I’m writing from a little side table in the hotel bar. We’ve just spent six nights in Toruń, Poland, the proud birthplace of Nicholas Copernicus. For those of us who don’t recall elementary school because we effectively compartmentalized childhood—let me provide a little refresher.
The cool thing about Copernicus is he completely altered our view of the universe and our place within it. Before Copernicus published his Heliocentric Model, it was widely accepted that Earth was the center of the universe. The stars danced about our singularly wondrous planet for our pleasure, each sunset was a cosmic watercolor designed to delight. How lovely, how easy, how biblically aligned. But when a young medical student named Copernicus stared into the sky, he saw movements of light that contradicted these notions. In the 1500s, doctors studied astrology alongside anatomy and herbal remedies. With a trained eye, Copernicus observed a lunar eclipse, traced planets traveling backwards across the pitch black and even charted Alberdan, a star in the Taurus constellation, as the moon concealed its light.
Imagine Copernicus, a twenty-something with a bright stately future, watching an impossible blip occur in the celestial tapestry. Oh shit. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. Copernicus reels, deep sinking feeling, dry throat, sweaty palms. The world agreed upon a certain universal order, the church accepted our central position. It totally checked out with the whole God thing. If Copernicus discovered something different, he'd tear up the entire concept of our mortal existence. Paradigm shifts are not always welcome: especially when they challenge a balance of power. So, Copernicus tucked his Heliocentric Theory under the mattress. He shared the idea with a few good mates, but kept the bulk of his research stowed away.
Now we might label Copernicus in his Self-Doubt Era. His Imposter Syndrome Era. His Med-Student-Shy-Boy-Keep-Your-Best-Ideas-To-Yourself-Era.
Or maybe he was just going through a phase, remember phases? I miss when we got to say, it’s just a phase, while sliding black tinted sunglasses to cover our vulnerable eyes.
Somewhere along the way, Phases got a bad rep. You wouldn’t call the best relationship of your life My Secure Attachment Phase. That would read as insulting. But you could easily deem the years of pining for emotionally unavailable lead singers a phase. My Fuckboy Phase. My Unrequited Love Phase. And it feels good to dismiss that period, shirking its unsightly dust from your now proud shoulders. Phases have a passive nature—other people could drop them onto your head and suddenly everything you do exists within the confines of said phase. Rebellious Phase. Experimental Phase. Shoplifting Phase. Suddenly you’re the main character in an after school special. It’s condescending and weird. Nobody likes to be Phase-ified.
Still, there’s something about Phases that I miss. They’re kind of grunge, they allow for the shadow. Phases come and go, they change us, or they don’t. A Phase doesn’t care about what’s linear. They’re a slow crash tide, embracing all around. Phases draw across our face with the precision of a sundial, one day we wear black eyeliner, the next, a gold shimmer haze. Someone might ask you why and you can’t say. Phases pay their taxes to the realm of mystery.
Perhaps there’s a place for Phases alongside the wildly popular Era. We’re knee deep in the Era of Eras, everyone’s in several. We backed into Eras collectively. They’re perfect for the self-mythology generation. The concept of Eras supports those who are narratively inclined. Eras stand up and parade through the crowd, their faces are well contoured and perfectly blended. Eras know they are absurd, but so is life, and what do you want? If you can label your Eras, you can look back on your Eras. This practice makes for a much better story. Eras are maximalists, Eras are flexible, Eras are self-aware. Every day can offer a new Era. They gleefully subvert typical timelines, managing a way to author our own fate.
My Poland time was decidedly a Phase, not really something I’d like to deem an Era. I was there because Boyfriend had a movie and a music video in this film festival that he’s always dreamed of getting invited to. The festival focuses on cinematography and because Boyfriend is a cinematographer, this meant a great deal to him. I wanted to support him and also, when else would I get a chance to see Poland?
I started out strong, enjoying the intimidating medieval brick towers and the way my skin flushes in the cold. But the days bore down. The early sunsets flipped a switch—suddenly my circadian rhythm launched an internal revolt. The sun hid behind a tangle of clouds, forming a dense freezing fog. My stomach expected a big meal at 4:00pm, responding to the absolute ink black sky. But dinners and parties didn’t start until 10:00pm or later. I hit the town a couple of times, drinking cocktails in cyber themed bars and ornate halls. I quickly learned jet lag and menstrual symptoms make the strongest cocktail of all. Unable to bounce back from partying, I let Boyfriend go on his merry way and tucked myself into bed. I watched How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days, Murder Mystery 1 and 2. I laughed with Kate Hudson and Adam Sandler. Sleep evaded me. Night and day, fatigue slumped on my chest.
It was puzzling. I began to wonder if there was some sort of curse at work like maybe my Irish forefathers were embroiled in a feud with a powerful Polish family….what if a witch was consulted, or some series of stones, and generations later, I’m suffering the consequences?!???
My dad shut down this theory when I presented it over FaceTime on my fifth night in Poland. He said something about my California sensibilities, that my lifetime of sunny skies spoiled my chances of thriving in a real winter climate. His exact words were yeah you just can’t handle it. Then he flipped the camera onto my dog Joey, as if to soften the blow. I’d like to think there’s more at play than a weak tolerance for weather. It bodes well to craft a narrative of familial curses and me, the innocent (but totally hardy and strong in constitution) traveller, caught in the middle.
Too exhausted to continue hypothesizing, I decided I was going through a Phase. It sounded better than My Era of Seasonal Depression and Dissociative Showers. I remembered my stay in Poland was finite. I fixed my gaze on the golden brown leaves outside my hotel window. For both of us, it was just a matter of time.
Trees don’t craft eras, phases, stories. Yet they still trace an outline of their existence. We can find their map within, rings that look a lot like the Heliocentric universe. A tree knows how to hide its secrets, as does the cosmos.
Sure it’s fun to downplay narrative by calling it a coping mechanism. But in many ways, Nature instructs us to chart our time here. Each organism does so uniquely, with its most powerful tool. Trees have rings, we root into story, string together words that may or may not live on through the generations.
If left to his own devices, Copernicus would’ve taken the Heliocentric Theory to his grave. Those good mates he told? They convinced him to turn over his work so it could finally go to press. Friends don’t let friends hide their best ideas.
Consciously or unconsciously, Copernicus was centering himself and his fear of backlash, rather than prioritizing the great matter of universal knowledge. There’s something comforting about the ironic narcissism of the very man who proved Earth is not the universe’s focal point. In the Era of Eras, it’s easy to believe the current generation is uniquely self-centered, obsessed with aggrandizing their own little story. But if Copernicus teaches us anything, it’s that we have always been this way. It’s in our nature to wrap the cloak of humanity about our shoulders. If Nicholas Copernicus was alive today, he’d probably be an alien conspiracy theorist on TikTok with weirdly valid points.
As far as storylines go, Copernicus enjoys a Hollywood ending. He fell ill shortly after letting his work go to press, quickly catapulting towards death. Legend has it, the printing timed out perfectly. A copy was delivered to a bedridden Copernicus, who woke from a coma to behold his book before dying peacefully.
His words ricocheted through the world as his body was lowered into the ground. No need to feel sorry for old Copernicus, this is just how he wanted it. To publish a groundbreaking theory and promptly die was the 16th century version of a mic drop.
Centuries later, we are still looking for ways to drape a curtain over the amiable chaos. Some call it Heliocentric, some call it an Era. Trace the path of one planet, open the swirl for a series of stars. We arch towards our shared destination, truncate the year with little stories. The Earthlings realign their perspective position, the trees continue to grow their rings, the stars dance not just for us, but perhaps for the sake of dancing.