The More You Know, The More You Know Can Go Wrong

I'm reading the book Manhood for Amateurs at the moment. It's a collection of essays by Michael Chabon. Among many poignant exchanges between brothers, parents and children, spouses, one stands out to me. The narrator and his adolescent son are using an extremely high-powered telescope to explore the night sky. The son is swept away by the enormity of the universe, especially vis a vis the smallness of our planet, and our corner of this galaxy, which is one of likely a few hundred billion galaxies out there. The son remarks that given how small Earth is, we mean nothing. The father replies, "Except to each other."

As a reader, I love the scene. As a dad, I admire Chabon's quick thinking and sensitivity. There is so much in those four words. He let his son know he loved him, and he gave him a little to chew on about the meaning of life.

While we may enjoy (fiercely guard) our periods of solitude, so much of life comes from what other people mean to us. And no matter where love for others falls on your own ranking of sources of the meaning of life, it is surely one of your biggest vulnerabilities. Mine too. Everybody's. We put everything we have into our children, our partners, even our pets. But there are no sure bets, and if you allow yourself to see far enough into the future, one way or another it all disappears. The more people you let in, the more you invest in them, the richer your life, and the greater the risk of tragic loss.  

I don't often paralyze myself thinking about all the different ways I could lose people I love, but sometimes you get hit hard with news about people you know and care about, and it makes you wonder when your turn for devastation will come. By the way, my dad getting sick and dying was sad and feels unfair to him and to those of us who love him, but I would not term it a tragedy. Sickeningly sad, yes. Tragedy, no. Once in a while I have to remember that. Keep perspective. But watch the news any given day, read the paper, just talk with people, and you will learn about real tragedy. In fact, the chance that you and yours will have long, healthy, happy lives starts to seem like a near-impossibility. Kids get sick, violent crime happens, car accidents, natural disasters of course...

So how can we deal with the knowledge that risk and danger are everywhere? For one thing, we can live like they aren't everywhere. Otherwise we'd never make a move. For another thing, we can keep maybe one percent of that notion and use it to inform our thoughts and actions. It may lead us to broaden our circles, collect more people, care about them, love them. Spread the risk around a little. And it may help us remember to be careful out there. Not "wear a helmet for no reason" careful, but reasonable stuff. Seatbelts, no smoking, etc.

Then with any luck, as we float through our galaxy (one of hundreds of billions, remember) and through a sea of 200 sextillion stars (a legitimate estimate), maybe we will give meaning to other people's time here. We can set aside whether any of this means anything in some grand scheme, and make it meaningful ourselves.