One of the things on my list of things to do when I'm struggling with depression is sit under the sky and think about the Drake equation. It's an equation that's supposed to figure out the likelihood of finding extraterrestrial civilizations. We don't have the actual values to actually solve it and the best guess numbers we do have boil down to effectively 0.
Everyone always thinks of it in relation to finding extraterrestrial life (likely because that's what it's about) and missing what I think is the most wonderful part of it. The wonderful part happens when you realize that it applies to us too. Those are the same odds we had to beat to exist.
The beautiful and romantic part of the Drake equation is when you notice it's also telling you how much of a miracle you are just because you exist. You are a 1 when all that is supposed to exist is 0 and that 1 is peak "intersection of magic and science" and you are an expression of that intersection.
Then I took another stab at writing poetry about my feelings on this topic. I think I got a lot closer this time. I would love to hear what you think in the comments.
41. Drake (title is wip?)
The most intimate love stories of my life are often between myself and the sky. It's in those mornings I stare in wonder at colors bleeding from the edges of the sky. I find it in those days I drive away from the city until I can see the stars. I need to be alone with the vastness to remember to cherish the little things. We are all such little things and the only thing that compares to the vastness of the sky is how big and improbable of a miracle it is that any of us exist and that's how I learned to love myself