By Maria Popova
We place life’s bets by countless calculations of probability, conscious and unconscious, only to discover over and over how short they fall of the wildest reaches of the possible, which always includes but exceeds the probable. It helps to remember that we ourselves are children of improbability, that everything we treasure exists not because it had to, not because it was likely or necessary, but because the universe took a gamble against the staggering odds otherwise.
THE WILDEST BET IS THE WINNING BETby Maria Popova
You wouldn’t have bet on it,the battered rockorbiting a starfrom the discount binof the universe,wouldn’t have guessedthat it would bloommitochondria and music,that it would mushroommountains and minds,
and the hummingbird wingwhirring a hundred times fasterthan your eye can blink,
and your eye that tookfive hundred million yearsfrom trilobite to telescope,
and the unhurried orange lichengrowing on the black bouldertwo hundred times more slowlythan the tectonic plates beneathare drifting apart
and the marbled orcacarrying her dead calfdown the entire edgeof the continent,carrying the weightof consciousness
and consciousnesshow it windowsthis tenementof breath and bonewith wonder,how it hovers over everything,gigantic and unnecessary,like music,like love.
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