Ridiculous in the City

*Eclipse or giant blackhead in the sky?*

I spent most of yesterday with a serious blood moon eclipse hangover. An evening spent staring up at the sky surrounded by strangers on the street left me with a crick in my neck and a feeling of warm euphoria for my fellow man. Yes, we all witnessed something magical together. No, you can’t pet my dog.

Sunday night’s blood moon lunar eclipse was thirty years in the making. To be clear, it was not simply a blood moon lunar eclipse, it was an astronomic occurrence (I mean it literally this time) that saw the convergence of three major lunar events:

1. A Harvest Moon – the full moon of the fall equinox

2. A Super Moon – the closest full moon to Earth

3. A Blood Moon – tinted red due to the shadow of the lunar eclipse

Sounds like a bloody super harvest moon to me.

The last time all of these things occurred at the same time was 1982. Oh 1982, you were a good year, at least for my mom’s hair. The next time a bloody super harvest moon will grace us with its presence will be 2033. For people of a certain age—i.e., me—these are ominous dates. In 1982, I was a wee lass, just beginning my own celestial journey, the sky was the limit (pun fully intended) as I plopped around spreading my own brand of carefree, cherubic joy. Fast forward to 2015, adulthood is not just upon me, it’s taken over my life, having had me firmly in its clutches for more years than I care to admit. And what of 2033? Will it be the idyllic future that Buck Rodgers and I always dreamed of? Where will I be? Who will I be with? Will the planet be intact? What will have happened in the Middle East? Will I have gone off the deep end? Will I regret my haircut? Will I still be obsessed with avocados? Will I be in a Burmese ashram? Will my goddamn eye cream have paid off? Will I have finally succumbed to my ridiculousness?

As my Magic 8 Ball says, “It is decidedly so.”

But before I get you all riled up about time and space, and your own lack thereof, let’s take a moment to shine some light (the puns just keep coming) on the human side of the eclipse. The one that had you side-by-side with people you’ve never seen in your life, mouths collectively open, gaping up in togetherness at the lunar majesty before you. Hey neighbor, nice hat.

Sometime around 9:15 p.m., I headed outside, fully panicked that I was already missing “it.” Looking up, the moon was indeed already on its way to visual obscurity (aren’t we all), and the slow, but steady progress was incredible to see in person. I made my way across the street for better viewing and within the next twenty minutes, people were coming out in droves. The more prepared of us—which I was decidedly not—had folding chairs and binoculars, others sat on the sidewalk or leaned up against one another. Some stood alone in silence, others seemed banded together in conversation. People had drinks in hand; others held phones, tracking the progress of the eclipse and trying in vein to capture the perfect shot. I saw wacky hats and multiple “Sisters of the Moon” themed t-shirts; if there was ever a night for it. Dogs took part, children ran around like crazy people—no doubt, the result of the moon’s frenzied energy and a bedtime overlooked. All of us united in our desire to see something spectacular. It was like the premiere of Magic Mike 2 all over again.

As it crept closer to 10 p.m., more and more people appeared. Word was spreading. Unfortunately, so was the cloud cover. For the next half hour, the clouds did their best to block downtown New York City from its much anticipated view of this bloody super harvest moon, but we stood strong, heads held back, eyes fixed on the spot where the moon had just appeared. Every few minutes a break in the clouds allowed for an updated glimpse of the eclipse, resulting in collective cheers and shout outs to the moon. “Yeah, moon!” I may have been heard remarking. I am nothing if not enthusiastic. By 10:30 p.m., the eclipse was in full force and, as promised, the moon glowed a witchy auburn over the streets of NYC.

And that was all she wrote. While the eclipse lasted for roughly seventy-two minutes, by 10:30, it was buried under clouds, allowing only for brief periods of visibility for the rest of the night. But we didn’t care. Those of us who had sat outside in anticipation were thrilled to have even the tiniest look at the insane spectacle in the sky. Though most of us had barely spoken, we gave each other a knowing nod as we headed back inside. A few stragglers, late to the party, stumbled into the street muttering their disappointment as they strained to see something.

But not us. We were sisters of the moon, brothers in arms, children of the corn. We had seen “it.”

Though I’ve been waxing planetary recently, the bloody super harvest moon was one of the most amazing things I have seen in a long time. As I stared up at what was happening in the sky, I was reminded that even though a lot has transpired since 1982—for me personally the hits would be: potty training, driving and refining my ridiculousness—not that much has really changed. We are all still moving forward, one day at a time, waiting for the universe's prompts reminding us to look up once in a while. Knowing that if we do, we just might see something ridiculously awesome.

I hope I’ll still be looking up in 2033 and I hope I’ll still be ridiculous.