The Eclipse and the Art of Staying

On 12 August, Gina and I took a little road trip in her caravan to watch the total solar eclipse from a picturesque hilltop in Benasal, Spain. It was a special trip, surrounded by nature and being reminded of the freedom of van life.

The night of the eclipse, on that hilltop there were people from all over Spain and from many different countries. Different languages, cultures, ages, and lives. People who would probably never have crossed paths under ordinary circumstances. And yet, for a few minutes, we were all looking at exactly the same thing. The same sky. The same moon passing in front of the sun. The same sudden darkness. Experiencing an energy of marvel and awe.

There was something very simple and beautiful about that. For a few moments, all these different people were brought together by the experience of witnessing something extraordinary. And then, almost as soon as totality was over, people started packing up and leaving. I found myself thinking, but it’s not over.

The eclipse was still happening. The moon was still moving across the sun and there was still plenty to see. Later that night, there were shooting stars too — some of the best I’ve ever witnessed. But for many people, the main event was over. They had seen totality and that was enough. Tick. Done. Time to go home. Time to move on to the next activity.

Of course, there are practical reasons for leaving. People had journeys to make and places to get back to. But watching it happen did make me think about how often we approach experiences in our lives in a similar way.

The culture of ticking things off

We can become very good at collecting experiences. We visit somewhere, see the famous thing, take the photograph and move on. We even talk about travel in terms of what we have “done”. We did Paris. I did that mountain. I’ve done that hike.

There is something slightly strange about that language. What does it mean to have “done” a mountain? Did I experience it? Did I notice the surroundings? Did I stop for long enough to actually be in that place? Did I allow the place to affect me? Or did I simply complete the activity and move on to the next thing? There is a difference between completing an experience and being present for it.

And perhaps our culture doesn't make that distinction very easy. We are surrounded by messages encouraging us to consume more, see more, achieve more and make the most of our time. Even travel can become another thing to tick off a list. But making the most of an experience doesn't necessarily mean fitting more into it. Sometimes it means slowing down enough to notice what is already there.

You don't have to climb the mountain. You can sit on it.

You don't have to see everything. You can notice one thing deeply.

You don't have to turn every moment into a photograph or a story. You can just experience it.

What if we stopped trying to collect experiences?

Some of the most powerful experiences in life aren't things we can accomplish. They are things we can only witness. A sunset. A conversation. A mountain. A night sky. Time spent with someone we love. Moments that don't ask anything of us other than our attention. Moments where there is nothing to achieve, complete or tick off. The invitation is simply to be there.

The eclipse reminded me of this because there was nothing we could do to make it happen. We couldn't control it or speed it up. We could only watch and witness.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons we need to slow down. When we are constantly moving towards the next thing, we can miss what is happening right now. We can arrive somewhere beautiful and immediately start thinking about where we're going next. We can sit with someone we love while half-listening and half-thinking about our phone. We can travel thousands of miles and barely experience the place we're in because we're already planning the next destination. We can even turn rest into another task.

Maybe we don't need to experience more. Maybe we need to experience what is already happening more fully.

Staying and remaining available to what you didn’t plan for

I believe a life lived fully is not necessarily about squeezing more experiences into our lives, but becoming available for the experience that is already happening.

That evening, Gina and I watched the eclipse continue after totality, observed the light gradually return, witnessed the sunset and later stayed out beneath the dark sky to watch the shooting stars. In staying something beautiful came through, fullness, awe, presence and reflection. And from this place the question arose, how many beautiful things do we leave behind because we decide that the “main event” is over?

How many conversations could deepen if we stayed a little longer? How many sunsets have we missed because we left after the photograph? How many moments have quietly unfolded around us while we were busy trying to get somewhere else?

Many things are worth staying for a little longer. Not because there is something else to achieve, but because we don't know what might unfold. Maybe what life is really asking of us is to let go of the doing, and focus on the staying. To look, to listen, to witness. To let something unfold without needing to control, capture or complete it. We don't always neeed to do life. Most of the time we just need to be there for it. And stay long enough to see what happens next.