Author's Note
Welcome to Galaxy Glasses
“I remember the death[ of a]… man devoted to making [others] brave and dignified and good in a time when they were poor and frightened… How can we go on without him?” — John Steinbeck
Dear Reader…
here we are on this cosmic speck of dust together, hurtling through space at hundreds of thousands of miles an hour, and through time at what often seems even faster. We’re worried about being late for that hair appointment and whether we’ll cause offense by skipping the party on Friday, and about how ridiculous our phone bill has gotten. We know our journey through space follows a predictable path, mostly beyond our ability to manipulate. Yet it still sometimes feels slightly off course. So here we are.
For me this journey involves over a decade as a professional astronomer. And if you spend long enough thinking about something, it tends to affect your perspective: I’ve come to hope that all that space out there actually has some worthwhile lessons for those of us down here. That it just might help us be a little more brave, a little more dignified, a little more good. So I write these posts to you as notes in a bottle: little pieces of the things I’ve found among the islands of the universe. Of course my perspective is limited - I’ve only sailed the path I sailed. Is there a better way? I’m sure yes. Maybe you’ll find it. But I thought I’d write down my way in case it helps a little. That’s all we’re doing here. Just all trying to navigate the rocky waves somewhere between cosmic insignificance and deep celestial purpose.
Perhaps you stumbled on a page about astronomy because it allows you to escape from that all for a little bit. To contemplate the huge and beautiful and complicated universe around us. I hope that it does that for you. But I hope even more that it helps you with your own little universe like it has helped me with mine. People are surprisingly similar to galaxies, and the ways we study these distant multi-armed collections of stars can be surprisingly helpful understanding the nearby two-legged collections of cells and thoughts we encounter every day.
This substack is a work in progress. I often wish for completeness, to be polished and shiny like so much writing I see out there. But that’s not where I am, at least yet, or possibly ever. So this is where you come in. Pick your favorite cliche, two heads are better than one, it takes a village, etc. etc. But I value your thoughts, your feedback, and hope that we can work on polishing this lens together. We’re bound on the same cosmic spec, subject to the same laws of physics, the same messiness of being human. So thanks for reading, thanks for contributing!
A few logistical notes:
I’m completely new to substack, and completely terrified about posting my writing for others to see (… and tear apart, or maybe worse, completely dismiss). But I wanted a place to get feedback, expose blind spots, stay accountable. An early lesson in astronomy is to focus on what you can’t see. And to do this, you need mirrors to look in places you’d otherwise miss. So that’s this substack, I hope. A community that helps me see into dark places, and perhaps, in the process, finds a little light of their own.
I will post every other week, usually on Fridays around 5pm US central time. I wear many hats professionally, so sometimes posts will be polished, other times we’ll have a lot of work to do. But having a deadline will give us material to work with.
I hope to post most material publicly, but if you like the material, and want to support the work that’s happening here, I’ve made it possible to subscribe at the substack recommended monthly level. Right now that will give you access to more content — non astronomy stuff, occasional goofy thoughts, a random astronomy fact: something once a week to brighten your day — and to my eternal gratitude. I donate 50% of everything I receive to non-profits working to make the world a more good, dignified, and braver place: a slightly more joy filled spec of cosmic dust.