Why Stargazer, Splashdown & Escape Pod?

There’s a story behind the names of my little Space Age fleet.

I name my cars. I always have.

So when Trailorboat #132 came into my life, there was absolutely no chance I was going to spend the rest of my life calling her “the trailer.”

But this time I wanted the name to become part of something bigger. I’m not restoring #132 just to park her somewhere and admire her when she’s finished. I want to camp with her, take her to car shows, pull her into music festivals, put her boat back in the water and share those adventures as they happen.

Somewhere in all of that, one name became three.

The camper became Stargazer: Ad Astra- to the stars. Her boat became Splashdown: Ad Aquam- to the water-. And the Ford Escape pulling them both became Escape Pod: Exitus- The escape/departure.

Together, I started calling them The Stargazer Fleet, honoring the cosmic cycle of exploration and discovery. With everything in my life right now, the names evoke cosmic actions and the phases of an interplanetary journey. And in a way, an intrapersonal journey for myself.

Yes, it's branding. And yes, I think it's fun as hell. But the names actually carry more of my story than anyone would expect.

I’ve always looked up. When I was a little kid, my parents would call my grandparents. And I would drag the phone cord to the window- and ask my grandmother if she could see the moon, because I was looking at the moon too. Somehow I knew that regardless of where we are- we can all connect with one another by looking up.

Later, when Halley’s Comet returned on its once every 76 year journey, I remember my parents taking me outside and standing on our stoop- looking up. They kept pointing toward the sky saying in spanish, “Mira, ayi esta,” (“Look, there it is,”), all while I kept staring up thinking, Where?

I was waiting for this enormous comet to come streaking across the sky. I didn't understand that something could be traveling through space at an incredible speed and still appear almost motionless because it was so unimaginably far away.

Maybe I saw it. Maybe I was staring directly at Halley’s Comet and simply didn't understand what I was looking at.

But I remember my parents telling me they wouldn’t be alive the next time it came back. That stuck with me. So I made myself a promise: I was going to live long enough to see Halley’s Comet come back. I will live until at least July 28, 2061.

Somehow, all these years later, I still intend to keep it. And in that moment—with my parents long gone—I’ll be a kid again. And I know they’ll be there with me.

These last few years, I’ve also lost a lot. My home. My job. My sense of self and safety. I lost Cookie, my dog at age 14. And I lost a lot of people I loved, including friends.

And every time I think of them and miss them, I go outside and stargaze. I look for the moon and the stars, and I wait. Patiently. I wait for a falling star.

And when I see one, I make a wish—not for myself, but for them.

I wish them happiness. I wish them love. I wish them the best in whatever comes next.

The same things I still wish for myself.

“When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
— William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved this passage from Romeo and Juliet. There’s something about the idea of returning to the stars—and finding so much beauty in the darkness that the whole world could fall in love with night—that has always stayed with me.

-Oxean,
Sept., 10, 2026