Seeing Orion

Last night John and I went for a walk--more to assuage my restlessness than our commitment to exercising in the new year.  As you may or may not have noticed, my last post was a little bitter--filled with a bit of self-loathing and recrimination.  BUT...luckily those moments tend to pass, and last night's moment passed, too.

Still, I think it had more to do with the walk and what happened than with my own resilience against adversity.

And maybe sometimes a walk is what we need, or just a chance to talk things over with someone who cares about us.  Or maybe it's the simple joy of seeing a friend you had forgotten for a little while.

So, last night while John and I walked, we talked about the thing that had been frustrating me enough to write a post like the one I wrote last night.  It had something to do with D&D, trying to figure out how people came to the conclusions that they did, and realizing that my retention of information is decidedly imperfect.  But while the conversation was cathartic, it wasn't what inspired me to write what I'm writing to you today.

The real sense of contentment came when, while walking down a dark stretch of our neighborhood, I happened to stop and just look up.  Far overheard were stars--far more than I could recognize from the smattering of astronomy classes I'd taken and the fun little constellation toy my parents had gotten me one year for Christmas or a birthday (I can't for the life of me remember which).  And as I looked upward, I suppose I was searching for something recognizable--something that I could point to and say, "There's that thing I know how to find in the sky!"

And surprisingly enough, ...I did find that thing.

Ever since I was in high school, there was always one star configuration that I loved more than any other.  The Big and Little Dipper were always too hard to find most of the time, but there was always this little cluster of three stars (Yes, I know there are more than that, but I could only see three.) that told me, no matter what time of year it was, that I was looking at Orion--Orion the Hunter.

From those three little stars, I could always find the rest of the fellow with his Grecian skirt and his toga-like shirt.  And no matter where I went--from home, to college, back to home, and now here in California, that one constellation has always been with me--traveling along in the sky and reminding me that no matter where I am, there's still a little piece of who I was, a little constancy, no matter where I go.

Looking up at Orion last night reminded me of those late autumn days in Texas as the sun was going down when he'd show up in the sky to remind me that it was getting late, and I should probably head home for dinner.  It reminded me of those lonely nights at college, just after sunset, when I'd be walking back to my dorm or apartment--cheering me with a silly confidence that I wasn't really alone, and there was still something magical to life with all its possibilities.

And last night, standing there, sharing Orion with John, it simply made me happy--happy that I'd found recognition in the sky--that I had all those beautiful memories of a constellation, and now I had another one--something familiar amidst all the doubt and fear, stress and heartache, loneliness and sadness of my days.

I was standing beneath the stars with the man I loved, and he loved me.  And we were looking up at Orion--together.