A Mote of Dust Suspended in a Sunbeam

If nothing we do matters, - then all that matters is what we do

Foreword

I carry a meditation coin in my pocket, engraved with the phrase Memento Mori. This Latin reminder—“remember you will die”—is not meant to be morbid. It’s a call to be present, to hold each moment with reverence, and to embrace the fleeting nature of life.

In this essay, Brian explores a similar idea through the lens of optimistic nihilism: what if this is all we get? In the face of an indifferent universe, we are given the freedom to choose meaning, to take nothing for granted, and to live as fully as we can.

Martin Luther King Jr. once wrote about “the inescapable network of mutuality,” the interconnectedness of all life. This network is not just an ethical framework—it is pragmatic. Every choice we make on this fragile pale blue dot affects not just our own lives but the well-being of everyone and everything around us. The interconnected nature of existence means that the love we give, the kindness we extend, and the joy we cultivate ripple outward in ways we may never see.

This interconnectedness calls us to gratitude. To recognize each passing moment as an opportunity to live with intention and care. To nurture not just our neighbors, but ourselves—because in this vast, indifferent cosmos, these small acts of defiance against meaninglessness are all we have.

Brian’s essay illuminates this truth. It invites us to embrace the connections we share, the traditions we keep, and the love we give. In the face of the abyss, the most profound response is to live fully and fight fiercely for this fragile, beautiful world we call home.

Katie Shaw Thompson

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A Mote of Dust Suspended in a Sunbeam

If nothing we do matters - then all that matters is what we do

When I brought up Carl Sagan last week, he’s been on my mind ever since. Particularly this quote:

“Consider again that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives ... every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”

Carl Sagan wrote these words in Pale Blue Dot, reflecting on an image of Earth taken by the Voyager I spacecraft. At the time, the probe was 3.7 billion miles from home. In the photograph, Earth appears as nothing more than a speck, a crescent only 0.12 pixels in size. Or a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

THE PALE BLUE DOT OF EARTH "That's here. That's Home. That's us."Image: NASA / JPL

If you haven’t,  I urge you to listen to the entire speech when you can find the time. It’s one of the most full-throated arguments for defending our planet and living a meaningful life there.

Here, Sagan explains that our planet is a tiny stage in a vast cosmic arena. Every story of love, loss, triumph, and tragedy has unfolded on this pale blue dot. Yet, in the grand scheme of the universe, we are small. Insignificant. “The delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe,” as Mr. Sagan puts it. The universe cares not about us.

And yet, that same indifference gives us the freedom to make everything we do matter.

I was once an astronomer. I helped build an entire observatory. I spent a lot of time with astronomers. They spent their days—mostly nights—peering into the infinite. To look at the cosmos is to confront a vast, indifferent expanse. Some might say the abyss.  They were intimately aware that our existence is but a flicker in a timeline we can barely comprehend, a reality astronomers live with every day. We are insignificant. The universe does not notice us, and it does not care.

You might think this would be paralyzing. But for me, and many like me, it’s liberating.

Because if nothing truly matters on a cosmic scale, then everything we do on this fragile little world can matter. The meaning we create—the love we share, the traditions we keep, the kindness we extend—takes on an even greater importance in light of our insignificance. The abyss doesn’t diminish us. It gives us a canvas on which to paint the only meaning there is: the meaning we choose to make.

Which means this matters because we choose to make it matter. If the cosmos is indifferent, it doesn't impose meaning on our lives—but that freedom allows us to create our own. What we do here, on this little dust mote, matters to us, the people we love, and the communities we build. It matters because it shapes our shared experiences, defines our relationships, and contributes to the legacy we leave behind.

In the absence of inherent meaning, the meaning we assign becomes significant. A kind word, a helping hand, or a shared moment of joy may not shift the stars, but it can profoundly impact another person’s life. 

By this logic, the small acts we choose—the love we give, the traditions we keep, the kindness we extend—become acts of defiance against the void. They matter because we decide they do. And in a universe that doesn’t care, isn’t that choice, that agency, a remarkable and beautiful thing?

The holiday season is perhaps the best example of this. The universe doesn’t care about twinkling lights, warm dinners, or wrapped presents. It doesn’t care if we gather with loved ones or honor our traditions. And yet, we do these things anyway. 

Because they matter to us. These acts bring us closer to each other, reminding us that in the face of the vast, cold expanse, we are not alone. The holidays are a deliberate act of defiance against meaninglessness. We choose to celebrate warmth in the coldest season, light in the darkest nights, and love in a world that can often feel indifferent.

The absence of inherent meaning isn’t something to mourn—it’s an opportunity. We get to decide what matters. We get to turn the random chance of our existence into something worthwhile.

And this season, that choice is what I find so profoundly beautiful. In a universe where nothing truly matters, we gather to affirm that everything matters—our connections, our traditions, and our shared humanity.

Late last year, around this time I was unmoored. Over coffee with Katie one day - I expressed that I no longer felt I had a philosophy. She was surprised and countered all too quickly, that she felt I did - she mentioned that, at least from her perspective, I had summed up my worldview in a recently posted Anthony Bourdain quote:

“Eat at a local restaurant tonight. Get the cream sauce. Have a cold pint at 4 o’clock in a mostly empty bar. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Listen to someone you think may have nothing in common with you. Order the steak rare. Eat an oyster. Have a negroni. Have two. Be open to a world where you may not understand or agree with the person next to you, but have a drink with them anyways. Eat slowly. Tip your server. Check in on your friends. Check in on yourself. Enjoy the ride.”

She went on to simply say you embrace life so fully - as if it’s all there is.  As soon as she pointed that out, I knew she was right. I felt gears long dormant in my mind begin to turn again as if some mental transmission had finally engaged.

Katie put a name to something I’ve felt most of my life. And Bourdain captured something essential about how I see the world: in the face of our fleeting existence, the only rational response is to embrace it fully.

And while Bourdain’s philosophy speaks to how we live, Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot reminds me of why we fight. This fragile planet, this tiny mote of dust, is the only home humanity has ever known. It’s worth protecting.

More chaos will be released all across our little pale blue dot in the coming months and perhaps years. I hope this helps hold it all in perspective. I hope this can help guide our decisions on what matters - and although it may be a small mote of dust, it’s still worth fighting for. It’s worth protecting. It’s worth staring wide-eyed into that abyss and perhaps shouting. For if we’re loud enough. Strong enough. We might just make the Abyss blink.

For now - in the waning weeks of this holiday season, I urge you to embrace living fully. Lean into what matters over the holidays: the connections we make, the traditions we keep, and the joy we find in the smallest things. Sharing a meal. Raising a glass. Being together.

Know that the abyss doesn’t diminish us—it calls on us to create something worthwhile. It invites us to fill the void with laughter, kindness, and shared humanity.

So, this holiday season, eat the cream sauce. Listen to someone new. Have a Negroni. Have two! But never three. You can count on me being on my fourth. Most importantly, Check in on yourself and those you love. And don’t forget to enjoy the ride. And prepare to defend our little blue dot. It needs us now more than ever.