Now Voyager

The Voyager 1 probe is about to leave the solar system, according to a recent spate of publicity.  It will be the first human-made object to do so on its own power with the ability to transmit data back to Earth.  No one knows how long the Voyager crafts will continue to function after they clear the heliopause, that invisible boundary where the solar wind finally dies down and the final frontier begins.  Both Voyager 1 and 2 with their 1970s-era technology and now-primitive radio transmitters have exceeded their shelf life by decades as they've hurtled through the outer solar system, snapping pictures of Jupiter's moons and Saturn's rings.  I love the thought all that analog technology lasting so long--its staying power flying in the face of NASA's perpetual critics.  In my perfect world, well-informed curmudgeons from America's heartland would straighten their John Deere caps reverently at the news of the Voyagers' mechanical prowess rather than roll their eyes at operating budgets and taxpayer dollars. 'Yep,' one would say to the assembled crew, leaning in for effect. 'They sure don't make interstellar spaceships like they used to.'

I've re-developed a minor obsession with Voyager recently, ever since hearing about its upcoming break out of the solar system on NPR's Radiolab program (Find a link to the potentially life-changing podcast here) I say re-developed because as a young astronomy buff growing up in the 80s, I followed the Voyager mission as closely as a school kid could in the days before the Internet.  My mom even took my sister, friend and me down to the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena (Voyager mission control to this day) where we toured their small museum, viewed ethereal color snapshots of the gas giants that revolutionized space science and saw a replica of Voyager 1, complete with its golden record (more on that later).

While my sister gawked appreciatively, and my friend (a math prodigy) quizzed the scientist on call in the museum, I wandered around in a poetic daze, my head full of the half-formed musings of a literary nerd-in-training. Primed by the lush language of kid-friendly astronomy books and countless Star Trek re-runs, I embraced outer space for its metaphors: the mystery, possibility and triumph of the human spirit.  The Voyager mission was a beeping, spinning embodiment of hope and optimism (humans reaching ever outward!) along with the melancholy of our loneliness (two little probes so far from home)

Turns out, my feelings haven't changed much in 26 years...

I listened to the Radiolab program while driving a U-Haul truck from Austin to Berkeley and re-entered that 12-year-old daze of awe and admiration.  The world has changed so much since the Voyagers set off in 1977, but in a way, everything that's happened almost doesn't matter.  In astronomical terms, these 35 years have been a mere blink of an eye as Voyager has spanned the tiniest fraction of the immensity surrounding us.  As I thought about my own life--the transitions, triumphs, failures and mundane day-to-day--I added another metaphor to Voyager's list: perspective.  The poets of space science, the late-great Carl Sagan among them, write about our place in the cosmos in a way that makes, say, the end of a relationship, an interstate move and the start of a new career trajectory (all in just three weeks) seem a little less significant.  As I drove through the Arizona high desert listening to Voyager's rendering of the whoosh of solar wind 9 billion miles from home, I found my transition angst lifting somewhat.  When I heard about "The Pale Blue Dot," it lifted almost entirely.

"The Pale Blue Dot" is the last photograph (to date) that Voyager 1 has taken.  It is also a book by Carl Sagan, who was the main advocate for the picture in the first place.  The Voyagers' cameras are no longer on to save power.  But before NASA turned them off in 1990, scientists turned Voyager 1 around and pointed its camera back at Earth.  The resulting photo is called "The Pale Blue Dot" because it shows Earth as a tiny half-pixel of blue light, captured in the slanted light of the distant Sun against a black field of outer space.

Then Carl Sagan wrote, as only Carl Sagan could: 

"Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam." 

Yeah...that kind of puts my little problems into a lot of perspective.

But for those of you tempted to resort to nihilistic shrugging, the Voyagers also offer hope, ridiculous, wonderful, galaxy-sized hope.  That's where the golden record comes in.  Each Voyager probe has a gold record attached to its side--you may have heard of them.  These records encapsulate the very best of the human spirit, and not just because they contain greetings in 55 different languages and 116 sounds and images from our planet, including music by Mozart and Chuck Berry.  Etched on the records are pictures of human beings and an interstellar map to Earth, using big astronomical landmarks like pulsars to guide the way.  It didn't matter to the people who made the golden record that it will take Voyager 1 about 40,000 years to reach the next star.  It didn't matter that the chances of an alien race 1) encountering a tiny craft in the vast expanse of space and 2) being able to play a record, for the love of Pete, are beyond miniscule.  We humans slapped those messages into our spaceship bottles and tossed them into the largest sea in existence because that's how we roll here on Earth.  We screw up all the time.  We're petty and self-important.  We poison our oceans and trash our forests.  We're mean to each other based on all sorts of nonsensical prejudices and assumptions.  Yet when it comes down to it, we have this hope in a future that spans all time, and we'd like to believe we're not alone out here on our pale blue dot.  We don't mean much, but we mean something, and we reach out--to each other and to the universe.  As long as we keep reaching out, I think we'll be OK.  We might even be here in 40,000 years when our new alien friends come calling, even if by then absolutely no one knows what a 'record' is.

Ode to the Lone Star State

"That's right; you're not from Texas.
But Texas wants you anyway." --Lyle Lovett

As I prepare to leave Texas for California (another state that believes it should be its own country), I feel moved to record here all that I've learned and loved about the Lone Star State. As you may recall, the decision to land here two years raised quite a few eyebrows among my Left Coast nearest and dearest.

"Texas," they said. "Texas..." 

And in that emphasis-not-mine was captured George W, the deep-red politics embodied by wacky presidential hopeful and current governor Rick Perry, big hair and an obsession with competitive sports.  Even in the liberal heart of Austin, there was suspicion that the capital city would merely be Texas Lite, blue-state around the gills, but still decidedly ten-gallon and big-belt-buckled.

I'm pleased to report that Texas and Austin have exceeded my expectations on every occasion.  Although, it's true I have not found a permanent home here, I have found much to love.  Texas deserves much of its reputation. (No one here has forgotten the Alamo!) And, as always, there is more to any place than its list of stereotypes and cliches.

 

What I love about Texas and Austin

People who are honest-to-goodness, unabashedly friendly.  And chatty.

I will miss the socializing that a trip to supermarket in Austin always entailed.  I'd be inspecting a label or waiting at the check-out and inevitably a perfect stranger would strike up a conversation. We'd discuss any number of topics: the items in our carts, the weather, upcoming events or the celebrity scandals in the magazines, just to name a few greatest hits.  Conversations happened other places too. Invariably whenever I'd wear my Northwestern t-shirt between September and December someone would ask me how the football team was doing--and never seemed to care I didn't know.  When a friend from New York came to visit, I warned her about this phenomenon, but she didn't believe me--until we were standing in line at Whole Foods.  "This is unbelievable," she said, tapping her foot Manhattan-style as the man in front of us chatted away with the checker.  "There are people waiting in line."  (i.e.: us)  While I was less of a New York toe-tapper, it also took me awhile to adjust.  I was accustom to my urban bubble-of-personal-space being respected.  When the first Texan burst it my second evening in Austin, I hardly knew what to do.  But now I'll miss it.  There's something to be said about breaching that urban bubble and leaving the store with a smile, more often than not.  I haven't turned into an extrovert in this most extroverted of places, but I've come to appreciate that unapologetic friendliness.

West Texas around Big Bend

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  Tabled buttes, painted-desert rocks, jagged peaks, big sky...this area of Texas is stunning, nary a tumbleweed in sight.  It is also home to the McDonald Observatory, which transmits Star Date on your local public radio station; the artist haven of Marfa and Guadalupe Peak, the tallest mountain in the state. 

Amazing Bikram yoga studios

If you ever find yourself in Austin and have a chance to take a class at any of Pure Bikram Yoga's four studios, don't hesitate for a minute!  This is the cream-of-the-crop as far as Bikram studios go and nowhere I've practiced anywhere in the world comes close. What makes an amazing Bikram studio?  Excellent teachers, high-ceiled rooms, super-grip carpet and a less-than-pervasive sweaty smell.  (It's Bikram, so you can't eliminate it completely, but Pure Bikram does a good job...)  It's been my home-away-from-home here in Austin.  I'm sad to be leaving right when almost every teacher knows my name.   

Whole Foods flagship store

From the beginning my second home-away-from-home has been the vast Whole Foods flagship on North Lamar.  While the super-pricey supermarket has gone corporate since its humble start in 1980, the flagship store drew me in with its free wi-fi, plentiful cafe-style seating, unbeatable people watching and endless selection of food to eat while working.  Which I did almost every Sunday morning (and some Saturdays) for two years.  I only recently started doing occasional grocery shopping there, preferring instead to treat it as a dining-out location.  The price tag for breakfast or dinner certainly matched any restaurant around. 


The cost of living

First of all, Texas has no state income tax.  'Nuf said.  Second of all, it's possible to get out of a fairly nice restaurant with alcohol and dessert for less than $60.  Not kidding.  Third of all, I paid $735/month during my first year for a two-bedroom apartment.  Seriously.  Fourth of all, gas is currently $3.38/gallon.  Yup.  Lastly, my car insurance is under $1,000/year.  Sigh.  I love that California is my home, and I truly cannot wait to move back.  I still wish it were a little more affordable.

The weather

I've been cleaning out my closets after two years in Austin (and two years before that in Abu Dhabi) and I don't think I've quite come to terms with how inadequately I'm wardrobed for a return to the Bay Area.  Fortunately, this year I've been given or have acquired enough wool/outerwear to keep me going until I can re-acclimate (plus, the gorgeous, unseasonably warm winter/spring has me hopeful). I am relieved to be living in the East Bay, where the sun shines warmer and with more frequency.  But as I listen to the Austin weather report every morning on my way to work, it has slowly dawned on me that Austin's low this time of year (@ 75 F) would be a heatwave where I'm heading.

Buddha's Brew cranberry kombucha, Texas barbecue and breakfast tacos

The cuisine of Texas is as distinct as the state itself.  While I've enjoyed my share of Tex-Mex, I've actually spent more time longing for a real California burrito (virtually non-existent here) than digging into enchiladas, tamales or bowl of queso (which means cheese in Spanish, but melted cheese product here).  The Austin foods I will miss most are not replicable anywhere else in the world.  I haven't even left yet, but the cravings have already begun.

Buddha's Brew is a local brand and their cranberry flavor will forever be synonymous with kombucha.  (For those of you who don't know, kombucha is wonderful slightly fermented, though non-alcoholic, yeast-based pro-biotic drink that, I promise, is a lot more appetizing than it sounds.)  Cranberry is the best flavor by far, and I would import it to the Bay Area if I could.  Instead, I'll make it my mission to find a California equivalent.

I'm not the first, nor will I be the last to extol the virtues of smokey, saucy Texas barbecue, so different than its cousins farther and deeper South.  From brisket to ribs to the accompanying stacks of squishy white bread and pickles, Texas barbecue is hard to describe but impossible to forget.  Shout out to both Franklin's and The Salt Lick.  If you are ever in Austin, don't miss either spot.

Before I moved to Austin, a friend sent me a New York Times article about the breakfast taco phenomenon.  Allow me to say, this town has lived up to the hype, so much so that I can hardly conceive of a breakfast now that does not involve a tortilla.  Breakfast tacos are available everywhere here, from the whole-wheat-and-avocado veggie variety to the mound of potatoes, bacon and eggs as big as your head at local restaurant favorite Juan in a Million.  Add a little salsa, and you're set for the day.

As excited I am to be heading home, I will never regret the two years I spent in Texas, and I don't plan to make a secret of the fact to anyone in the Golden State who'd like to throw down with me about it.  Apparently, it's taken living in one of the most conservative states in the union to make me more open-minded--just another example of the paradox Texas offers, whether it means to or not.  I'm definitely looking forward to returning for a visit.  After all, I never did see it...