Journey to the Center for Lost Objects
Stargazing and your next Fascination Excursion
I’m worried about, well, everyone.
Maybe worried isn’t the right word; concerned, uneasy, apprehensive, I don’t know. Something like that. There’s too much “internal” stuff goin’ on and not enough “external.”
Which you might find more than a bit ironic coming from some guy writing a Substack on the internet.
But I guess you gotta go where the river flows. And I can point you to an exit door nearby that you can pass through. That leads to said river.
The first step is to get curious. This is the countdown to Stargazing, always.
Then, get up and go. Just—go. Like, outside outside.
No expectations.
Uh, well … lemme walk that back a bit: One expectation—that you stay open and attentive. If you keep notes, jot ’em down. Cameras? Hell yeah, take pictures! Thoughts? Fold those in.
This is a Fascination Excursion and you’re the pilot.
Go even if you’re feeling out-of-sorts or lonely or wayward or like I was—even cranky! You don’t need to wait for a companion. Just get outside of yourself.
Like I did last Saturday.
Except, in all fairness to what happened, I did have a companion. After having lunch with an old friend, we stopped at the Center for Lost Objects in St. Paul before grabbing an afternoon coffee across the way.
It was a delightful, absorbing half hour. Which led me to some takeaway thoughts.
Expect Synchronicity
Even before we’d walked through the door, I had the odd feeling that something in this space was waiting for me.
No more than two minutes inside, there it was.
I may have even gasped a bit.
After thinking so much about Lennon in the last Stargazing post a couple weeks ago, it made sense he would be there right in front of me.
That, my friends, is one heapin’ helpin’ of synchronicity.
And almost spooky, too, as if the universe were speaking in a language I barely understood. When I saw the paper, I recognized its connection to my recent post, but also how I felt the night I learned Lennon had been murdered, which I wrote about on my blog Completely in the Dark.
It’s a ghostly presence in a strange, unfamiliar place that brings the synchronicity full circle. But what does it mean?
Maybe nothing. At least, maybe nothing just now. Later it could be another story, or an ancillary Stargazing subject, or something on another Fascination Excursion. I just need to note it and move on. I’d recommend you do the same the next time you’re on a Fascination Excursion.
And while synchronicity is one thing to be attentive to, there’s no guessing what will come at you next, which means anticipating surprises is yet another delightful feature of going on these excursions. Therefore…
Surrender to Surprise
Because there was this—
Three harp-shaped, wire-backed chairs, a butcher block table, a dressing mirror (I love the blobby reflection in it!) atop a stand in a tiny, blue-wallpapered dollhouse room.
What could this mean?
Because I found it surprising, I took the photo and figured I’d think about its import later. And I’ve still come to no particular conclusion about what surprised me other than: “Small rooms I have known, loved, or hated.” Now that’s something I can wrap my head around, possibly fodder for a future dive into past living situations where I felt cramped, unhappy, or even caged—maybe on the other hand content, inspired, and expansive. The idea blooms even as I write this (a sense I hope you’ll cultivate on your own excursions). I’ve written about it many times on Completely in the Dark (CITD), especially since our family moved a lot and I did the same after I left home in the late 1980s and throughout the 1990s. Home—and finding home—is I believe a deep-seated concern for everybody.
Again, something to stuff in the back pocket for future reference.
All because I’m Stargazing on a Fascination Excursion.
Attention First, Curiosity Later
Which brings up a subtopic I’ve been meaning to underscore when it was first mentioned in the Stargazing primer: By looking outward (that is, being physically in an unfamiliar, new place—and why travel is probably such a rewarding experience) you’re really looking inward. As a child, when I gazed at the stars through our neighbor Tom Harrison’s backyard telescope, I was also looking inward.
The stars had my attention. But later they captured my curiosity. And thank God I’ve never let go.
This is important given the times we’re currently living through: the incurious are often found on social media sites shaming the curious. Being curious requires nonjudgment, some wide space, and a good chunk of time—free of shame and alienation. That’s one of the core reasons I decided to go forward with this Substack: to help others defend against unbridled incuriosity.
Keep Feeling Fascination
A last thought about the visit to the Center for Lost Objects—what would a Center for Found Objects look like?
Probably there’s not much difference in something lost and something found, in that they can change positions at a moment’s notice. In my own life, I’ve felt alone and abandoned one week, only to be followed by a month as a social butterfly—and suddenly it’s all too much. Things will change. As they must.
Too many people have experienced what seems like wave upon wave of despair over the pandemic, with racial injustice and civil rights abuses, political upheaval and dissension. It’s affected families, friendships, businesses, marriages and, sadly, children’s mental health.
But getting out of one’s head and into the streets, feet on the ground, eyes and ears open and attentive—just might be the ticket. I can’t say it enough: Keep feeling fascination. It will save your sanity, at least in the short term.
Plus, it occurred to me days after visiting the Center that there may be a potential business angle partnering with the Center’s artists’ work and this Substack site. As I hope to expand subscriber membership and move toward paid subscriptions later this year, their cards, gifts, and inspiration might make for valuable subscriber benefits.
Who knows?
I’ll wrap up by just saying, with a friend or without, a Fascination Excursion is one way to directly experience what I call Stargazing.
And even when I was with my friend last Saturday, he was off absorbing the space in his own way. We kept to our own reactions and didn’t hover or interact during the visit—by that I mean, just imagine if you went somewhere and all you thought about was how you didn’t belong there. I recall feeling that when I was younger (it seems prevalent among youth)—but that’s just more “internal” and not enough “external.” Now that I’m older, it’s less of an issue.
Which brings this full circle: Just go where the river flows.
Sit beside it for a while.
Be attentive. Stay curious.
And thanks for coming along for the ride.
Ooo I want to go to this place. “Keep feeling fascination” - amen brother!