In Awe of the Eclipse

Eclipse: Charlotte & I, Little Toots Park, Steamboat Springs - Aug 21, 2017

​The solar eclipse this past Monday was something to see. From Steamboat Springs the moon obscured the sun just 59%, yet at the peak, about 12:38 pm local time, the quality of sunshine seemed thin, with a bluish cast, and there was a sharpness to the temperature. Thanks to the kindness of a friend I had a pair of eclipse glasses to share and several of us gathered in the office parking lot to ogle the rare event. 

There is something of David and Goliath in the gentle, unassuming moon blocking the vast light of the sun. Days before the eclipse as people travel to paths of totality, it starts to feel like a championship event, everyone rooting for the underdog.

Watching from earth, I find the eclipse itself uniquely amazing, and also uncanny. There’s a biological reason for this reaction. In preparation for the 2017 eclipse, I learned that the abnormality of the darkness in the middle of the day puts our primal “lizard brain” (also “reptilian brain,” metaphorically referring to our brain stem, cerebellum and basal ganglia) on high alert. Though we have a prefrontal cortex understanding of what is happening, our cognitive grasp isn’t getting through to our basic functions which say: “Something is not right, be aware, possible danger!”

In 2017, the eclipse occurred on August 21st, which was also a Monday. My daughter was starting 6th grade the next day, and she and her friend were all about decorating their school lockers right after the eclipse. We headed to Little Toots Park for a good view. Groups of people spread blankets on the grass like us, while others were standing around. Kids were running through the park, so excited. When the moon began to slide over the sun’s surface, there was great excitement, and I could feel the temperature plummet so much I put on my warm jacket. The coverage that day in Steamboat was 93.6% - so it wasn’t completely dark but more dusk-like. I listened, and as I had read they might be, the birds were quiet. We humans - kids and grown-ups - were momentarily hushed as well as we stared up through our eclipse glasses. The dark, the cold, the silence, and the awe combined into an eerie sense of wonder. 

In both 2017 and last Monday, I thought of other people watching from all over the globe. I thought of the people I knew who had traveled to experience the full darkness of totality. It may sound cliché, but in the moments of the eclipse, there is a common connection as we behold the amazingness in the sky.  

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