What If I see The Starry Night And Felt Nothing?

When I imagine myself standing in front of The Starry Night by Van Gogh, I always assume I’d cry. I’d stare at the painting, and it would somehow stare back at me. All the emotions I’d unknowingly kept hidden would finally pour out. The Starry Night is, after all, a painting that has inspired millions.

I’ve never seen The Starry Night in person, but I think I’ve already ruined it for myself. I’ve convinced myself that if I don’t experience some kind of spiritual awakening in front of it, then I’ve somehow failed both Van Gogh and myself. I think I do this with almost everything. Trips, concerts, meeting people, birthdays, and especially New Year’s. I spend so much time imagining these moments. And once I’m actually there, I don’t know what to do with myself.

Somewhere along the way, I think I convinced myself that meaningful experiences are supposed to look a certain way: goosebumps, tears, perfectly timed background music, and one dramatic inhale. I fear one day I’d stand in front of The Starry Night and think, Oh… it’s smaller than I imagined. Then I’d look at everyone around me to see if they’re having a better emotional experience than I am. It is ridiculous. It’s like trying to enjoy a sunset while checking whether you’re enjoying the sunset correctly.

I once read that our brains are surprisingly good at imagining rewards and surprisingly bad at receiving them. That probably explains online shopping. And crushes.

But anticipation is real. Maybe it’s just doing a different job. Maybe its purpose is simply to get us there. After that, we’re on our own.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder if the moments that change us aren’t obvious at all. Perhaps we’re busy looking for fireworks that we don’t see what’s really happening.

Maybe, when I finally see The Starry Night, I’ll stay a little longer. Maybe I’d notice the silence, someone coughing in the corner, or a little kid walking straight past The Starry Night painting without a second glance. Its incredible how childrens ignore what everyone else has agreed is important, while adults spend half their lives wondering if they’re reacting correctly. I guess that’s the reason why I keep waiting for life-changing revelations, when they’re often built from small moments that seem ordinary at first.

I’m not really afraid of feeling nothing, I’m afraid that I’ll miss what was actually there because I was too busy comparing it to the version I’d already lived a hundred times inside my head. If that happens, I hope I remember to stay a little longer or just look again. Not harder.