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Orbiter
“I'm an astronaut, you're the Moon”
I've been listening to Noah Kahan's Orbiter, and what strikes me isn't just the melody, but the longing underneath it. It's the question many of us carry: Who am I when all the noise falls away?
The song feels like a wrestling match between who the world says we should be and who we really are.
I understand that struggle.
I've spent much of my life building careers, chasing goals, leading teams, solving problems, and trying to become something. Somewhere along the way, it's easy to start measuring yourself through the eyes of others. What do they think? Am I successful enough? Smart enough? Important enough? Have I done enough?
But lately, I've been asking a different question:
What if I stopped trying to be somebody and simply remembered who I already am?
When I think of myself, I don't see titles or accomplishments.
I see a kid from Tortilla Flats in Barstow, California. Dirt roads. Desert winds. A family that taught me faith, hard work, and love. I see parents who loved me long before I earned anything. I see a God who knew me before I knew myself.
And I see Toni.
My high school sweetheart.
Forty years later, she's still here.
What a gift it is to be fully known by someone and still loved. She has seen the victories and failures, the confidence and insecurity, the moments when I had life figured out and the moments when I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag.
I have nothing to prove to her.
Nothing.
She already knows who I am.
Maybe that's why I relate so much to the imagery of orbiting.
Sometimes I feel like an astronaut floating farther than I intended, circling around ambitions, fears, opinions, and expectations. Looking down at the life God has given me while somehow forgetting that it's already enough.
The farther I drift from God, the more complicated life becomes.
The closer I draw to Him, the simpler it gets.
Just John.
A child of God.
A husband.
A father.
A friend.
A recovering alcoholic.
A flawed man loved by a perfect Savior.
That's enough.
Maybe the world doesn't need another version of who we think we're supposed to be. Maybe what God wants is the person He created before the comparisons started.
The one beneath the performance.
The one beneath the fear.
The one beneath the self-doubt.
The real you.
The way home isn't becoming someone else.
It's remembering who you've been all along.
Scripture
"See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are."
— 1 John 3:1
Prayer
Father,
When I find myself orbiting around the opinions of others, bring me back home. Remind me that my identity is not found in achievement, approval, or status, but in being Your child. Thank You for loving me before I accomplished anything and for loving me still despite my faults. Help me stop striving to be somebody and rest in who You created me to be.
Amen.
