Last night before I left my cousin’s house, his daughter put my hair in a pony tail then put my t-shirt in one as well–by scrunching up one end and wrapping a pink rubber band around it. She thought it was so cute. Truth be told, I did too. “I feel like an 80s lady,” I beamed. Still, as Dad and I walked out the door, I removed the “pony tails” and gave my cousin’s daughter back her rubber bands. You know–

All good things must come to an end.

During the drive back to Arkansas, while we were passing through a particularly dark patch of road, I asked Dad if we could pull over and look at stars. (He said yes). Oh my gosh, y’all, there was my dear friend The Milky Way and her cast of characters all around her–The Big Dipper, Draco, Cassiopeia, The Northern Cross, Scorpius–each of them in all their glory. Considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen them so clearly, it really was the most refreshing thing, a much-needed site. “It truly is wonderful,” Dad said.

Recently my aunt asked me what I love about the stars, so I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. Obviously, if you’ve had a chance to see the stars lately, they’re stunning. What’s more, in our often chaotic world, they’re something predictable. They appear to move about, of course, and do, but I like the fact that I can consistently find the same stars and shapes basically “where I left them.” There’s a sense of surety in that. But mostly I love the stars because no matter what kind of day I’m having–a good day or a shit day–I can lie down under the heavens and find peace. It’s like a forgetting of all my problems and worries. At the same time, it’s like a remembering that not only is everything connected, but also that I’m not supposed to have all the answers.

Wonderful, after all, means “full of wonder.”

Today I have been impressed with the fear that there’s not enough time. This afternoon the fear showed up with regard to reading, since I realized I’ve started–but not finished–over a dozen books in my personal library. And, despite the fact that I’ve been in therapy for four years and have come a long way in this department, there’s still part of me that feels like I “should” finish them. Like, a “better” person probably would. And yet, I’m having so much fun starting NEW books. Anyway, then the fear showed up with regard to the stars this evening when I went for a walk, since I realized a number of stars I could find consistently earlier this summer are no longer visible. This is due, of course, to the earth’s trek around the sun, which blocks our view of stars on the other side of it. In other words, as summer disappears, certain stars and planets (my friends!) disappear too.

And just when I was getting to know them.

It’s this weird paradox I have inside me. On the one hand, I feel like my life isn’t moving fast enough. On the other hand, I feel like it’s moving too fast. I think, An entire day has gone by, and there’s so much of that book left to read. Or, Wait, come back! I LOVED that star.

Toward the end of my walk tonight, this frustration with the speed of life hit me like a ton of bricks. I turn 38 soon, and there’s so much I wished would happen by now that hasn’t. Will these things ever happen? I don’t know. So many of our hopes and dreams, it seems, are like stars that slip slowly below the horizon. Maybe next year they’ll return. Of course, we forget–I forget–that with each setting star, another star rises. Tonight I spotted Capella for the first time, the brightest star (or group of stars, rather) in the constellation Auriga. What a delight she was! And no way I could have seen her in the spring. Surely this is the gift of seasons that change, stars that set, and books that we put down–of all good things and even dreams that come to an end–that as one wonderful thing disappears, another wonderful thing begins to shine.