Journey to Jupiter

It's time for my evening walk. I throw on a sweater, a winter coat, a toque, and gloves and head outside for a quick hike. An energizing blast of winter air enters my lungs as I head south down our main street, across the train tracks towards Edmonton's river valley. The roads are not busy, but they certainly aren't dormant. Some are out walking dogs, and others are picking up some groceries at the local Save-On-Foods I pass before walking across a bridge over the Kinnaird ravine just east of the Commonwealth Stadium where the Edmonton Elks play. It's slightly foggy out, and I can feel the frost beginning to make the sidewalks slippery. With a steady pace, I eventually arrive at the end of the street before the road curves west onto Jasper Avenue.

Halfway through my walk, I'm overlooking the dimly lit river valley below. While I can hear the steady treble sounds of the traffic along the avenue, the city feels very quiet.

Looking eastward, I can see the ember glows of the refineries kilometers away in the county of Strathcona under the dark skies above. To the west, I see Edmonton's cityscape. Buildings and high rises are outlined by lights shining through windows and street lights. Looking east and west, the site, refineries, and office towers remind me that hard-working people everywhere make life work. I'm fortunate to have a daily grind, but shift workers are everywhere performing a nightly grind. Every day, I go through an exhaustive checklist of tasks that need to be done. For the most part, I'm effective, but it's not unusual that I finish the day with some tasks left in the "incomplete" column. When I arrive home, those tasks typically are stuck in my mind like little annoying yellow sticky notes. I also do my best to stay current, which means that I'm aware of the state of the world and Canada. I'm bothered that people are struggling to pay their grocery bills and have every reason to worry about whether they can keep a roof over their heads. Many of these people are the ones keeping the lights on in our communities across our country. I sense the fragility of peace in our present moment.

I do this daily walk to make my daily grind possible. I need the sustaining power of something bigger than myself. I now look up to the black sky and see handfuls of stars piercing through the mildly cloudy night. From my vantage point, I can see stars, but also, two planets are currently visible. The Planet Jupiter is in the southeast, and Saturn is in the southwest. Looking up at Jupiter, there's a reassuring sense that our planet sits in a vast galaxy still out there to explore. I don't anticipate living to see the day humans can travel to Jupiter; it's an impossibility. But something about seeing the planet gives me hope that it may one day be possible. For thousands of years, people looked to the stars and shared stories over generations about how we came to be. These stories have consistently elevated our thinking and propelled us forward. One day, we'll journey to Jupiter. Despite the present, we'll figure it out if we hold faith in this idea that the world was created in love and meant for good things.

The planet Jupiter seen from Cromdale in Edmonton

I'm reminded of the story in Genesis, where God speaks to a man named Abram and asks him to look at the stars and believe in the impossible.

"And the Lord took Abram and said, 'Look up into the sky and count the stars if you can. That's how many descendants you will have!'"

The promise of something better often lies outside the borders of our sight and perspective.

After stargazing, I turn to go home, with the sticky notes of anxiety dropping temporarily. This is why I go for walks.

Friend, thank you for reading. It means a lot. May you find some time this week to look up and, in the words of my favorite starship captain, say, "Let's see what's out there." If you know someone who may find some encouragement with this, please pass this post along.

Take care