Truant - The Universe Doesnt Give a Flying Fuck About You

I've been watching this show lately with my 6-year-old son, Austin, who likes learning about space and planets and black holes and stuff. It's called How the Universe Works.

And man, the universe has one hell of a story to tell.

It all starts with, presumably, the Big Bang, wherein a single point in space barfs forth a hot, violent soup of particles and energy that take a few hundred million years just to cool down enough to begin coalescing into stars. You know... to "cool down" enough to become giant fucking balls of fire.

Stars ignite. Star clusters form, and become galaxies. Rocks in space start running into each other, and a few planets are created.

Eventually, the Earth is born. Hooray!

The Earth sits there for a few more billion years, until, after a lot of back and forth and general bureaucratic indecision, life shows up. Very, very recently, humanity, (which is perfect and unique if you ignore how random it all seems), makes its appearance. Hooray!

That lasts for a little while. Humans thrive. Invent the rotisserie. Build the internet. Watch porn.

After a bit, though (and this part of the story is still unwritten, but definitely coming) the sun sloughs off its outer layers, obliterating all of the inner planets as it dies. Then, as the fusion at the sun's core that keeps it inflated runs out of raw materials, it collapses into a white dwarf, and the solar system weeps as it loses yet another great player to retirement.

Hooray!

After this, it gets really fun. The astrophysicists who used to think the universe was going to re-contract into the "Big Crunch" now say that the universe's expansion is actually accelerating. Meaning: After enough time passes, the Earth's old position (Earth having been blown away aeons ago, of course) will be so distant from anything else that you'd be able to look up into the sky and see absolutely nothing at all.

Quite a story, right?

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
Deep, man.

I don't know about you, but looking up into the sky on a clear night is enough to give me existential chills.

You're not just looking up into a curtain of black. You're looking into the eye of the universe. Stare for a while and you start to realize -- on a deep, gut level -- that the moon is a giant rock circling us in space. The sun is a violent, fusion-fueled ball of plasma and gas millions of miles away that destroyed the atmospheres of all of the inner planets (including Mars, which is farther away from it than we are) and would do the same to ours if we weren't lucky enough to have a magnetic field that diverts the solar wind.

The cute little pinpricks of light you see out there are other giant, explosive, incredibly pissed-off balls of gas floating in an infinite void, most of which are far more impressive than our puny sun. And that smear of milky white through the sky? That's the center of our own galaxy -- a gigantic pinwheel circling a supermassive black hole like floating detritus around the vortex of a flushing toilet.

There's a lot of crazy shit going on out there.

And in fact, the Earth could bite the dust at any time.

Comets. Asteroids. Apparently, there's even a star nearby that may eventually go all black hole on us. When it does, it'll shoot a jet of X-Men style radiation out of its poles, perpendicular to its accretion disc, directly at us. (The good news is that we'd never see it coming. We'd just suddenly be reduced to our constituent atoms.)

Even avoiding all of that, though, just buys us time. The Earth is not permanent. The sun is not permanent. The oldest stars alive today are not permanent. It will all end.

And in the middle of this story (because we're the ones telling it), is us.

Here on our little blue planet. Here at this exact, tiny, special blink in time. Here, but only "here" in the way a beetle might be "there" on the sidewalk of Times Square during rush hour. Sure, the beetle can survive, but only for as long as it's not in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nobody's out to get that beetle... but nobody's watching where they're stepping, either.

The city was there long before the beetle, and it'll be there long after the beetle's inevitable demise.

The city, always neutral, honestly doesn't care one way or the other whether the beetle lives, dies, suffers, or thrives.

And you were worried that trying something new might make you look dumb or that your business might not make any money.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

***

THE UNIVERSE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU.

It can't. It's too big, with too much going on.

Maybe there's a grand conductor, and maybe there's not. I do happen to believe in God, or the Spirit of Life, or the Force for all I know, but regardless of belief or disbelief, one thing I know for certain is that no matter WHAT or WHO is out there, he or it doesn't "care" if you define "care" in terms of life and death. Nobody is special. Nobody gets a pass.

Everything dies. Everything . You were born with a terminal disease, just like everything else that has ever existed. You, your lamp, the sun, and the Bee Gees all have that in common.

This, like the universe's apathy, is neither good nor bad. It is simply a fact.

But this fact -- the immutable, inevitable, impossibly obvious fact we will die as surely as we were born -- is something we all deny for most of our lives. You'd think we're never going to die, the way we cower and second-guess and fret over each little action. We act like what we do today will forever alter the flow of creation, of time, of space. Every move is vital. Each little event could upset the delicate balance. Everything is of paramount importance.

We can't do things differently, because the system, however imperfect, works and is extremely delicate. We might upset it by thinking outside the box.

We have to weigh every decision, because a butterfly flapping its wings in Nova Scotia could cause a hurricane in Guam. Or, as Homer Simpson taught us, if you kill a mosquito in dinosaur times, Ned Flanders might become the unquestioned lord and master of the universe.

We can't do something that might make us look ridiculous, because first impressions last forever .

We can't try and fail, because then we'll be ruined forever .

Think a scar (or a tattoo, for that matter) is permanent? It's not. Your body was literally formed from stardust and will eventually return there. The duration of a scar doesn't even register on the big time line. In fact, I heard that God watches jewelry commercials and LOL's when they say that diamonds are forever. It's all a big joke up there. There's a drinking game in Heaven, where angels do a shot every time humans invest "for the long term."

What are you so fucking worried about?

You are here now. Eventually, you will be gone. You have but a nanosecond on the universal clock to do whatever it is you're going to do. When that time is gone, it's gone. Forever.

That means that although what you do doesn't matter to the universe, it should matter one hell of a lot to YOU.

In fact, it should matter to you more than it currently does. If you knew how small you are and how short a time you have to do what you can, you wouldn't waste time watching five fucking hours of TV a day. You wouldn't waste time doing a job you hate. You wouldn't waste the little time you have dealing with assholes, feeling sorry for yourself, or being timid about the things you'd really like to do.

I'm 35, and it dawned on me just recently that it's not at all long before I'll be forty. And forty is FUCKING OLD in the mind of a guy with the mentality and sense of humor of a teenager. I mean, hell, you can make an argument for 30 being young despite the fact that the MTV crowd says different, but forty-something is what your grandmother was.