True Sentiments

There is an argument advanced by some astronomers that, given the shape and size of space, any point can be considered the center of the universe. I once read that off an educational poster while on a date with a lovely young woman. As new couples are wont to do, we decided to make a cutesy game of the (supposed) fact: each of us would assume the title of "center of the universe" on alternating days. (This ultimately amounted to little more than getting to choose the evening's dinner venue.) The relationship was brief and it's now been a decade since I was last the center of the universe.

This is not about my dating life. This is about centrality and gratitude and a speech that I was supposed to give yesterday, but didn't. All things considered, a dating life history would probably be shorter.

Yesterday was my annual "FinkelFest" barbeque. This particular iteration of the immodestly-named event was supposed to be a celebration of my completing a PhD. A very large group of very wonderful people came together to treat me like the center of the universe.

I say "supposed to be," because my plan was to treat the day like any other barbeque that I've thrown in the past. My parents, who graciously gave their time and their space for the event, were confused. To have a barbeque and to take responsibility for making and serving food would mean having less time to mingle. They wanted to honor me, but I insisted on making work for myself.

About the actual center of the universe: it's only where it is because of the things that surround it. If other parts of the universe move around, then the place that's considered the center changes. In philosophical language, centrality is considered a relation rather than a property: something that is central is only central because other things make it so, but not because of anything special about the thing itself.

You can probably see where I'm going with this.

In college, a couple of years before that date I mentioned, I had a thought that I've kept ever since. It is that there is nothing I can do that other people can't do, and the fact that I have done things that other people haven't done shows only that I have been given opportunities not given to those other people. I am, without exaggeration, among the most fortunate of the fourteen billion people who make up human history. This good fortune was given to me by my parents, by my family, by my teachers, and by my friends.

For my family and friends to treat me like the center of the universe, as far as I'm concerned, just means celebrating the opportunities and good fortune that they have given me. By rights, the event should have been about them--about you--because I am whatever I am only because the people in my life have made me so. (I call my barbeques "FinkelFests" for this very reason, since these events are really just my excuses to try to gather as many family and friends together in one place at one time.)

At one point yesterday some people called on me to give a speech. I can be shy; I declined. This is what I would have said: "You are incredible people with extraordinary lives, and I really believe that my greatest accomplishment is to stand in the privileged place where all your lives intersect."

Trust me: it looks better written down than it would have sounded spoken aloud. There would have been tears and choking for air. Also, I was being shot with a bunch of water pistols at the time. (To quote Frank Herbert: "Philosophy should be treated with irreverence.")

I can be a sap, yes, but I don't think that makes anything I've said above any less true. I don't express these thoughts or act upon them nearly as much as you all deserve. So I'll serve some food once a year and hope that goes some of the way towards making up the difference.

Whether you were there yesterday or not: thank you.