Latest / insyed; cozy psychology / The Stars That Were Already There

Transcript

The Stars That Were Already There · insyed; cozy psychology

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  Welcome back to INSyed, the show where every
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  week I tell a short story that brings real psychology
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  research closer to the life you're actually living.
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  Like a diary that did its homework, let's take
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  a peek INSyed. We were walking towards an empty
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  football field outside the city center. It was
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  about 1130 p .m. so we used the flashlights on
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  our phones to see where we were going. I'd been
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  to this field before, but only ever in daylight,
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  during events, and I didn't know what it looked
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  like with the sun gone. Considering we'd already
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  spent the morning playing golf and the afternoon
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  watching a solar eclipse, it's funny how it felt
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  like the day wasn't over yet. We weren't far
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  from the car, and every now and then a pair of
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  headlights would beam across the field, painting
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  the dry grass of light. We were excited, talking
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  over each other, tripping over our own feet.
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  None of us had seen a meteor shower before. But
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  something itched in the back of my mind. We were
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  alone. Did no one else want to watch it? We were
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  only five minutes away from the city. Were we
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  even going to see any stars? We couldn't wait
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  to find out. A few more steps into the field,
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  and the four of us found a spot and sat. We talked
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  a little bit more about the meteor shower, wondering
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  if we could catch one on camera. Then, half jokingly,
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  One of my friends swung his hand up in the sky
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  just as a single meteor tore through it. To say
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  we celebrated would be an understatement. We
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  cheered and laughed like our favorite team had
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  just scored. Now that we knew what to look for,
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  we laid down, one by one. There were so many
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  dots in the sky, each one blinking away, but
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  after that first meteor, they weren't anymore.
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  We saw things move, but they weren't stars. We
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  guessed maybe satellites? Cutting across the
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  sky much faster than everything else. Still.
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  We'd seen one already. How long could the next
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  take? We kept our eyes peeled, checking our peripheral
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  vision for anything that might resemble a shooting
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  star. Every now and then, someone would catch
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  a glimpse of movement that vanished before the
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  rest of us could see. Missing one stung more
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  than it should have, so we all lay down facing
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  roughly the same direction. That didn't stop
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  my friends from cheering when another meteor
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  cut through the sky. I say my friends because
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  I was on my phone. learning that the meteor shower
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  was at most active between 2 and 4 am and missed
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  it completely. It became a running joke. By the
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  third time, I learned my lesson and put my phone
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  away. As it got closer to midnight, fewer cars
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  passed, and by 12 .30, the road beside us had
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  gone silent. It was darker now, and the meteors
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  had slowed to almost nothing. Someone suggested
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  we head home, sleep, and come back closer to
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  peak hours. But we were too comfortable in the
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  grass to agree or object, so we just let the
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  idea hang in the air. Then, as the cold started
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  creeping in and going home began to sound better,
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  I heard rustling in the grass. I'd assumed we
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  were alone out there. And for a second, that
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  assumption got the better of me. I sat up fast,
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  found my phone in the dark and swept my flashlight
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  across the field, blinding my friends in the
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  process. Sorry. All I could see was dry brown
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  grass. until I pointed the light straight ahead
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  and saw what was making that noise. It wasn't
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  human, it was a fox. It seemed to be sneaking
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  around us, curious but careful, never getting
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  too close. I didn't know if foxes were hostile
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  to people, and I didn't want to find out, so
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  I kept my light on it. My friends started talking
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  about it, and a few moments later, it hurried
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  off, probably wondering why four humans were
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  lying in a dark, open field. After it scurried
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  off and I laid back down, the stars felt different.
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  They looked the same, practically nothing had
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  changed, but I felt like I was moving with them.
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  I felt my hands against the ground, the wind
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  against my face. Something in me was starting
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  to settle. All the way down, to the smallest
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  piece. The carbon atoms that made the Earth were
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  the same ones that made me. Thousands of light
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  years away, those blinking stars were made of
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  the same stardust I was. Fresh air had never
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  tasted so good. Psychologists call this the small
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  self, the feeling of being smaller than everything
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  around you and somehow closer to it. The meteors
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  we set out to see, the ones we rented a car and
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  stayed up half the night chasing, turned out
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  to be the bonus. What I was actually looking
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  for had been there the whole time. The stars
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  that already painted the sky, the friends that
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  I got to lie next to. I don't know how long we
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  laid there after that, long enough that the cold
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  really settled into my back. into the grass beneath
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  us. I don't remember who brought up going home
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  again, but I was the first to sit up and brush
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  the dry grass off my hoodie. It was time. We
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  patted ourselves down, checking for phones and
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  car keys. I stood up too fast and my legs had
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  gone stiff from the cold ground. I turned back
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  once, flashlight on, and saw my own shape still
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  pressed into the grass I was leaving behind.
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  Then I swept the light across the field, the
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  same way we'd first seen it, empty and dark.
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  before we made it ours for a couple of hours.
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  That's when the sky opened up. Not one street,
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  but three, at the same time, turning across in
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  different directions like they didn't let go
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  on purpose. Three lines through the dark, right
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  as we were about to walk away. For a second,
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  none of us said anything real. Just noise. Just
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  four people pointing at the same patch of sky.
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  Then, it was gone. We never saw the shower at
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  its peak. Never went back at 2 or 4 or at all.
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  We walked back to the car with our heads up high,
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  flashlights off, letting our eyes adjust to the
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  dark the whole way there. And that brings us
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  to the end of this week's INSyed. Thank you
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  for spending your time here, and I hope you learned
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  something helpful. If you did, the best way you
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  can support is to tell a friend about the show.
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  You can also subscribe wherever you listen. And
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  if you have the time, Feel free to check out
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  the sub stack for more content such as artwork
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  but until then remember that there's always more
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  INSyed.