Lately, I’ve been staring at the universe the way some people stare into the fridge at midnight. I’ve been hoping something magnificent will reveal itself and explain my life choices. And honestly? The universe has been delivering. Big time. The other day I was obsessed with tryptophan from outer space. 

Today, here’s my latest cosmic crush. Martian lightning. Yes, it’s a thing apparently. Go figure. Or at least NASA’s Perseverance rover thinks so, and frankly, I trust that little robot more than half the humans I know.

Supposedly, scientists have been eavesdropping on the wind on Mars, and what do they hear? Rice. Crackles. Pops.  Crackles. OK. That’s just my cereal. They did hear crackles and sparks.  Apparently, they were bits of “mini-lightning,” 55 tiny electric tantrums recorded over two Martian years.

Fifty-five! Sure, that sounds like hardly anything, but compared to how many brilliant ideas I have heard others have over a two-year period? It’s a lot. Yes, I woke up snarky.

Most of the sparks showed up during dust storms and dust devils. Because even Mars saves its drama for windy days. A planet after my own heart. So, think about that when Elon offers you a ticket to Mars.

But, besides that digression, I do love this for us. Earth is drowning in push notifications and holiday angst. Meanwhile, Mars is  throwing mini lightning parties in sand tornadoes.

If that’s not aspirational, I don’t know what is.

But here’s the question my overcaffeinated mind (I had a cup of coffee and a red bull) immediately went to. Can we capture Martian lightning in a bottle?

For ambiance.
For mood lighting.
For science.
For the inevitable “Martian Lightning Latte” that Starbucks will release once they figure out how to monetize interplanetary weather. That is if Starbucks is still around.

But maybe the real reason I’m obsessed with these cosmic tidbits is that looking outward feels easier than looking inward these days. Earthly drama is exhausting. Holiday drama is a sport. And don’t even get me started on turkey-induced introspection.

Mars, on the other hand, doesn’t ask for much. It just spins quietly, throws a little lightning when it’s feeling dusty, and minds its own business 140 million miles away.

Maybe that’s a lesson. When life gets messy, zoom out. Way out.
Past your inbox, past your street, past the neighbor who decorates too early, all the way to a red planet throwing its own tiny tantrums.

If Mars can spark joy with mini lightning during a dust storm, maybe we can spark a little joy in our own chaos, too.

And if someone does figure out how to bottle Martian lightning?
I’m buying two. One for science.
One for mood.