It is our story.
Your story and mine. Each of us individually. Sometimes together, sometimes not. But it is the story that matters. That is why we get so engrossed in TV, movies, Netflix, video games, books, and the Internet. But our story matters not, as much as the story overall.
This story of the expanding universe, the civilizations that rise and fall. Across a thousand billion planets of which we are one. Drifting, moving, across a universe that is expanding at 40% of the speed of light.
We want our story to matter. Linkedin is full of people telling everyone to follow their dream, work more and longer to achieve those same dreams. At a certain point, you begin to wonder if it is some self-masturbatory exercise. People lost in the smallness of their lives and “passions”. Our galaxy the “Milkyway” will crash into the Andromeda galaxy around 3.75 billion years from now. That is part of the story. Small among the thousand billion galaxies that exist. Humanity will in all likelihood be gone long before then without even relics or ruins to show that we were once here on this planet.
I sit here looking out over the golf course writing this. In the distance, I see a storm gathering. The blue jays’ flit and flutter, eating from the ground. The ducks gather wagging their tails performing their dance rite of spring. And my flickering moment of existence, as I sit in the cold with a cigar and a black cup of quickly cooling coffee.
My story is important only to me and I am slowly discovering that isn’t either. Not more than a nanosecond of light, as it travels forever onward until dissipating into nothingness.