One need look no further for hope than up

The International Space Station cruised over my house last night. It does most every night. At least, every night since I installed the app on my phone that lets me know where it is.

I love the ISS.

I’ll admit what I know about science could be engraved in its entirety on the back of a tin of Altoids. In a big font. I was an English major; I didn’t need to know how things work, I just had to be able to write about them intelligibly.

But even I know the space station is a complicated piece of technology. I mean, first off, it’s in space, man! That in itself is fairly amazing. And something had to get it to space; I can’t begin to comprehend the science that went into that little endeavor. I can barely get myself to my daughter’s house in Detroit without getting lost or sidetracked along the way.

On the other hand, the directions to “space” are easier; you just go up. As I understand it, there’s a little more to it than that, but still, just up.

As impressive a feat as that space station is, however, it’s not the science behind it that causes me to stand in the back yard staring up at the night sky, lost in wonder. It’s what the thing represents. I’m not sure I can even put it into words, but I’m going to try.

Anyone who reads the news, goes online, watches TV or picks up a magazine knows where the world’s at right now. It’s not a pretty picture. And it seems to be getting uglier all the time.

Fires, floods, hurricanes, wars, politics gone insane, a country divided like no time since the Civil War, maybe. Every day is a bizarre circus of innuendo, angry tweets, accusations, name calling, posturing, threats, counter-threats, wars and rumors of wars (to pilfer a line from Matthew, as in The Book of…).

And so much of the trouble – if not all of it – is caused by us. Yup. You, me, the guy next door who sometimes works on my car for free. We’re the problem. Not some blowhard in Washington or Lansing. Not your boss. Not some infantile despot in North Korea with a bad haircut and a tragic case of short man syndrome.

It’s us. We’re responsible. We could be – we should be – doing more to make the world a better place. Of course, some of us do. Not many. Not me. At least, not lately. Not in a long time, if I’m to be honest here.

Why? Well, like most of us, I’m too busy being outraged. I’m outraged over climate change deniers in Washington. I’m outraged over excessive use of force by police. I’m outraged over whatever stupid thing Kid Rock said at his last concert. I’m outraged by fake news, the liberal media, conservative radio, the right wing, the left wing, the pro-choice people, the anti-choice people, football players who take a knee, vice presidential publicity stunts meant to further divide us, neo-Nazis, racial inequality, government handouts, blah, blah, blah and furthermore, blah!

So what do I do with all this outrage? I post about it on Facebook. Ooh, get me! I’m a regular Abbie Hoffman. Such a daring soul am I.

Let me be the first to say it: Social media is the coward’s soapbox. If Rosa Parks had done no more than post memes on Facebook, African Americans would still be riding in the back of the bus. If Roosevelt had spent his days tweeting about what a mean guy Hitler was, we’d all be speaking German now.

Social media gives us all the feeling we’re doing something about the things that matter to us. We’re not. We’re just talking. And not even talking, really; we’re just blowing noise out into the ether, where it is lost amid the roaring cacophony that is the rest of the outraged online world. Sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Meanwhile, the world burns around us, and we stand like Nero, fiddling with our keyboards, our touchscreens. Yeah, it’s a little depressing, isn’t it?

But I still have hope. Because every night, that space station glides across my little piece of sky, a pinpoint of light in the blackness. To me, it’s more than an aluminum box filled with electronic components and a handful of brave men and women. That space station is a still quiet voice, telling me we’re better than this … this, whatever we’ve become lately.

We’re more than our outrage. We’re more than angry tweets. We’re more than our differences of opinion.

Whether through evolution or creation, we were made to work together for the betterment of all. Every species on Earth does as much, each in its own way. It’s amazing how easy it is to overlook this fact. How easy to forget.

So tonight, around 8:30 p.m., I’ll be standing in my back yard, staring into the darkness, waiting for that small speck of light passing overhead to remind me.

There is hope. There is.

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