Yesterday we experienced a total solar eclipse. Apparently we get a couple every year, but they're usually situated over the poles, or they land largely on the ocean. This one spanned over a huge portion of North America, covering parts of Mexico, the US, and Canada. This included Kitchener, the city that I reside.
The word "total" got attached to this particular eclipse to emphasize its magnitude. Technically this word is a bit overdramatic, in that there were people traveling to see it. If it were actually total, it would have covered the globe. In fact, even we didn't experience a "total solar eclipse". Our time "at totality" covered about 90% of the sun. The closest place geographically to get the full version was Niagara Falls.
One of the more eerie aspects of this phenomenon is that it's only possible because the moon and sun are positioned the exact space necessary from Earth that they appear to be the same size. The difference in scale between the Earth, moon, and sun, and respective distance they are from each other is literally astronomical. This fact seems functionless, and the specificity of this aesthetic choice feels like a creative decision. It evokes a feeling of divine intentionality.
The eclipse was treated very seriously by our local schoolboard. Initially, it was announced that schools would be open, but less than a week before the event, someone got cold feet and canceled the day.
I kind of get it. It happened at the most inconvenient time for us too. Our members typically leave between 3:00 and 3:30. The eclipse was supposed to start at about 2:45 and reach totality at about 3:15. So the perfect time to guarantee that all our members would be outside.
This is a problem because staring into an eclipse is dangerous. My initial understanding of this was that, it's not because the eclipse sends more damaging rays, it's just more tempting to look at based on novelty. Also, we're so used to avoiding the sun based on the pain of its brightness that without that sensation, people lower their guard.
This was kind of true, but there is an additional element. When we look at the sun, our eyes contract as a natural protective instinct. During an eclipse, our eyes don't recognize the danger so they don't use this defense mechanism, thus making them more vulnerable to damage. So if there's even a little bit of direct eye contact with the sun, it will cause more damage than usual.
Our members have a variety of capacity when it comes to heeding advice about safety. Knowing that there would likely be a large number of them outside during the event, my boss made the precautionary move of ordering eclipse glasses.
My understanding of these was that they were an additional layer of protection, but that it was advisable to not stare directly at the sun. I was at a community centre earlier in the day it happened, and people were annoying me, saying they bought special glasses to look at the eclipse.
They turned out to be right though. The glasses expressly state that they are meant for sungazing during an eclipse, which it claimed could be safely done for up to three minutes. My coworkers were stating their intention of doing so, but I said that I would abstain from this behaviour. I have a legally blind wife and don't want to lose my status as the sighted partner. My optometrist, who is also my Father-in-Law, gave me 20/20 vision at my last appointment and I don't want to lose that.
Potentially the eclipse could be a great business opportunity for him.
Anyway, I tried the glasses on. It was just a big black bar over my eyes. I guess they're just super heavy duty sunglasses. I stared directly into a lightbulb and saw a little illumination.
All day leading up to the eclipse, it had been really cloudy. Miraculously, just before it happened, the sky opened up to give us full exposure.
Despite staying open, most of our members had opted to stay home, or go home early. We only had a few very sensible people with good survival instincts, which was a relief.
As everyone went out to sungaze, I initially held back. But when I saw strong positive reactions, I buckled and decided to take a peak through the eclipse glasses.
It was amazing! As the moon passed over, it turned into a perfect crescent sun! It was a flat shape without any glow. It really goes to show how bright the sun actually is, if I could barely see a lightbulb inches from my face with the glasses on, but I could see clearly a glowing orange fingernail during the eclipse.
I took some photos. I took some regular ones, and some with the camera lens pointed through the glasses. They don't look anything like what I saw with my eyes though.
There were sun gazers coming out from surrounding houses and buildings. I'm not confident that everyone showed enough restraint to limit themselves to three minutes of exposure.
I thought it would get way darker than it did. I thought it would be like night during the daytime. Only at near totality did it drop to a dusky vibe. It got dark enough to trigger automatic lights. And it got colder! I didn't even think of that!
Overall, it was way more awesome than I thought it would be, but I didn't think I'd have the courage to engage with it. I only stole glances through the eclipse glasses though. Nowhere near the allowable three minutes.
I read a book called Staring at the Sun. It's about mortality. The metaphor is that death is something that is around us constantly and informs the way we live, but to look directly at it is painful. This is similar to how the sun illuminates the Earth, and we're aware of it but fear looking at it directly. The author makes it explicitly clear that while staring at death and acknowledging it is healthy if painful, he would never recommend staring at the literal sun.
Well, with eclipse glasses we can stare at the literal sun too.
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