The Voyage of your Life

[for R. who knows what she likes and is boldly chasing her dreams to write them in stone]

We fly through a universe 14,000,000,000 years old as pieces of dust considered very old if we reach 100 years. We get to meet just a few thousand people out of the 6,000,000,000 here, and of those will only find commonality and a connection with others who have independently walked a similar path, shared experiences, considered the same thoughts as us, and dreamed comparable dreams. To communicate, we need not only a common language but compatible spirits if we are to be friends, lovers, or companions.

Our tiny domain in the vast universe, the improbability of every interaction, and the certainty of our obliteration after an absurdly short lifespan make any meaningful connection immeasurably valuable. Finding someone incredible, a product of several hundred years in the making, and distinguished from their mediocre contemporaries by the most strangely varied and delicate traits, strikes us with reverence for what we are touching. If we lose someone great who will never return, we do with the loss whatever is appropriate, but life goes on because it must.

When we marry the love of our life, we merge into the infinite and make peace with death. Assuming we are signing up until the end, come what may, we affirm that we will remain together until death do us part. One of us will be forced to watch the other die and be left alone on this vacant planet forever without the person who made their life better, now reduced to mere memory.

To willingly accept having to see someone you love die, or forcing them to watch you die means you are ready for your voyage.