Eclipse of Perspective: The Partial Darkness of Growth
Entry No. 00
Dear Faithful Companion,
From the tall windows of my office at CFB Borden, I stood with my team as a peculiar dimming overtook the day. The clouded sky offered no perfect view, yet still we watched as the great clockwork of the heavens unfolded — a partial solar eclipse casting a slow‑moving veil over our familiar sunlight. It was not the grandeur of total darkness, but the experience was no less profound. Throughout the day, a quiet buzz filled the office as we kept watch on news feeds, observing how other parts of Canada and the wider world experienced the same celestial spectacle in their own way.
Jesse, many kilometres away in Niagara for the day, witnessed a clearer and deeper dimming. Across the quiet medium of text, we compared our views — two gentlemen, in two separate places, united in observing the same cosmic event. His sky had a sharper edge of shadow; mine, a more muted shade. Yet both were bound in the same truth: for a brief moment, the light we so easily take for granted was curtailed by a smaller, humbler body.
It is an oddity of our age that such events remain rare. In my lifetime, I have borne witness to only a handful of eclipses, and yet each feels singular. They remind us that we live our days largely unaware of our place in the vastness of creation until something extraordinary shifts our perspective. The sun, so mighty in its power, can be dimmed by a lesser body passing in perfect alignment — a lesson as old as human history, taught by emperors and sages alike: never underestimate the quiet, precise influence of the seemingly small. Ancient astronomers once saw such moments as omens, messages written upon the sky. Today, we understand them with the language of science, yet the reverence remains unchanged.
As the day’s partial darkness ebbed and light resumed its reign, I could not help but draw the parallel to life’s own eclipses. In the course of any gentleman’s journey, there are seasons when the brilliance of our path is obscured — not extinguished, but dimmed by circumstance, challenge, or delay. So it is in life: a gentleman knows that a passing shadow does not define the day, just as a fleeting setback does not define the man. Our task in such moments is not to rail against the temporary shadow, but to stand with quiet dignity, trusting that the arc of motion will restore what is momentarily lost. Poise in obscurity is the true measure of resilience.
And so, the eclipse passed. The team and I returned to our duties. The sunlight felt subtly warmer, the air a touch crisper, as though the day itself was aware of its brief interlude. My hope is that I may stand witness to many more of these celestial visitations in the years ahead — to look upward, to mark the passage of time not only by clocks and calendars, but by the grand movements of the spheres. And perhaps, years from now, I shall stand in another place, under another sky, and watch the light dim once more. And in that moment, I will remember this day — and know that I am again exactly where I am meant to be.
Verbum Ultimum
Such moments teach the gentleman that wisdom is gathered not only in the bright blaze of day, but also in the tempered grace of shadow. The eclipse reminds us that patience is not idle waiting, but the quiet discipline of standing steadfast when clarity is obscured — holding fast to the truth that light is never lost, only making its way home to us.
Editor’s Note: Since 1982, I have borne witness to four solar eclipses gracing Canadian skies: the partial eclipse of August 2017, the annular ring of June 2021, the total darkness of April 2024, and now this partial veiling of March 2025. Each has been a fleeting intersection of celestial bodies, yet each has left its own quiet mark upon the soul.
Yours, under both shadow and sun.
JCB
