The other weekend, my partner, J, and I went on a roadtrip to Segovia for my birthday. While driving, J started with his romantic sweet nothings.
“Do you know that the universe always tends towards greater entropy?,” he says. (His love language is trivia).
I looked at him, “Ehhhh?”
“You know entropy, right? The level of disorder in the universe?”
“Aaaah,” I responded eloquently.
“Since the Big Bang,” he continued, “the level of entropy, or disorder, in the universe has increased. Over time, the universe just keeps getting more and more chaotic.”
“Nice,” I replied.
“Take a jar filled with two layers of colored sand,” he continued. “Blue at the bottom and white on top. Carry it around for a day. By the end of the day, the two colors would have mixed together. Without you taking tweezers to separate out the colors again, it will never return to its original orderly state. It’s the second law of thermodynamics. In a closed system, the universe naturally and incessantly devolves into greater chaos.”
This time, I let it rest.
Like, literally.
Like, I fell asleep.
*
The next day, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that my hair had devolved into chaos. And to think I had just cut it 2 weeks ago! It hit me. Aaaah! Entropy! So, this is what J was talking about! (If men just used better examples, the world would be a more peaceful place.)
I looked all around me. Entropy was everywhere.
Our hotel room: orderly upon arrival last night, now a mess.
My body: after over-doing the birthday treats and under-doing the workouts, was now tired, flabby, and congested.
Even my toiletries: tightly wrapped as if I had known this second law of thermo-something all along. (Think about it — we pack in such a way as to contain the breakage that could take place in our suitcases. We never pack thinking the opposite could happen: that a broken bottle of shampoo will fix itself in our bags).
J had created a monster. I spent the whole day thinking about entropy.
I studied the buildings in the Jewish quarters of Segovia: all leaning precariously after hundreds of years.
I thought about the relationships we are in: without putting in the time and effort, they slacken and wither.
The businesses we build: without active management, they suffer employee clashes, product quality declines, staff short cuts, and eventually go insolvent.
The economy: without the proper policies and investments, it slides into recession.
The free societies we live in: without proper surveillance, and checks and balances, they unravel.
*
The universe’s innate tendency towards chaos is unrelenting. Even when we attempt to instill order in certain parts of our lives, we cause disorder elsewhere. When we get a haircut, for example, the hair that is now all over the floor can clog drains, leach dye chemicals into the water, etc. When we right a failing business, a tighter budget can affect employees and their families, reduce business for our suppliers, etc. In effect, our attempts at instilling order are localized, unstable and temporary at best.
*
These could be depressing birthday thoughts: that we are mere specks holding up an enormous dam that is determined to cave in on us. Not only does it take work to keep order, but it IS our life’s work. It feels like a Sisyphean juggling act — keeping the house tidy, actively managing our business, cleaning the house again, getting up from failure, trying again, recovering from illness, eating well, making up with our loved ones, arguing again, making up again, helping others through their own personal chaos, fighting for democracy, rinse and repeat and rinse again. All a never-ending vigil that we hold for the length of our lives.
Oddly though, looking through the lens of entropy shifts my perspective and provides a practical framework that could serve me in the next decades:
First, it underscores the need to plan ahead. While I can keep trying to maintain order, I know that things will break. Given this, what is my plan? If (and when) a recession hits, what do I do? If (and when) my body gets too old and weak, how should I manage?
Second, it highlights the need for simplicity. The more I have, the more time spent on the hamster-wheel of chaos prevention. I would much rather pick my battles, and put my energy in the things that matter — less on material things, and more on my relationships, my health, and my passions.
Most importantly, it pinpoints the need for forgiveness, for others and for myself. I feel personally assaulted when J leaves dirty dishes around; I blame myself for past illnesses or failed projects. But the light of entropy makes clear that things happen, not due to anybody’s willful destruction, but because the universe was just doing its thing.
The realization that I am on a little kayak rowing upstream against the universe’s immense force is oddly illuminating and liberating. It is a precious birthday gift. Thank you, J. And see? I listen.
