Noctalgia

a vocab word that we mountain kids feel.

Image from this website; their entry on noctalgia.

Sky Grief

So when I ventured into some light (!) research on this lovely vocab word that you all chose for me (thank you, by the way), I discovered quite the poignant definition of the word noctalgia. A combination of nostalgia and nocturnal, it basically boils down to what astronomers and psychologists alike call ‘sky-grief.’

In other words, noctalgia means the deep grief that all humans have felt within the past few decades as our dark skies are obliterated by light pollution: a nostalgia for the real nighttime sky. A loss of the beauty and comfort of dark, starlit, night skies. Earthsky.org relates that it’s a real depressive condition that most people across the globe face, as the level of sky darkness disappears, and we’re left with the feeling of deprivation, or even torture, as if someone is shining a light into our faces 24/7, with no way to turn it off and relax into sleep, or into ourselves, or into privacy, or into …well, night.

This image yoinked from the dictionary.com explanation of the OG ‘double rainbow what does it mean’ meme. Remember that one? That was a while ago.

But what does it meeeeean?

The word itself is less about the scientific definition of noctalgia and more about the emotional / psychological impact of what light pollution is doing to our lizard brain, globally and collectively (and primitively). It’s not just an aw-too-bad-there’s-light-pollution-these-days and more of a visceral, primordial disruption to our very bodily rhythms and healthy function as humans on Earth.

Me personally? Though a mountain-ish kid, I did still grow up mostly in a city. Difference is, Boulder’s a small city and you don’t have to go far to find a dark enough place to enjoy the sky. Plus, we’d go camping or otherwise venture into the mountains frequently and that was a pretty common pastime. My husband had a life as a mountain teen during his last couple years in high school, and one of my very bestest friends Krista lived up Sugarloaf at her stepdad’s spectacular mountain home—I’ve spent many a lovely sleepover evening on Elm’s incredible deck. So, though somewhat city dwelling, we were also part-time mountain kids. Some of us more than others. At least, when I was growing up, that was true. These days, it has become way more glutted with high rises, hotels, and big office parks, that honestly? These days? I’m not sure even little ol’ Boulder is immune to the light pollution plague.

These days: where I live now, the apartment boasts many large windows, which is great. But our bedroom window, though blinded, still faces out on the busy street of Syracuse, opposite to a huge apartment building, beloved IC Brewhouse, and other lit apartments and office parks all down and up the road. It’s bright, even in the middle of the night. But the thing is: I find myself kind of becoming (well, always have been in some ways) an urban monster, and I find my psyche comforted by the urban bustle, and even the lights. Although, now I think about it, I have been a little cabin fever-y lately, which I had written off as just latent from COVID or maybe perimenopause moods (tomato/tomahto) but now that I’ve looked into this word? I dunno.

It seems (according to my brief research on the term noctalgia) that even in remote and/or rural areas, the sky itself is full of light pollution junk, not just down here: it’s from satellites and other space trash that clog our skies, quite literally. So. There’s yet more reasons to bemoan our ‘civilization’ ruining the planet. But it’s fascinating to look at: light pollution is literally, not figuratively, fucking with our hearts and our minds. And I wonder, nay, I Muse, whether noctalgia has anything to do with today’s current psychosis, that of people literally losing their minds in delusionally perceived relationships with AI. Our psychic wiring is fully haywire—we no longer have any idea how to relate to other humans, to ourselves, and especially to the earth on which we live. Which, to be fair, most of us don’t literally live on the earth but several technological layers removed.

What do you think? Do you have noctalgia? I think I do, but only when there’s a train whistle. But that’s another essay…