The Retirementeering™ Newsletter
At 4:15 Tuesday morning, I found myself in the cool stillness of the backyard, looking up at the sky. The fading full moon, obscured by the house, cast long, silver shadows across the grass, and the air was heavy with a level of quiet you only find before dawn. I was there hoping to catch a glimpse of the Perseid meteor shower, nature’s annual fireworks. And I did. One meteor. A single, brilliant streak across the sky, there and gone in the blink of an eye. In that instant, I was reminded of something much more profound: how small we and our entire world really are. Out there in the darkness lies a universe so vast, so filled with wonders we cannot imagine, that our daily concerns seem nonexistent by comparison.
I’ve always been fascinated by space, our window to infinity. Thirty-five years ago, my siblings and I gave my parents a telescope for their summer home in New Hampshire. Through the eyepiece, the moon became more than a disc of light; it was a real place, with craters and shadows. Jupiter revealed its cloud bands and Saturn’s rings glowed like something crafted by hand. Each time I looked, the feeling was the same: humbling awe. The realization that we are living on a tiny rock orbiting an ordinary star, in a galaxy among billions, in a universe that, as far as we know, is infinite.
Astronomers tell us Earth is about 4.5 billion years old. Humanity has been here for maybe 300,000 years. Our lifetime? A fraction of a fraction of a fraction, a momentary spark in the darkness. And yet, here we are, with the ability to ponder our place in all of this, to send telescopes far beyond the reach of our sun, to discover planets orbiting distant stars. It’s easy to feel insignificant when faced with the scale of it all. But there’s another way to see it: we are a part of a universe that is aware of it’s existence. For all we know, our thoughts, our questions, our gaze into the night sky, may be singular in all of creation.
When life closes in with its background noise, deadlines, and worries, I'll recall that meteor: for a second, it burned bright, leaving a trail of light in the darkness. We may be small, and our time here short, but we have the same opportunity: to shine brightly, live our lives to the fullest, and appreciate the miracle of existing in the moment, on this planet, under this sky, and a chance to leave the planet perhaps a little improved for having been here.
So, next time you step outside on a clear night, look up and stop to think about what you are looking at. Somewhere out there, a comet is shedding dust that will burn in an atmosphere as a meteor. Somewhere, planets are circling suns we will never see. And somewhere, far beyond the reach of our imagination, incredible cosmic mysteries are unfolding. It’s all out there, and yet so are we, tiny, fragile, and yet aware, and that awareness is in itself a kind of miracle.
15 August 2025 All Rights Reserved © Creative Process Consulting, LLC