, sometimes it even though when we ignore it, we can still feel it, almost erogenous dare I say, its like see through the walls of our abodes and we feel it, a foreign non heat and yet we sweat, beads trailing out nape, and our breaths deepen… and we rip open the window curtains shouting sky ward into the night! Who is this Blood Moon and drives our need, but yet there is not answer come, just the smell of warm green water rising from the Bayou, and sound of distant odd music.
    Sorry for the heat there written, I blame it on the Moon.

    Oh Lightning yes, I have been studying past cases of reported Ball Lightning and I will never seek a thunderstorm again. That Ball lightning is freaky and some cases tell it seems to have a mind of its own. there was a frightening attack in the Russian Mountains some some 16 years after the famed Dyatlov Pass incident. If you see Ball Lightning coming right through your plate glass window run and run far and fast.

  4. As always I can relate to your posts. I am contemplating leaving New York, but yet I am not sure I am ready…Or maybe I just have become comfortable. There is a draw that makes leaving New York so hard to do. And as someone who is type A the unknown is unsettling. Happy almost one year anniversary. Whatever you decide it will work out, and you will be right where you are suppose to be. Huge hugs ❤

    • Leaving NY? Well if you do, you must tell me before you do! And I can relate – I thought about leaving L.A. many, many times before I actually did it. Leaving a place that’s in your bones is difficult, even if that place can occasionally (often?) drive you crazy. But nothing changes unless we change, so. . . Thank you as always for reading and commenting. Sending you a big hug.

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