30,000 Days

"Live every day as if it were going to be your last; for one day you're sure to be right." Harry Morant

This week, something different: a Howlin’ at the Moon in ii-V-I treatise on living a good life. Though I’m no more of an expert than you, I have some ideas. Let’s discuss.

A lifespan of thirty thousand days gets one into their early 80s. That’s better than the current average in the United States. You have to be smart with how you live, enjoy some luck, and have some help from your genes to get that far. But if you do, in the end, it was a good long run—if you made most of those days count. The more of them that you remember, the better off you probably are.

Just about the worst thing that I can think of would be to wake up one morning without any memories. Memories, both good and bad, define us. The more grand ones that you can manage in your days in this life, the better off you probably are. That’s what the Roy Batty, “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe” soliloquy in Blade Runner was about. A short number of days, but he remembered almost all of them. That’s why he was good to go in the end.

I am the luckiest guy that I know. Honest and no lie. I have friends and family far better than I deserve. I got to climb and ski all over North America in my youth. I’ve been able to travel, extensively. I’ve been able to spend significant time around incredibly smart, talented and inspirational people. I spent a career teaching university physics and astronomy. Due to the privilege of faculty life, people I respect correspond with me.

Now I spend my days riding bicycles, writing, playing music and raising kids. Have there been some speed bumps? Certainly. But the juice has absolutely been worth the squeeze.

Perhaps my greatest fortune was having a sense that the clock was ticking from a very early age. Where this came from, I have no idea. I just know that I’ve been aware that life is short and then you’re dead for a long time, since I was old enough to understand beginnings and endings. This awareness, from an early age, created a sense of urgency that forbade much indolence. It’s easier to get after things that you want to do when you understand that if you put them off, they might never get done.

Everyone has a last day, and unless your demise is sudden, you see it coming. I can’t imagine anything more desolate and melancholy than watching the end of your life, a one-in-a-quadrillion gift that the universe bestowed on you, approach with major regrets about the things that you always wanted to do but were somehow unable to find the time for.

In those last moments, it’s too late to write that book, to learn to play a musical instrument, to raise a wonderful family, to see the world, to build and create things that make the world better. In those moments, if you did none of those things, there’s only regret forging a dim path into the approaching oblivion.

I don’t know why everyone doesn’t have a sense that life is very short. I just know that it’s not uncommon. I read a book a long time ago where the author described a group of people wandering through life as if every day were a lazy Sunday afternoon that, while passingly pleasant, was just hot and uncomfortable enough to make everyone forget that Monday was just around the corner.

I see this view of life around me every day. I see it in unhappy people who complain all the time about virtually everything. I see it in people who believe that the fault is not in themselves but in their stars. I see it in crime, stupidity, jealousy, bigotry, and willful ignorance. I see it in moral, intellectual, and physical laziness. I see it in a lack of discipline. I see it in a lack of consideration for others. I see it in those who would be kings or kingmakers by foisting their views on everyone else.

And I particularly see it in fear. I see in people who are afraid to grow, to learn, and to grab that brass ring while riding the only carousel there is and may ever be.

It’s a bit difficult for me to imagine that anyone would be predisposed to much unproductive nonsense in their final moments. Yet many spend the bulk of their lives engaged in just that, as if the halcyon days are going to last forever.

Lee Atwater, a Republican political strategist of the 1980s, advised presidents Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush and was the chairman of the Republican National Committee. Atwater was a no-holds-barred brawler who was known for his aggressive tactics, most notably the Southern strategy. He was widely regarded as an effective political operative but a mean son-of-a-bitch. He was both reviled and revered.

At the height of his career, Atwater suffered a seizure and received a diagnosis of terminal brain cancer. He saw it coming but had some time to make amends. In the end, he had to choose between being reviled or revered. He published an article in Life magazine on this topic shortly before his death. From that article:

“My illness helped me to see that what was missing in society is what was missing in me: a little heart, a lot of brotherhood. The 1980s were about acquiring – acquiring wealth, power, prestige. I know. I acquired more wealth, power, and prestige than most. But you can acquire all you want and still feel empty. What power wouldn't I trade for a little more time with my family? What price wouldn't I pay for an evening with friends? It took a deadly illness to put me eye to eye with that truth…”

I am aware that there are those who believe that Atwater was insincere in this confession and was spinning to the very end. But I’m going to go with granting grace to a guy staring down the barrel of his own mortality for having the wherewithal to sober up and seek redemption. Better late than never.

I am not the least bit religious. Never really have been. Maybe it’s a consequence of of that ticking clock, which doesn’t leave much room for speculation. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t think that we’re here due to anything other than sheer luck.

And luck it is too.

We happen to live on the only planet around, at least as far as we know, that has been stable enough over a long enough time scale to support the evolution of complex life (like us). This, in and of itself, is a miracle. We happen to live at just the right distance from a very stable star. Our planet, Earth, is just the size that we need it to be. We have a relatively large and very unusual moon at just the right distance from Earth to slow both our rotational rate, reducing destabilizing tectonic forces, and our processional wobble.

We have an Oort cloud full of watery comets. We had just enough of the right mix of elements and radiation in the early solar system to create amino acids. We have a magnetosphere of just the right strength and a robust atmosphere to sustain organic life. And our solar system is arranged in such a manner as to prevent a lot of planet-killing debris from currently reaching Earth.

That’s an awful lot of cosmic luck. It’s not true everywhere, either. Consider that astronomers just observed a gigantic supernova, SN 2023ixf, in the Pinwheel Galaxy, 11 million light years away. SN 2023ixf already outshines its parent galaxy. If you are anywhere in the neighborhood, you are not having a good day. That’s mostly what the universe is—an incredibly harsh, incredibly unlucky place where everything is trying to not only kill you but prevent you from ever evolving from slime in the first place.

Beer pong might be a better way of accurately estimating the probabilities of intelligent life throughout the universe than the Drake Equation - so much so that I used to laugh every time I wrote it on the blackboard in astronomy class.

Yet here we are. Lucky as hell is what is is. You need to wrap your mind around that every day. Are there some bad things in the world? Surely. But you know what, beer still tastes good. You have some say so in what you choose to embrace.

It’s not up to me to tell anyone else how to view life. I don’t have either the right or anywhere near the wisdom for that. All the wisdom that I do have to share on this is that the happiest people that I’ve known are the ones who are aware that the clock is ticking and that, in the end, no one gets time back for any reason. Everyone that I know who gets that is doing what they need to do right now to exit life without too many regrets.

But, for what it’s worth, I think that you should write that book. I think that you should learn to play music that you love. Finish that invention. Start that business. Travel, make friends, and see the world. Laugh about stuff. Study things that interest you without regard to how difficult those studies might be or where they might lead. Others succeeded when the going got tough; so can you.

I think that you should walk right up to that attractive person who’s lighting up the room, look them right in the eye, and say, “My name is…” and then, “Let’s go, wallflower.” Create a wonderful family with them. Grow old surrounded by kids and grandkids. Don’t ever be afraid to bet on yourself.

I think that you should be bold and fearless, but not overly angry or argumentative. Allow others to be, as much as you can, even when you disagree with them. Extend grace where you can. But don’t let people push you around, either. To hell with that. Learn how to deal with chuckleheads in your wheelhouse. You can be a very nice person without being a pushover, something that I wish more people understood.

A sense or humor is never a bad thing. Cultivate one and life gets better fast.

A sense of wonder is never a bad thing either. Along that line, get someone with a telescope to show you SN 2023ixf (SC and BK, that’s you in a few weeks). Then count your lucky stars.

Associated Press and Idaho Press Club-winning columnist Martin Hackworth of Pocatello is a physicist, writer, and retired Idaho State University faculty member who now spends his time with family, riding bicycles and motorcycles, and arranging and playing music. Follow him on Twitter @MartinHackworth