Boundaries

Why is the universe is the way it is?

Stephen Hawking explored this in “A Brief History of Time.” Today I finished the book, a Christmas gift from my husband.

About halfway through Hawking’s explanation of why black holes appear to emit particles even though nothing can escape them, my brain hit its comprehension boundary. Hawking marched onward, positing that the universe exists in a “no-boundary” condition that contains no beginning or end:

“Space-time would be like the surface of the earth, only with two more dimensions. The surface of the earth is finite in extent, but it doesn’t have a boundary or edge: if you sail off into the sunset, you don’t fall off the edge…”

The explanation of how such a universe would operate involved imaginary time, a measure of time that uses the mathematical concept of imaginary numbers. My brain accepted its limits and marveled at the human capability to develop such knowledge.

When I was younger, I lamented the fact that while so much knowledge exists in the world, no one person could know it all. As recently as Newton’s time, Hawking wrote, “it was possible for an educated person to have a grasp of the whole of human knowledge, at least in outline.” Now, such a task is “impossible.”

Nevertheless, Hawking believes humans are approaching a unified theory that explains the universe, and that one day scientists and laypeople will discuss its implications.

Optimism prevails, even in the face of boundaries.

(Evening) Greetings

Weary from a day of work, my mind craves decompression on the way home. Often, a “Hello” or “Have a great night” from the front desk staff ushers that process, making me smile and pushing any lingering distractions, if only momentarily, from my mind. Over time, the greetings evolve into small talk and ultimately, connection.

A friendly, motherly woman whose name I never caught staffed the front desk of my old apartment building on weekend evenings. Her compliments on my outfits and encouragement to enjoy the night added an extra bounce to my step on the way out. An affable young woman named Crystal welcomed residents on weekday evenings, and I’d often hear about the shenanigans her kids got into earlier that day. When Crystal was expecting another child, several residents gathered in the foyer to shower her with gifts.

Most recently, Frank watched over the front desk at my office building, and the world will end before that man greets anyone with a frown. Several weeks ago my office moved, and I teared up when I broke the news to him. A religious man, Frank said he’d keep me and my family in his prayers. The staff in the new building are just as nice, but we haven’t graduated to small talk yet.

As offices close for the holidays, I hope front desk staff everywhere, especially Frank, can relax with their families knowing they bring moments of joy to so many people throughout the year.

(Human) Fragility

Five hours into a seven-hour layover, I sat on a black plastic chair at the gate, willing the minutes to pass.

A man in his early sixties, clad in a black tee, jeans, and sneakers, sat next to me and asked where I was headed. I told him about my business trip. “What about you?” I asked. “Going on vacation?”

Vincent van Gogh's "Sorrowing old man ('At Eternity's Gate.')" Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons — Vincent van Gogh’s “Sorrowing old man (‘At Eternity’s Gate.’)” Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons

“You’re never going to believe me, but my wife died yesterday.” he said. “Her funeral is tomorrow.”

I thought he was joking until I saw his face. Heavy eyes behind tear-stained glasses looked utterly lost.

“I’m so sorry.” I said. My brain searched for the right next thing to say. Meanwhile, he gave me tips to stay safe in Rio de Janeiro. Eventually conversation stumbled toward Maria. Kidney failure. 26 years of marriage.

“I’m so sorry.” I echoed. I gave him some tissues and put my hand on his shoulder. Another woman enveloped him in a hug so tender I thought they knew each other. Her husband, who lived in the same city as the widower, knelt down and said they would help in any way they could.

“26 years,” he said.

I looked at my left hand and thought of my husband, our marriage only months old. I willed the days to pass so I could run home and squeeze him tight.

“I just don’t understand,” the man sobbed, his face falling into his hands. “One day, everything is fine. The next day, everything crumbles.”

(Leaving) Home

Packing is the annoying part, but leaving home is the hard part. The melancholy stems not from lack of excitement of what’s to come. It’s wistfulness for what was. Leaving home marks the beginning of a new chapter but also acknowledges the ephemerality of what feels routine. We grow up and life changes. All exciting, to be sure, but that moment of goodbye renders only nostalgia.

This feeling first slammed into my chest when I moved to college. Hours after my family departed, I sat in the dorm lounge on the phone with Mom, tears flowing. It’s not that I wanted to go home, but that the weight of the uncharted path finally sank in. Tears returned two-and-a-half years later when I sat in a peoplemover at the airport, about to leave for five months to study abroad nearly 4,000 miles away from everything I knew. Last summer I moved away for graduate school. Before leaving, I hugged Mike tightly and fought back tears. Papa drove the nine-hour journey and moved me in. I held tears in again when he dropped me off to campus for orientation. And today, I left home for a summer internship. So far, a dry face.

(Long Meandering) Conversations

Happiness, satisfaction, and contentment reside in the middle of a long conversation. Whether in the car with Papa, on the couch with roommate Amy, or on the phone with Mike, I live for these moments. Ideas make perfect sense in the mind, but traveling from the brain to the mouth muddles them, and sometimes the words that come out simply do not match the thoughts that birthed them. Meaningful conversation requires courage to share these proto-ideas and humility to listen and consider the thoughts and experiences of another. From this emerges a deeper connection, an appreciation for shared human experience, respect for different viewpoints, and a good time.

Camille Pissarro's "Conversation." Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons — Camille Pissarro’s “Conversation.” Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons

The first marathon conversation I remember occurred one December night during sophomore year of college. Tim stopped by our dorm room, and he, Karen, and I talked and talked. Before long, the sun peeked over the horizon. Two-and-a-half years later, Vicki popped into my room in our apartment to ask a question; that conversation lasted until 5 am. Two years later, Meilee and I met at Teaism for lunch one Saturday. We started talking at 1 pm and walked out of the restaurant at 9 pm – my longest conversation to date. My most memorable conversation happened after I met Mike at an ugly-sweater party. On a whim, I asked him out. We met after three days and talked for six hours over hot chocolate, martinis, and half-smokes. Two-and-a-half years later, our conversation continues.

Noun Sense

Observing the world we inhabit

Category: feeling