Wrapping my brain around the infinite

In the last months, I have found myself developing little rituals to fill the spaces that used to be filled by companionship. A brief good morning to the person who isn’t there on the other side of the bed. A first cup of coffee in the living room, as before, awakening to the day, still adjusting to the fact that I am alone. A second while reading the news at my desk and doing a couple of crossword puzzles. On the other end of the day, reading until eight o’clock or so, then an hour of TV, which used to be only an occasional diversion. I’m proud to say that I have learned to use multiple remotes and am successfully navigating a variety of streaming services. 

But it’s the pre-supper ritual that’s become the most elaborate.

For as long as I can remember, Jack and I enjoyed a glass of wine before supper. Yeah, pretty much every day. Sometimes he had a beer. Sometimes I had a martini. It’s a ritual we valued as time together, and one I’ve been hesitant to give up, medical advice notwithstanding. But sitting down to a glass of wine and staring mindlessly out the window, or across the room where there’s no one to stare back at me, isn’t particularly satisfying. It also leads to a too-rapid consumption of wine and the temptation to pour a second glass, which I’m determined to avoid. Enter the Great Courses.

Soon after Jack died, I traded his elaborate system of speakers and components for a Bose Bluetooth unit. And I subscribed to Audible (oh dear, this is beginning to feel like an infomercial…). I can now download one of the Great Courses in audio every month. So, around five o’clock (never earlier), I pour a glass of wine, tune in to whatever lecture series I’m listening to, and pick up my knitting. The knitting is to occupy my hands so I don’t guzzle the wine. So far, one pair of socks, one pair of mittens, and a shawl. (Not counting the sock that did not much resemble a foot and returned to being a ball of yarn.)

I’ve listened to a magnificent series on the origins and development of language, a few lectures on ancient mythology which disappointed, and half a dozen on Shakespeare. I’ll go back to Shakespeare eventually, I suspect, but the lectures really required me to read the plays ahead of time, and, well…you know.

Now, I am listening to another wonderful series on the evolution of science in the 20^thcentury. I would never have chosen it except for the recommendation of a friend who isn’t really into physics, either. The lectures are shorter than the earlier ones, which is good because they’re pretty packed with stuff that is WAY beyond me. And yet, because the lecturer is so very good, I listen anyway and try not to worry about feeling utterly lost. I go with the flow and absorb what I can. I’ve let quantum physics and particle theory drift by without understanding much more than that the more we learn, the smaller things get. I’ve tried, not for the first time, to grapple with the notion—I guess it’s more than a notion—that time and space and matter are all relative, and maybe all the same thing. And that the universe appeared out of nothingness at a time so remote as to be incomprehensible. Not to mention the whole nothingness thing, itself. There. That’s me and physics. Two mittens later.

Years ago, when podcasts were a magical new thing, I listened to one by Richard Dawkins called “The strangeness of science”. It’s still available, and I recommend it. I may have written about it here before. The main take-away for me was a single thought: We humans have evolved to live in what Dawkins called “the middle world”, where matter is solid and time is measurable. Neither the molecular nor the cosmic has any real impact on our lives, and so our brains have not evolved to comprehend them easily. The fact that my kitchen table is mostly empty space may be true, but understanding that is of no evolutionary advantage. Quite the contrary, in fact. If I tried to walk through it, I would end up with multiple bruises on my body, which is also mostly empty space.

So where is this going? Where these posts often end up.

I’m at the lake now, setting up the water and getting the place ready for another summer. Last evening, as I gazed out at the scene that has brought me comfort and peace for decades, I found myself thinking again about things I will never understand. About how everything comes down to the same tiny elements we share with all matter. About the hugeness of the universe and the age of the planet and our puny little place in all of that. About how everything is either bigger or smaller than we can possibly imagine. This is, of course, the perfect place to ponder those ideas. Lake Superior has always triggered a sense of the infinite in those of us who are drawn to it, as special and sacred places do for everyone who is lucky enough to have such a place in their lives. I do not understand quantum physics or space-time or the big bang. But I think I understand the awe that they inspire in those who do, an awe that trickles down to the moments when we sense—however fleetingly—our place in the grand scheme of things. What a small space we occupy in the universe, yet how completely we fill the present moment.

The science series has moved on to human evolution and behaviour—ideas I can actually wrap my brain around. And that’s a relief. My brain was getting tired.