Look up at the sky.
Last evening, I stood on a stoop in Prospect Heights waiting to be let inside and to a barbeque. We’re not supposed to talk about the moon because the moon is cliché, but how can we stop talking about the moon? Because there it is, there it was, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It looked like someone had pressed it into the sky, the layers of sunset hanging off of its creases.
We’ve been talking about the sky in rehearsals for a project I’m assisting on. Particularly, about the universality of looking up at the sky. How we’ve all done it, felt what it means to be swallowed up by night or day. It’s not a new thought because every single person on the face of the planet has known what it’s like to stand below a sky and crane our necks up toward it. But the fact that it’s such a shared experience doesn’t mean it has to be called a cliché. We’ve all had our singular experiences of this shared experience.
A cliché: stop and smell the flowers. Not a bad one (unless you’re allergy prone). But, I encourage you instead to do something I find a little more illuminating, something you’ve probably done a thousand times and will do a thousand-million more. Stop and look up at the sky.
I can’t promise that money will pour from the clouds, or that the stars will pock the dark night in a glorious parade. I can’t even promise good weather. But I do think there’s something to this simple, universal act that binds us as human beings just trying to weave our way through this funny little existence.