D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
February 2010
Uncertainty Principles
A brief history of dating a grandma.
Over the last few weeks, I have been struggling with a book by Stephen Hawking called A Brief History of Time. In the smallest possible words a theoretical physicist can use, Hawking tries to explain quantum mechanics and cosmology to the slobbering masses. While I enjoy trying to grasp the concept of objects in the universe smaller than Nancy Pelosi's cerebellum, it is some thick reading, and I find I must re-read paragraphs, set the book down and ruminate on what I just read. Unfortunately, my brain can wander like a stray dog, and I socialized the theories of Hawking's Brief History of Time into Lightcap's Brief History of Life.
According to Hawking's book, it's a gi-normous universe, and any semblance of order or predictability is purely coincidental. Randomness is the common lubricant of everything, from the quantum universe to the human one. Quarks fly off in random patterns, and so do the events in our individual lives.
Having gone through some domestic changes in the last couple of years that involved change-of-address cards and legal papers, I can attest to the unpredictable directions that time can direct us in. Like a wayward Higgs-Boson particle, I have caromed into a new part of my life. My social disposition is usually classified somewhere between that of a wounded badger and a crack-addled chimpanzee, which is why I am flabbergasted at the appearance of a new romantic interest in my life.
Like the floozy hydrogen atom that clings to everything around it, I managed to reconnect with my childhood sweetheart, and we are making a go at a life together. A quantum-physicist dude named Heisenberg cooked up something called the "uncertainty principle," which says that physical properties like position and momentum cannot both be known at the same time. Two years ago, I couldn't have predicted this is where I'd be or where I'm going.
Then, suddenly, the universe exhibited one of the more unpredictable twists that Hawking warns about. With four children between us ranging from 14 to 20 years of age, my childhood sweetheart received the news that her oldest boy has propagated the family's genetic code and bumped her into a new generational status: grandmother. In what is surely the briefest history of time possible, this enigmatic and admired woman that I knew in seventh grade has suddenly opened the door to a world of dimming eyesight, graying hair and AARP membership. Sadly enough, I am a mere three months older.
So here I am, a rapidly aging New Wave scion entering my 45th year on terra firma, confronted with my own unique myriad array of increasingly common geriatric physical shortcomings, dating a grandmother. When did this happen? When did time slip through my hands like water? By no common measure are we "old" and yet, we are aging. If this is Hawking's idea of theoretical physics, I want no part of it, thank you very much.
Then I sat down with my old friend, Tumbler O'Scotch. He gave me comfort and advice, and assured me that this was the plan, that this is how things are supposed to go. Just because time can prove to be predictably random doesn't mean that it's bad thing. In fact, it doesn't take a supercollider to know that the years are continually mashed together with increasing speed and frequency, and events are becoming even more unpredictable. Maybe in that unpredictability, there is comfort. Plus, girlfriend pointed out that my oldest is only four years younger than hers, and I'd better get used to the concept. Daddy drinks because you breed. In a universe that is designed at the most fundamental level on random events, why isn't a smart guy like Stephen Hawking running around and freaking out? Maybe it's because he finds comfort in his acceptance and complete lack of power over these events. Maybe he understands that by embracing the uncertainty and making it part of his life, he can avoid pointless angst and frustration. I dunno, maybe it's because he is in a wheelchair and his legs don't work. Either way, to accept change is to accept the thrill ride of life, and our only responsibility is to make adjustments and enjoy the ride. My name is Henry Lightcap and I'm in love with a granny. Go figure. Who knew that quantum theory could apply to the advent of ear hair, liver spots and diminished vision?
Henry Lightcap grows older every day in Las Cruces.