Aurora for all
The mystery of right place right time
I’m writing this in my bedroom at 10 p.m. with the window shades open and the lights turned off. Just half an hour ago Anchorage was graced with the aurora, directly above town, directly above my little house in the valley. I’m sitting in the dark looking out the window because even now there are more bands of green dancing over the backyard.
How else can I measure this life except to say that sometimes it feels like I’m in the exact right place at the exact right time. Who could want more than that?
It’s rare to see the aurora this bright in town. Usually you have to drive at least half an hour away, sometimes further. At the 61st parallel1 we’re a tad south of the best light shows. And Anchorage, a mid-size city, has its own light pollution that obscures the view.
Funny enough, the first time I saw the aurora was also from downtown Anchorage. It happened less than a week after I moved here. It was a Friday and after work I’d gone out with the other new hires. We ended up at this place called Bernie’s for dancing. There I was, sipping on a beer in the backyard of Bernie’s Bungalow Lounge, already high on discovering a new social world in this faraway place when someone pointed up. A faint green blur flickered and pulsed above us.
This never happens, the person said. Seeing the lights from here, the middle of downtown.
My drunk brain shrugged and said, it must be destiny. I took for granted that I was in the right place.
I’ve only seen the aurora a handful of times since then. There are ways to try to “chase” it—apps you can download, websites with information about solar flares and probabilities. Although I have an app, I’m not particularly good at the chase.
Part of me feels I shouldn’t have to; that the “right” viewing experience is one where I happen to stumble upon them like I did that first time. I guess that’s similar to being afraid to try too hard. If you admit you want something, it’s yours to lose.
But that’s not a helpful framing device. It takes away the agency we have in choosing how we want to live and what we want to pursue.
Because what I’m learning is, there’s work that goes into feeling like I’m in the right place at the right time. It’s about doing things that fill me up instead of always going along with someone else’s plan. Being with people who similarly want to explore the world and admire its beauty. Choosing how, and with whom, I spend my time.
So now I’ll admit it: I want to see the lights.
This time I did go searching for them. Earlier today I’d gotten a notification on the app Aurora Notify that the lights might be out later. I friend I was with said he’d heard the same. So I timed my dog walk to when the app said it might start and I headed up the nearby hill.2
The walk took almost an hour. As we reached the top of the path I kept looking up and just sort of knew they weren’t going to appear. I’m not sure how to explain it except that the air wasn’t crackling. It didn’t feel right.
I was disappointed. I hadn’t seen the northern lights in over a year. They’d been out a few times last spring when I was recovering from a broken ankle, and a few times recently as well, but somehow I missed all of them. I was starting to feel out of sync.
The dog and I continued our walk like any other night. We got home and I puttered around, trying to get ready for the week. Part of me felt a little relieved to have at least tried to see them. Now I could go to bed.
But I wasn’t quite done. I decided to open Twitter for the first time in months. Maybe I’d see other people’s aurora photos and be jealous. Maybe I’d confirm that once again I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And then there it was, at the top of my feed, like the evil-app version of an angel sent from high. A retweet by Aurora Notify herself of a post made only eight minutes prior:
Major right place right time energy!!!
I threw on my snowsuit and ran outside, texting a few friends in the process. Part of the joy of seeing the lights is knowing your friends are seeing them too. The blanket folds over us, ties us in our reverie.
I crossed the street and started walking east. I passed a neighbor staring up a two faint flickering green ribbons. Yes! But I also felt like there would be more. I chatted briefly with the neighbor and kept walking to around the bend where it might be darker.
I looked up and the sky was green all over. A spruce stood tall and the moon poked out behind it. The green started to dance and change colors and I watched and I took out my phone and then it was going on for minutes, light falling and shimmering and while it’s happening it’s hard to feel anything other than, yes, I truly am in the right place, right now.
Thanks for watching with me.
-Julia
I only know this because I recently asked my friend why a beloved local restaurant, Tequila 61, had such a random name…
My dad visits next month and has never seen the northern lights. Sounds like a great excuse to go hunting :)
"If you admit you want something, it’s yours to lose." I feel this and have been looking for a way to describe it recently. Thank you!
Also lol @ evil-app version of an angel sent from high