Nothing can describe the feeling of seeing a night sky full of stars, or a comet flying across the sky. 

The stars and the heavens hold a place in my heart that is unreachable by anything else I have witnessed or considered. The stars have the power to draw me together with friends who live on opposite sides of the world and with people of the past and the future because we have all seen the same sky. 

Whenever I step outside at night, my eyes are immediately drawn upward. The vast and unknowable universe is at my fingertips, but always out of reach. I seek to understand something impossible to comprehend: space. 

My dad and I used to spend many nights looking at the stars from our front yard, pointing out the constellations and telling the stories of Orion and his dogs or Cassiopeia. Standing outside on our porch, I felt something for these inanimate objects like nothing else. My dad and I have not always had the strongest connection, but we have always shared our love and fascination for space. 

I used to dream of being an astronaut. I wanted to walk on the moon like Neil Armstrong or be the first woman to go to Mars. The possibilities of space and space travel drew me in. The theories, photos and facts of space seemed outrageous, but at the same time, they always made sense. I felt for a long time that I was not meant to stay on Earth, but instead to leave and explore. 

But as I got older, my brain became doubtful, telling me that I would never achieve those dreams and that I should be more realistic. I taught myself not to dream so big, telling myself to find something I could make a career out of. I stopped talking about visiting space, instead deciding that I could be a scientist or a lawyer. 

The science of space fascinated me, but even as I learned about its wonders, I could not explain the emotions it gave me. I consistently looked to science for answers to my questions that could only be explained through feelings. 

My dreams of being an astronaut have faded as I have gotten older, but my interest in space has not. Science was a way to explain the things that I didn’t understand and gave reason to things that it seemed only a god could create. I needed definite answers to questions that were not just about space, but my own uncertainty of who I was. 

I am an emotional person, with my feelings close to the surface and often ruling my brain and decisions. I find comfort in things that are also conflicted, between science and emotions, like the stars. 

I can talk about the science of stars all day long, but explaining to someone how they make me 

feel is harder. Such a universal thing as space is strangely personal to me, and I feel that I am spilling my guts when I talk about the stars. I feel like a fraud, talking about stars as if they have feelings, and showing the depth at which I have thought about them. 

But when I see the constellations, I know where I am. The mystery of space calls me because I see myself reflected in the unknown. Its complexities allow me to be complicated, and to accept that my complexity. With the stars and familiar constellations, I can find peace, to find myself again.

I used to believe in magic, build fairy houses and believe that animals could talk. I grew out of that, but never the magic of stars. The stars couldn’t care less about me, but for some reason, they exist, and they impact me. 

I don’t believe in their magical creation or their embodiment of spirits, but there is something supernatural about the stars. Though I see them with my own eyes, I feel as if I am looking into a different world, as though the tiny pinpoints of light are a mirage. The stars have the power to link me to people of the past, and to my friends who live far away.

There has always been a connection between people and the stars, a universal feeling that interests each one of us. The stars have been a map and a guide to people for thousands of years, but the way I read the stars is not for directions but instead for guidance. The sense of wisdom and age of the stars have reminded me that I have only begun my life. I am encouraged to have patience, to take a deep breath and remember that the things affecting me now will pass. 

I easily get caught up in the stress of high school and daily life, but the constant of the stars helps me to stay grounded. The stars have been here before me and will remain after I am gone. Their presence makes me think that, if they have lasted through millennia, I can survive anything that comes my way. 

When the first evening stars show through a darkening sky, I always feel comfort wash over my body. To me, the stars’ indefinite existence evokes a feeling of belonging when I see them. Looking up, the lights feel like they will never change, because, for most of my life, they have stayed the same. I am comforted by their permanence, to know that no matter where I go in the world, the stars are constant. The cycle of the cosmos will continue, giving life to new planets and new species. 

It is easy to feel small knowing I am a mere speck in our vast universe. It is easy to think I am alone. I hate that feeling because I am afraid of being alone. But the stars show me that we are not. I have started to see the stars through a different lens: instead of small, I feel that our ability to see them is important. Some of the greatest scientific discoveries have saved lives or changed lives, and I believe that space has done the same thing. 

Our ability to see into the past and see incredible things like black holes or supernovae seems important enough that there must be a reason. I search for that reason in the facts, but I have only ever found answers in my own head. I can conclude that for now, there is no answer, but that uncertainty is hard to come to terms with. 

Our inexplicable connection between humans and the cosmos, between our imaginations and the energy of the stars, is physical and emotional. It is possible that someday I will fly between the stars, but using my imagination, I can always be among them. 

When a shooting star crosses the sky, my heart jumps, and I have to make a wish. My science brain knows the facts, but I also feel the mystic of flying stars. We are not alone in space, and I am not alone in my wonder and interest in space. Whenever I look up to the stars, someone in another part of the world is doing the same. But to each of us the stars mean something different.

The memories I associate with the sky are nothing like anyone else’s, and what I see when I look up is nothing like what they see. The connection I have with the stars might be something I have created in my brain, but the yearning to see and understand is real. Though they are inanimate objects, the curiosity and happiness that I feel when I see the Milky Way, recognize a faint constellation or see Jupiter is true.

Across the world, we may see different stars and recognize different constellations, but the stars are there for everyone, visible or not. All of us receive the same light, but what we see is uniquely our own. The mystery of space will still draw me and interest me, and I know that it will always exist. 

No matter where my life ends up taking me, wherever in the world I journey, I will still be able to see the stars. The map may look different, but it will continue to guide me. All I have to do is look up to know that they are there.