Reflecting What Shines Through

Photo Credit: Ta Hai, Scopio

A telescope’s sensitivity, or how much detail it can see, is directly related to the size of the mirror area that collects light from the objects being observed. Webb’s primary mirror is 6.5 meters (21 feet 4 inches) across; a mirror this large has never before been launched into space.
— NASA Goddard Space Center

I began this piece of writing looking out of a window of an airport lounge with clouds reflected in a red metal roof. It got me thinking about how you can look in many directions to see what you are looking at. At what you are trying to understand. In this case, I found myself looking down as a way to look up

Reflections require light and a still enough surface to reflect the image back. And reflecting inwards isn’t much different—it requires us to shine our attention on something and be still enough to discern what we see. Reflections require a certain stillness and slowness.

A few weeks ago I came across a video online of a man dancing in front of what was supposed to be a mirror, or the outline of a mirror, except instead of an exact reflection, the man was dancing and being ‘reflected’ by a young boy—ostensibly his younger self. It’s a beautiful piece of artistry—the dance and the idea made real though art—of dancing with a self that once was—both to see it, and appreciate—have it reflected so you might see something new—understand something new—or hold something old—perhaps something you didn’t like before-differently.

Reflections make you look at something differently. Take the universe for example.  The recent images from the Webb telescope have shown us brand new things about our universe and its expanse of space and time through the power of reflection. The Telescope has 3 huge mirrors making it possible to see faint stars and galaxies by picking up their light and reflections. The power of being able to see across time at a scale that had only been theorized before: being able to see galaxies that existed 290 million years after the big bang. The ability to hold what is there to see and what no longer exists at the same time.

All of these ways and ideas of reflection and dancing with a past self are figural for me this week as I return to visit a host family I lived with in high school and the family and friends who were part of that year. When you visit old friend and family, you also visit the ‘you’ that met them and knew them. It’s a chance to be in all years at once. It’s a chance to see the past dancing with the present—the “me” that was—and to begin to get still enough to really look and see what still remains—what, literally, shines through.

I can tell you with absolute certainty that what shines through is not my German grammar. But I can say that there is something that remains constant over these many years—even through growth, experience and much change: there is something that shines consistently—is it love? Is it hope? Today I think what stood out with reflection was appreciation: If reflection’s task is to shine some light on something to be seen, it feels fitting to shine the light back—to see what you couldn’t see then with your current perspective—much like those ancient galaxies. They have always been there—but we didn’t have the reflective capacity to see them.

Today I could see a sturdiness in my 17-year-old self that I couldn’t see then, or even really feel then. A sturdiness, an optimism, and a willingness to keep trying—regardless of whether I was good at it or understood it. I think I have always taken these traits for granted but reflecting today helped me see how long they have been part of my universe—how long they have been supporting me and how different my year, and my subsequent endeavors would have been without them.

Reflecting gives you time to catch up to yourself— the way we are all catching up to the universe. Reflecting gives you a chance to take it all in: the things you like and the things you don’t. The strengths you know you have and the ones you may have missed—and even the ones you may have ignored—taken for granted—because there wasn’t enough light at the time to see them.

© 2022 Gretchen L. Schmelzer, PhD