I’ve been heavily influenced by many people I’ve never met. Some are long dead. Some have no reason to ever see me, let alone think about my existence. And some I just haven’t met, yet. People are a melange of influences. One of these influences wants me to write again — so, hello — and another of them is a beloved British celebrity. A national treasure. Joanna Lumley has no reason to know me, but she crosses my mind daily.

She kind of lives in my mind. Her appreciation of the world around her and genuine kindness toward everything implanted itself in my psyche. I think of her as something of a heavenly figure. You know…after writing this, she might see it. We live with the wonderful Internet, after all, and anything is possible with the Internet. But I doubt it. I don’t doubt the Internet, dear reader, I doubt that Joanna googles herself. But that’s irrelevant because this isn’t what I planned to be writing about.

She hosts travel programs for British television and they are absolutely extraordinary. When she travels down the Nile to seek the source of that mighty river, the opening scene makes me burst into tears. I know I’ve shown you before, but it seems like it’s been years since I’ve been writing here. (Apparently it has been.) I should probably explain my absence.

As I age, I seek less attention. I know that I was auditioning for America’s Next Top Model remarkably well and endlessly telling you things I loved and I hated, but it wore me out. This is really more of a diary, isn’t it, it never seemed like anybody read the thing. I’m not upset. It really is a rather good autobiography of a significant chunk of my life. My legacy lol.

Also I’m a perfectionist. And the only thing in my entire life that honestly makes me feel guilty is my daily to-do list. It haunts me. I have to scratch off as many tasks as possible before going to bed, even though it doesn’t actually matter. My brain can’t seem to figure out that it’s the one making things difficult for itself. Doing a few things is better than panicking at having to do too many things and then deciding to do nothing because it was all far too overwhelming. Alas, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So I just stopped. And I don’t regret it. And I don’t know how often I’ll continue after this, but 2023 had some rather remarkable events that you should know about. But this isn’t what I planned on writing about, either.

Let’s watch that opening clip of that perfect program and weep together:

Right? I can’t be the only one with tears dripping. But moving on.

The greatest thing she ever did, absolutely on par with the best of Patsy on Absolutely Fabulous, was a single episode special about looking for the Northern Lights. Reader, it changed my life. Before watching, I knew that the Northern Lights were a thing. I vaguely grasp the concepts of their composition. I think they’re pretty. But I had never thought about them as real.

I watched the documentary, absolutely enthralled and enchanted. I made it a mission to see those lights someday. I designed a whole unit for my class around it just to watch the show again. But I hadn’t a chance to really see them. I researched, and I thought about it. The extent of the aurora is rarely near Iowa. Not never. (You can guess that I saw them in Iowa, right? If you did, well done you, but we have to meander awhile to get there.)

I was in London earlier this year. That’s something else I’ll tell you about later, reader, but let me just tell you that I lived a full and complete and delusional time full of delight. I sketched crooked chimneys in Rye from the porch of Lamb House. I don’t think I ever told you about Mapp & Lucia so you likely found that sentence odd. Those are some of the most important books I’ve ever read, but I guess that’s another post that I wasn’t planning on writing. And this isn’t what I planned to write about at all.

All the wild things that happened in London can wait, because (in retrospect) one of the most surreal and delirious moments of my life, was the return. To get home from London, I flew to Finland. Helsinki to be exact. There was no time to enjoy the lovely airport or take Finnish selfies or try Finnish food. But that doesn’t matter. My seat on the flight to Finland didn’t have one of those entertainment centers — I’ve also learned this year that flying coach is an unnecessary punishment, still this is yet another topic for yet another post — but there were television screens that popped out of the ceiling. The usual self-congratulatory advertisements for the airline flashed by, then the safety lecture, and then nothing. Up in the air, though, reader… Things. Changed.

The cabin darkened. The screen flashed back on. There was no choice. It was one thing. It was Joanna Lumley in the Land of the Northern Lights.

When I tell you reader that I audibly gasped, I did. When I tell you, reader, that I burst into a legit sob, I did. When I kept sniffling through the hour long video, reader, I tell you because I did. I was never so glad to not have a person sat beside me.

I couldn’t believe it happened. The show wasn’t something new. It wasn’t something that I could have possibly expected or known, and there was divine Joanna again. It felt like it was just for me. And I will cry every time the show comes to a conclusion (I’m literally crying right now. I’m not even watching it. I don’t think my emotions could handle it currently) and she sees the Lights as they burst and bounce (I’m crying harder. I can barely see my laptop as I type — this is real. Literally crying.) and dance around the night sky. They twist in unbelievable patterns and burst with remarkable colors, and then Joanna did something that I just can’t forget.

She lay on her back in the frigid snow, insulated by multiple coats, and looked up and watched the lights. That moment was the realization of her childhood dreams. As somebody who has been lucky enough to experience personal manifestations of lifelong dreams, I recognized the pure joy she radiated. She looked up as the lights began to dim and she whispered, “Thank you. Thank you!”

— and I have to take a break because I’m sobbing. What is wrong with me? I honestly don’t know why the Northern Lights do this to me. They make me a weepy mess and I adore them.

As I watched the show for the first time, I was misty eyed, but I thought the line was kind of cheesy. I didn’t doubt her sincerity, mind you, but it felt like something she’d been asked to say. (Remember this for later.) And somewhere between London and Helsinki, I was a mess and just burning with a yearning to see those lights. It wasn’t a choice. I had to. Simply had to.

So I made clippings out of travel magazines about when and where to find them. Alaska. Iceland. Michigan. Finland, of course. Norway. All over Canada. But it just didn’t happen because I don’t particularly like being cold.

Fast forward to the local news saying there was a chance for them to make an appearance. It had happened a little while before but I’d missed it. I was electrified by the bulletin. And so I stayed up late, absolutely tingling with anticipation. The night was chilly, but that was okay because I was wrapped up in the chicest red topcoat. It’s a fantastic coat. So many people compliment it. I’m not being a braggart. It happens every time I put it on. Take a look:

But back to Iowa. It was too bright. So I began turning out all the lights in my house to darken the yard. Rather a lot of them, I found. So I just pulled the power off at the breaker and the whole place was suddenly in pitch darkness. As you may have divined, I was determined. I was rather startled by how dark it was. So I returned to my lounge chair, positioned parallel with the ground, and stared.

I stared and I stared. And I felt a creeping, gnawing fear that it wouldn’t happen. I reminded myself how unlikely the odds were. So I tried to at least appreciate the time I was spending with the stars. Looking for constellations and comets and aliens — and then something happened at the corner of my eye. White. I thought it was just a weird thing with the cold air on my perfectly LASIKed eyes. Then the whole sky flashed white. A thrill coursed through me. I forgot to breathe. I was in the early moments of awe.

This has been challenging to explain. The sky was black as pitch. The stars were shining just as brightly as ever. The aurora, if that is what this mysterious illumination was, was like a ghost, a translucent gauzy illumination. And then it was gone.

Thought I imagined it. Nothing happened for a while. I stood up and decided to stroll around the yard (my god I’m crying again. I already know what happens.) Out toward the northeastern horizon something equally indescribable began to happen. It was like the sky was pulsing. I swear I could feel it. Little glitters of white sparkled by this bizarre rippling and pulsing. And then it happened.

Green.

It seemed to explode into being. And then gone. Only for a moment though, a thin ribbon of pink stretched and seemed to contort and charge across the sky. I grabbed my phone and turned on the camera. Then I just watched the aurora that I had so desperately wanted to see. It was there for me. It felt like it had been done just for me, and I know it’s stupid, and I know it’s the same thing Joanna said, but it truly felt that way. Pinks and greens and whites flashed across the sky like living things. It was impossible to look away as they grew in intensity, faded, and then exploded again in new and unpredictable rhythms. I’m rarely short for words, but this was a truly indescribable sensation. Joyful tears streamed down my cheeks but I hardly noticed. And then I lay down on the ground as they flashed and grew and seemed to mutate and finally went away. You know what I did.

I whispered to the gentle, dying pulse in the sky. “Thank you. Thank you!” And I didn’t feel cheesy at all.

I lay there for a long time. Dazed I think. It had happened. Just like I wanted it to. And again it seems like those things you dream about really do come true. More often than not. It keeps happening. Maybe it’s just me, but I certainly hope not. Life is fascinating and marvelous and myriad. So many things to see and do. Experiences to have. Places to visit. But there on the ground, in the cold, in my fantastic coat, I couldn’t believe they’d danced like that in the sky above me. Seemingly just for me. In Iowa! Where, as I had learned, they can appear, but rarely. Remember, reader, rare does not mean never.

They seemed to be gone. I don’t know if they continued that night. I went back inside. I couldn’t handle more.

And that is the story of the first of the extraordinary things that happened to me this curious year. Extraordinary to me anyway. I had no intention of writing this much. I apologize, or, you’re welcome. It flowed out of me. I’ve been typing nonstop and my fingers are actually tired and my eyes are crusty from tears and I just love the Northern Lights so much.

Some nights I swear I see that pulsing again. And sometimes an inexplicable faint lightness flashes in the dark sky. I don’t think I’m insane. But I think of the Northern Lights and how alive they seemed every time. They were wonderful. They were a thrill.

See you again soon, I think.