The 2017 Kentucky eclipse made me want to see another. When I heard it was coming across northern New England, it seemed so easy to access. I gathered some friends.
When you enter totality, you feel it, not just in your body but in your being. The temperature drops and your skin reacts. In Kentucky, the birds and animals went silent and the bugs buzz rose up in a sudden orchestra creating a spectacle for the ears. It was notable. The world went black. I remember awe. Then it was over, and I wasn’t ready for it to end.
This time, in reference to being able to see it up north, most comments in my social media feed were negative. “Who would come up north to see it,” they opined. “You’ll just see clouds,” they harped.
Why was everyone being so negative, I wondered. A quick search online revealed that historically on April 8th there is an 80% chance of cloud cover in that area of New Hampshire.
Luckily, the ten-day predicted sunny skies for Monday. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Had the 10-day predicted rain, I would have said there was time for it to change. We can’t control the weather. All we can do is hope for the best and drive toward the sun. The three days leading up to the eclipse brought snow. A bit more than mood snow, it barely accumulated. But the endless grey skies made me nervous. Still, the weather report said sunny skies. Then the night before they predicted clouds rolling in right around eclipse time. 
We got online to re-evaluate. We altered our original plans. Colebrook, New Hampshire was now our huckleberry. Ninety minutes north for 3 minutes of totality and far enough east to beat the clouds.
The day was glorious. Sixty-degrees ten miles from the border of Canada. The hot chocolate I’d made presuming we’d be sitting in the cold all day was not a hit. There wasn’t a cloud. Coming out of winter, we didn’t get the impact of the birds and bugs. This time the light began to ripple on the building behind us (an effect called shadow bands). People cheered as the moon took her place center stage. My eyes welled with tears. A few made their way down my cheek. I was overcome as the world went dark.
As the orbs aligned, I felt a connection: to the Earth, the orbit, the universe, and the others across the country who’d traveled for a mere moment. The dreamers. The seekers. The adventurers. Even the naysayers. There I was on Earth lined up with the moon and the sun in a precious link, and so was everyone else (31 million people lived in totality and more traveled there). It was a powerful feeling of interconnection as we all removed our glasses, our gaze transfixed upward.
Everyone was in good spirits, even when we had to wait in line 30 minutes for the bathroom. Even after hours in traffic, no one was cranky. Humans have needed something purely good to bring us together. This eclipse was it.
My mom was supposed to join us but got sick and couldn’t come. In thinking of her, I thought of everyone who wasn’t there and felt sad they weren’t in attendance because they belonged there. Everyone belonged.
As totality comes and goes there is a diamond ring effect. Meaning totality opens and closes with a pop of love in the sky like a surprise engagement. Then the corona (rays of light) surrounds the moon like delicate, wispy, graceful, powerful petals.
I’ve heard people poo-poo the eclipse. Some aren’t interested. That’s okay. Some want to rebel against the hype. I get that. I don’t need to convince anyone to see a total solar eclipse, but, man, if you do, I think you’d be wowed. If you’ve seen a partial, you don’t know. I hate to say that because it sounds snotty and unhelpful. The difference between 99% and 100% is literally night and day, except it’s not like a normal night.
On our five-hour ride home, we tried to come up with analogies. I’d read the difference between 99% and 100% is like the difference between kissing a man and marrying him. My friend Julie suggested the difference is like watching a movie on VHS vs virtual reality. My boyfriend, Matt, suggested it’s like listening to your favorite band on CD vs being in the front row at the concert. I’ve been trying to come up with my eclipse slogan. It is not just completing the last piece of the puzzle. It’s like placing the final piece and suddenly the image you’ve working on transforms into a mystical light show before returning to its original cardboard form while you stare mystified.
For me it’s like being asleep without knowing you’re dreaming vs the moment you’re still asleep, but you become aware you’re dreaming—consciousness without full control. It’s a physical experience and an awakening. Something is realized in you at the moment of totality (a fitting name) yet it’s nearly impossible to articulate. Maybe it is simply a profound sense of awe. In the last two decades, scientists have been researching awe. It makes us feel connected to each other, releases oxytocin (a feel good hormone), and interestingly makes us less self-critical. While lots of small moments in life can produce wonder and awe, a total solar eclipse is a big burst of awe.
For 24 hours afterward, I felt somber. There was a lot of build-up to the event and now it’s over. But that feeling of awe and overwhelm—it hasn’t left.
My friends were floored. I think they thought it was worth the trip, traffic, and tailgating.
Totality is not how it ends. The end is the return of our normal scheduled programming. Back to a regular day. An eclipse is fleeting. Like life the eclipse is predictable and also unexpected—but one thing is for sure: life is filled with surprise and wonder if you’re willing to look.
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