Day 46: A treatise on time and space
Why we must value the mundane
We tell our stories in terms of major moments, connecting the dots between them like the imaginary lines we draw between the stars in the Big Dipper. But we forget that between the stars is space; in fact, if this space didn’t exist, then neither could the constellations.
Like the constellations, the majority of our lives is actually just space — the space between the stars. Every society invents different “stars.” In my society and class, they are: birth; the first day of school; the transition into middle school, and later, to high school; the moment when you hear from college and then the first day; the day you graduate; the first day of your new job; your promotion; your wedding day; the birth of your children; when you become a grandparent; the day you die.
I get it. Boundaries between eras that acquire their own mythology. Real shared experience and self-fulfilling prophecies that acquire meaning based on the folklore. The rest of our time is spent in anticipation for the next star to appear.
Yet, it feels like there could be a completely different set of stars. Perhaps we are or want to be in a different Galaxy all together.
And regardless of the stars, the majority of the Galaxy is filled with space. Yet, because we’ve invested so much in these star moments, the rest of life is essentially a process of waiting to become, rather than a process of simply living. We over-acknowledge stars at the expense of space.

Space seems mundane and space doesn’t make it into our stories, because it appears pale in comparison to the stars. But really, without them, there could be no Big Dipper; there would be no story, no narrative, no sense of identity, no point of comparison, no real existence. A world of all stars sounds nice, but stars wouldn’t look bright if there was no space.
And beyond its comparison with the stars, just because space is dark doesn’t mean that it’s insignificant or dark in a metaphorical sense. In reality, when we look into space, there’s something beautiful about its vastness; imagine yourself physically trying to wrap your head around something that has no limits, no ends. The impossibility of this idea creates endless possibilities; in endlessness, there is no meaning and infinite meaning, everything and nothing, simultaneously.
We define ourselves by the stars, but really, we are most space; our bodies are 60% water, and yet, all significance is given to our eyes, ears, fingers, noses, and mouths. But without the water, there are no eyes, ears, fingers, noses, or mouths.
What’s the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning? What do you tell yourself about the day that’s to come? What conversation do you have with yourself when you’re making coffee or entering the subway? What images do you see when you picture peacefulness in your head? How do they make you feel? What do you do when you’re absent-minded and procrastinating? What song never stops playing in your head? Where did you first hear that song? What “weird” thing or things makes you super happy? These seemingly mundane moments and experiences matter.
In fact, these are the moments that life is made up of; if we are lucky, then we will wake up some 30,000 times in our lives — thirty thousand times — so how is it mundane or insignificant to ask what self-talk we have with ourselves in the mornings when we wake up? Our minds wander multiple times per day during those 30,000 days, so what we’re thinking of is anything but unimportant.
I think much of our suffering stems from an inability to appreciate space. Stars are limited and harder to come by, and a sea of should’s and must be’s put pressure on the stars to be a certain way. And if they aren’t, then we feel let down. And beyond these stars, we have nothing because we miss the value of space, of the in-between.
I once heard a story: we believe we understand two because we understand one, and one and one is two. But we must also understand and in order to understand two. And the same logic applies for understanding space in order to understand the stars.