A 12-hour miserable drive, a fake-ish wedding and the peace that totality gave me

My body has been roiling in anxiety since the moment I crossed the Georgia state line into my home state of Alabama on my eclipse-chasing journey.

I had to break up the 12-hour drive from Savannah to Arkansas, where I would stay with a group of friends to see the rare phenomenon. I stuffed myself into a small car with three other people and all of our luggage and we drove a miserable six hours from Birmingham to Little Rock.

Originally, I wasn’t going to travel for the eclipse. From my small hometown in Alabama, I didn’t get a chance to see the eclipse in 2017, and the logistics of planning a trip for the 2024 total solar eclipse seemed like a nightmare on short notice.

But then, thanks to the nudging of an editor, my seedling of interest turned into a rough outline of a roadtrip.

When is the next eclipse? Savannah will only see a partial eclipse on April 8, but totality is in the city's future

I woke up the morning of the eclipse, crammed between two of my friends on an air mattress and wondering how I was going to write about my experience.

I had seen one of my friends from high school post on social media, warning everyone to keep their kids inside on April 8 and pondering on if it was going to be the end of time. Another friend, who’s a pastor now, ensured people that it was a “normal total eclipse” and not significant to the end times.

I thought about how, since the pandemic started, it seems like everything has gotten progressively more uncontrollable, both globally and for myself personally.

Anxiety has taken residence in my body in a way it hasn’t before, and so many things seem to get worse and worse. I’m worried about myself. And my friends. And how our mental health is decaying and there doesn’t seem to be a lick of collective healing in sight. I scrolled briefly through a New York Times article, which spoke to the collective experience of the eclipse and how for one brief moment we would all be unified in seeing something greater than ourselves.

An impending collective experience is what I chose to focus on as we readied for the day.

We trekked almost 20 minutes to an empty field, where the grass was tall and the sun was high and burning in the sky. We met my college best friends new friends.

Meeting a friend's new friends is a strange experience, serving as a reminder of how different everything was just a year ago when we graduated. I’m in a new city, with two whole states between us, and I don’t know this Little Rock version of her — or these new friends.

The early phases of the eclipse slowly darkened the sky and the air grew colder. I was grateful for the reprieve to fellowship with my dear friends. I was given a bracelet from one of them that said “goodbye sun.”

The world seems to move so fast all the time, and here I was, having a slow moment to reflect upon new and old experiences with the people I loved.

And speaking of love. Two of my best friends’ friends decided to get married during the eclipse.

One moment we were laughing and watching as the sliver of sun got thinner and thinner and the sky grew darker, and the next, Nik and Tommy stepped out of their car donned and black and white, showing us the marriage certificate, they paid $60 for last Friday. It was a delightful bit, complete with a quick ceremony— amid a cultural and scientific marvel —that will end in a planned annulment sometime in May (or so they say).

As totality began, my heart swooped into my stomach.

My anxieties fell away for a moment as I recognized that there was something bigger than myself, something bigger than all of my problems — and certainly bigger than a sham wedding of two people who had been dating for a month (and would soon get matching tattoos to commemorate it).

Worries about my job, my future, my love life and an obsession with women’s college basketball seemed so much smaller compared to an event so rare and cosmic.

The moon was covering the sun completely. I can do anything I’d ever wanted to do.

The moon slowly crept over the sun, lightening the sky bit by bit. Other friends not with me started texting me, the realities of the world — anxieties, fears, deadlines — slowly starting to creep back in.

As I prepare to make the 12-hour voyage back to Savannah, I’m trying to hold on to the feeling of peace and comfort.

If a moon can entirely cover the sun, which is 400 times the size of the moon, and a couple can get married for a comedic bit, the awe and joy of life can help us through another day.

Destini Ambus is the general assignment reporter for Chatham County municipalities for the Savannah Morning News. You can reach her at dambus@gannett.com

This article originally appeared on Savannah Morning News: Solar eclipse 2024: How totality brought me peace in times of worry