I was reading a story the other day about black holes, and other stellar occurences beyond our little atmosphere. It's funny, I often forget about the existence of space and the vastness of the universe.
On this planet, the littlest things can stress me out. But when I read stories on the UNIVERSE, I'm reminded on just how little they are, and how little I am.
We create amusing little societies, don't we? We put unrealistic timelines on ourselves, and succumb to pressures created by...whom exactly? College, job, marriage, family...and why did I write it in that order? Because I've been brainwashed to believe in that order. Everything must be within the lines--clean perimeters created by white picket fences. The American ideal. Is that my ideal?
It all seems to become a blackhole of its own.
And so I think. I think about the greatness of outer space, which forces me to think about my space, and how I am occupying it.
I may be little, but I am still a part of the whole.