The sky is grey for the second day in a row. It feels like I alone have manifested this because I publicly declared that Fall in LA was the first instance of fake news. Perhaps I am a superhero and THIS is my power that has been slumbering for so, so long.
My tagline would be something like:
“Influence a change in weather by first ridiculing it on a social media platform!”
Yesterday I bought a mini pumpkin. It’s not yet October and I DID THIS. Secret’s out, I love cooler weather and often feel more clear headed on a foggy day. This is the tragedy of living in Los Angeles. We have so little variation in weather. The population of LA is forced to dramatize the smallest fluctuations of temperature and sun presence, making a fool of ourselves to the rest of the world. It’s 66 degrees and you BET I’m wearing a jacket to lunch.
I know the current temp because I check the weather app daily. Those who know me well (and now everyone reading this) can confidently say it is my favorite app. Gazing at it is akin to a meditative practice. Yes, in theory it can shed light on the future but forecasts are subject to change. More than once I’ve checked the app in the middle of rainfall and the app has nothing to say about it.
The inaccuracy of its predictions are poetry in motion.
In some way, I hope it’s training my mind to be less attached to the outcome.
Less invested in the known. More comfortable with surprises.
I know that people move to Los Angeles specifically for the weather, but spending a lifetime in these conditions can be a really disorienting experience. Without obvious seasons to anchor memory, finding specific parts of my past feels like sifting through a sunny soup. Instead of placing events within Winter, Summer, Fall, Spring (that’s right, right?) everything floats above an endless plain of bright pavement, washed out by the hot sun.
We usually get an impressive heat wave that arrives in September and can last all the way to late November. Hot winds that people like to call Santa Anas rake across the southern part of California, pulling desert heat into every town. No matter how many times I feel the Santa Anas sweep through my hair late at night, the sensation is always electric: equal parts magical and eerie.
If you’re lucky enough to live on the westside, you experience the marine layer. This is a grey blanket that lies flat across the city until 1:30 in the afternoon. Having grown up under this hazy phenomenon, I find it comforting. The moisture in the air is something I took for granted. Now when I visit my parents in Santa Monica, I step out of the car and immediately become overwhelmed with the oceanic proximity, declaring on more than one occasion: MY GOD, YOU CAN SMELL THE SALT AIR.
I think it’s embarrassing for my father.
What I’m trying to say is seasons are more suggested here. There is more search for meaning because of it. No snowfall will come and show us the holiday spirit. Summer is just an extension of the rest of the time it didn’t rain.
So why even check the weather app? I suppose it’s sort of an inside joke between me and the meteorological fates. The restless mind, aching for concrete answers can sometimes be satisfied with forecasted temperature. When I look at the app, I really take time to meditate on what having 4 consecutive days of 88 degree weather will be like.
If I can’t know when my freelancing check will hit, at least I can be comforted by the fact that the weather is in my pocket. I can check it whenever I’d like.
Behind the weather app is a network of satellites that orbit our planet. Information is drawn from three different types of flying space metal: one of them floats 500 feet above ground, traveling the planet from pole to pole to survey its entire surface two times each day. The pictures from the lengthy journey are developed into weeklong forecasts, measurements of sea levels and upcoming weather patterns.
Another type of satellite runs alongside a single point on the Earth as it rotates, keeping 22,000 feet of distance. These dedicated observers help predict the path of large storms, sending vital information down to Earth that influences the lives of millions.
And last but not least, the deepest space satellites look at the big picture. They track the amount of solar energy absorbed by our planet, along with aerosol and ozone levels. These clues arrive from a million miles away. Despite the distance, they determine air quality across the globe.
Our world of technology is constantly trying to connect us with dopamine responses, algorithms and live streaming straight from the couch. Somehow there’s still something lacking, we are left hungry for more.
True connection has the ability to light a candle in the spirit that sustains.
These deep bonds are formed beyond words. It is far too easy to feel mishandled by language, whether it is because you are at a loss for words or someone can’t fully listen to the ones you’ve chosen. Words ask the spirit to fit into rigid vessels, a concept antithetical to its infinite being.
When we check the weather app, it’s a wordless interaction. Symbols and numbers tap into the early days of human communication, when we gave and received without overly explaining WHY. More had to be felt then.
The weather app doesn’t boast about the celestial fanfare that occurs every single day to obtain a forecast. Its simple design offers no mention of the effort that goes into the whole deal. There’s no number counter in the corner, tracking the current app users. But the dance of satellites goes on, connecting us all with their distanced gaze. Rather than influencing the outcomes like the deities of Grecian lore, they bear witness without reacting to what they see.
My time on the weather app is just another form of worship. A ritualistic check in with the forces of nature, as told through an observer’s eye in the sky. It’s not a perfect oracle but I think that’s the point.
That’s all for today.
Don’t forget to send in your Moment for Now
——> momentsfornow@gmail.com
xx
James
Have the desire to support me and this newsletter? Click below.