From the Glacier
Philosophy, Science, Mathematics and whatever else

musings

I’m another year older today. It always makes me muse on my life around this time. I was thinking about the proverbial ‘where am I in life’ question, and wondering if this is where I saw myself when I graduated high school, or college. Then I realized: I didn’t see myself really anywhere – and that is where I’ve ended up. Every plan I’ve ever had has been either half-assed or delusional, and of course has never come to pass. But it is easier to daydream than to work for something. God must know that I’m incapable of self-determination too – for some things have fallen through due to no fault of my own. Random failure makes me wonder how much worse of a person I would be if I had success. But, we must trust in His wisdom. On another digression, the Hubble Constant has been recalculated recently. If the new data is correct, the calculations for the age and size of the universe need to be increased by fifteen percent. This makes the universe not 13.7 billion years old, but rather 15.8 billion years old. Increased human insignificance? Perhaps.

7 Responses to “musings”

  1. The closest estimate, for those that love counting is:
    Eight hundred and eighty-three million, six hundred and twelve thousand, eight hundred seconds. of me.

  2. I do not love counting.

    Happy birthday.

  3. So you’re 28, and on 8/8. (You know, I read your past thread in which you said 28 is the second perfect number, and in which you mentioned the significance of 3. It made me think: someone with a birthday of, say, 3/28 might be an extremely special person, by virtue of their birthday alone. Imagine if you knew, or even were related to, such a person – how special you would be!)

    On the other hand, someone born on 8/8 (and who, in fact, had a birthday – his 10th – on 8/8/88) is also extremely special: 8 is a Fibonacci number, the second magic number in physics, a perfect octave and the entire basis of music as we know it (if you ignore 12-tone, which most everyone does). In billiards, 8 is the ball around which all else revolves; single malt Scotch whiskeys are offered at a minimum of 8 years of age; in Tarot 8 means strength; and, in numerology, 8 is the number of construction and destruction. The (sideways) figure 8 is also the symbol of infinity. (Your very own ad-hoc, half-assed birthday numerology analysis – my gift to you.)

    Perhaps the whole point of birthdays is to remind us how little time we have and how much meaning we put into small, insignificant things, like how far we’ve gotten since high school. (Have you ever noticed the ticking of the clock and time passing and then panicked at how much time you were spending noticing the passing of time?) And does it logically follow that you are incapable of self-determination, simply because you don’t understand the reason things happen the way they do? I’d like to know your definition of failure. Intelligence? Humor? All your appendages? A family – extended too – who loves you no matter how big a failure you think you are?

    In any case, I say: happy birthday. Have a Scotch. Have 8!

  4. Thanks for the hpaay birthdays Mr. Simone and Amanda.
    (yes I figured out the anonymous)

  5. Happy late Birthday. Being a good father is a pretty big accomplishment, if you ask me. The other stuff is just a load of crap anyways. [insert spirit of the bear here]

    Trust me, no matter what you are doing or where you are at you can have the same feelings and doubts about “where you are now,” which are all really so much dirty smoke in the mind.

    I do not love counting either, but I’m glad that others do.

    Go Bears.

  6. i celebrate your existence beitia — belatedly — and second kodiak, you’re the g-damned paterfamilias!!!!!
    souls that wouldn’t have existed without you now exist. i think that’s a very worthwhile place to be.
    and further, if you were somewhere where you were completely satisfied with where you were you would be dead.
    :)
    love,
    anna

  7. Thanks Anna and Peterson.
    (but love of counting is a theological virtue)


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