On Significance

I expect the photo above will be instantly recognizable to anyone using the Lion OSX operating system. The image is of the Galaxy Andromeda, located some 2.5 million light-years away from Earth. The image is also the stock desktop wallpaper on Lion OSX - an image that some of us have, perhaps, never bothered to change.

Even if I knew how to change the picture, I'm not sure that I would. Anytime I fire up my computer, I find my self enamored with the image because it establishes so well the lot of mankind set against the awesome reality of the cosmos. It's also interesting to me that the picture looks so serene when in reality, the Galaxy Andromeda is one of the greatest threats to our existence.

That's a bit of hyperbole. But it's also true. Upon consulting the infallible oracle of information, Wikipedia, some 4.5 billion years from now, the Andromeda Galaxy is expected to collide with the Milky Way Galaxy, leaving the fate of our entire planet and solar system unknown. One scenario envisions the solar system being dislodged from the Milky Way Galaxy entirely. There's a joke about lactose intolerance here, but I'll spare you. (Happy Christmas.) It's probably a sad commentary on my mindset these days, but upon learning of the pending, galactic collision, my initial thought was to find out whether the event constitutes an act of God under my Progressive insurance policy.

The point of this post, of course, is not to worry about a cosmic event that, with luck, I'll never live to see. What especially interests me about the image is what it portends for our significance as individuals inhabiting this tiny blue marble amid the dark sea of the unknown.

Interestingly, Rick Warren's daily e-mail blast offered an insightful, albeit somewhat unctuous, take on the significance of human life. After noting the American epidemic of depression and dissatisfaction, Warren suggests that the key to addressing such feelings of despair is a matter of turning our thoughts outward, rather than inward:

That’s us. Our own personal drive to have more, be more, and do more causes us to lose sight of what really matters. But that isn’t how God wired us. Life isn’t about what you make, who you know, or what you do. Life is all about love — loving God and loving others.

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Warren's solution for malaise is the committing of one's life to some form of service to others - not merely due to altruism, but because of an innate will to do something more than simply exist.

He also has a bit of secular support from one of my favorite bloggers, Penelope Trunk. In a recent post, she notes an initial feeling of dissatisfaction with her present work/life balance - that is until she invited someone to help her get organized. Not only was the guest an absolute nightmare, but the loss of Ms. Trunk's usual routine (cooking for her family, driving her kids to various practices, and lessons, etc.) made her realize how much she missed her family regardless of the monetary reward earned by more work. Again, significance is determined based upon a commitment to some external motivation, rather than aims focused upon the self.

Finally, even avowed atheist, Vanity Fair Editor, Christopher Hitchens, who is locked in a painful battle with esophageal cancer, has noted the significance of simple things in his life. Despite his many accolades as a writer, and a life full of professional accomplishment, Mr. Hitchens is struggling with the effects of cancer treatments on his vocal chords. The treatments have, at times, robbed him of his ability to speak, leaving the written word as his principle means of relaying information. This is, of course, quite an ability, and in the hands of Mr. Hitchens a formidable tool, indeed. Still, in his latest column, Hitchens makes plain that what he would most like to have back, should he win his battle with cancer, is his ability to speak.

I think Rick Warren is on to something here...

Less than two weeks ago, I learned that one of the people most instrumental for my foray into cycling had passed away. There and Back Bicycle shop owner Steve Vihel had long endured an enlarged, and thereby weakened heart. I would say that Steve suffered from this affliction, but in many ways he so embodied the type of life that Warren is describing, that to say he suffered would be a gross misrepresentation of the way in which he lived.

I have no idea what Steve's spiritual beliefs were. All I know, and will forever remember about Steve is the way that he reached out to people. Whether encouraging a novice cyclist such as yours truly, or jawboning with customers who were avid cyclists and friends (or what Steve called "friendstomers") it was obvious that Steve loved what he did, and the experiences it provided. This is even more striking when I consider that Steve lived his entire life knowing he might die at any moment. This is the reality for all of us, and yet for Steve the matter was pressing, having had two cardiac scares in his early twenties, and having lost his mother to the same condition sometime before.

Yet, at the end of his life, after reaching out to hundreds of cyclists here in the Tucson area, Steve did a most unusual thing:

That morning, he had some ice cream and the hospital staff snuck some beer into his room. He took a sip from a straw, and proposed a toast. Here's to new beginnings.

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When the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies collide a few billion years from now, I don't know that there will be much left of mankind to indicate that any of us have ever existed. For all I know, mankind will bomb itself into oblivion once the Martians attack, and the Chinese realize we'll never make good on our debt.

But as Rick Warren, Penelope Trunk, and Christopher Hitchens have all learned, the end doesn't much matter. The significance of our lives is what we make of it now. And like Steve Vihel, I hope that my time on Earth is spent loving people, and that it ends with a sip of beer and a toast, "to new beginnings."