I love NPR. I’m not a junkie (like my sister). I don’t listen at work or for very long on my commute. No, I have a peripheral love of NPR, knowing that it is there when I want it with the sorts of things I didn’t know I needed to know.
I recently added NPR to my news feed on Facebook. This single act has added color and flavor to my morning routine. The other day I came across an article by Adam Frank entitled “The End Of Time As We Know It” http://www.npr.org/blogs/13.7/2011/10/04/141006095/the-end-of-time-as-we-know-it. I had to read it twice for a majority of what he was saying to sink in (so I won’t bother attempting to explain it) but even at first glance, one idea jumped out at me: the idea that time doesn’t exist. I’ll let Mr. Frank explain:
[Some scientists posit] A universe where time doesn’t exist at all. Each moment is eternal, separate, complete and independent (in other words, the cat that jumps is not the cat that lands).
For some reason, and I don’t exactly know why, I find immense comfort and peace in that idea. Every happy moment is eternal. Every giggle, every sigh of pleasure, every smell of your grandmother’s cinnamon rolls baking in the oven – they are and always will be. The people y ou have loved and lost – they haven’t gone and never will be. Love, joy – they are constant and eternal.
Now, I realize that just the opposite has to be true. I suppose if you are more the “glass is half empty” type then the moments of hurt, sorrow and fear would be the things to cling to. For me, I don’t think about my worst moments being endless. Something inside cries out saying that the good holds more weight than the bad. That little boy giggles are more eternal than tears. (Yes, I know that probably – definitely – makes no scientific sense at all.)
First kisses. Cups of cocoa. Early morning sunshine on my face. Singing at the top of my lungs on a car ride. Clam chowder. Hearing the man I’ve fallen for tell me that I’m beautiful. Warm toes and cold noses. The sound of snow falling…