The Universe Is Flat & Other Deep Thoughts
The other night my 18-year-old son came into my office deep in thought. He sat down next to me and said, “Mom, you know the universe is growing every day, right?” I wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this, but I nodded in agreement and waited for him to continue.
“The universe grows and grows, it spreads but doesn’t cover anything because there is nothing beyond it. Can you imagine that? The nothing?”
And, truthfully, I couldn’t. I can’t. My brain can’t seem to fathom the thought of absolute nothingness. A space that is not an actual space because it is nothing? Devoid of sound, light, air.
Now, I realize (and we investigated together) that there are actually several theories surrounding this. Maybe the universe is infinite. Maybe there are other universes, parallel universes. No one knows for certain but it’s interesting to see the different theories explained.
I digress. This conversation, this contemplation of utter nothing reminded me of the first time it had occurred to me. The possibility of nothing. The inability to fathom it.
I was laying in a hospital bed with this same boy cradled in my arms. All eight pounds and nine ounces of him. I was in awe. I was a mother for the very first time. And suddenly, the innocent thought of being untouchable shed from me. I was confronted with my own mortality. And it scared me. Until I had this little life in my arms I had never once considered the length of my own.
I imagined that one day I would be gone. My child would go on, the world would go on. But I would not be there. I would not be able to witness the human race reach more and more advances and no one would remember I ever existed. I could not fathom it. I could not wrap my brain around that nothing.
I think this subliminal need to be immortal is one of the motivations behind artists. It’s true, you don’t have to be an artist to make a mark on the world but what a beautiful way to do it. To leave visions, and stories, and characters imprinted in the minds of people for however long it lasts.
[bctt tweet=”This is why I write. #amwriting #author”]
Storytelling is my gift. And compassion for other storytellers expands this gift. I write so you will remember. I don’t want my memory to be laced with the atrocities and struggles I live through. I want my name to evoke thoughts of whimsical worlds and characters that come to life in your mind. I want my name to be a support to others trying to find their voice, their immortality.
And so, I will write. I will write until I cannot. Until my stories are all told and my name is remembered, if only by the characters I birthed from my imagination.
Until next time, scribe happy and stay sassy,