Adam Frank

A while back, I gave a talk about astronomy to a bunch of third graders.

I told them about how the lots of stars end their lives by blowing themselves up in what are called supernova. Then, I told them about how the universe began in a huge explosion called the Big Bang. It was fun — and the kids asked a lot of great, crazy questions.

But after I was done, getting my coat on to go, a little girl came up to me with a very concerned look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I just want to know if I am going to blow up, too?" she asked, earnestly.

Science is not a philosophy or a spiritual path; it's a way of behaving in the world.

But since tribalism and polarization have made "alternative facts" a reality of public life, there is something we can learn from science to help us navigate the troubled waters and find a more resilient civic life.

The lesson begins with understanding the right relationship not to knowing but to not knowing. To be blunt, if we want to fight ignorance, we must start with our own.

Science can just knock me to the floor.

Sometimes it's the revelation of some previously unseen phenomena. Other times, it's a new way to see something you thought you already understood. Then there are the times when connections pop up between things you never imagined to be connected.

And sometimes, it's all of them at once.

Now that we're well past the start of spring, you're probably inured already to all the green.

I mean, after those long months of winter, everyone's pumped about the first buds and shoots — so bright green and promising. But then, it's all ho-hum, leaves everywhere — whatever.

Well, not me, pal.

See, this spring I've been digging in on photosynthesis for some research I'm doing and, I gotta tell you, it's blowing my mind.

We all live in our heads.

Well, maybe it's better to say we all live from our heads — and our bodies.

From the day of our births to the moment of our deaths, we experience the world from a very particular — and unique — perspective: our own.

Everyone will tell you: "Be here now."

That certainly sounds like a good idea — but what does it really mean?

I am not asking this question in a "mindfulness mediation" kind of way. Yes, mindfulness is great for slowing down your monkey mind and paying a more intimate attention to what's happening around you. No one can argue with that.

What I'm interested in today, however, is the relationship between the first two words in that New-Agey triplet: Be here now. How do "be-ing" and, well, "here-ing" go together? Might they be same thing?

So, it's that time again. For the next month, we're all in for a whole mess of holiday-themed music and movies.

This wouldn't be a bad thing if it weren't so deeply joined with the endless commercialism that now defines the season.

So, it's Election Day here in the United States.

Every presidential election seems important, but I am sure that I am not alone in thinking this one is different, maybe more important than most.

So, please, go vote.

When you're done, I give you (once again) Carl Sagan's beautiful "Pale Blue Dot" speech to put it all in perspective.

In 1950, less than 50 percent of the world's population lived in cities.

As of 2014, more than half of people on Earth occupied space in urban areas. By 2050, it is expected that the city dwellers will grow to 66 percent.

The tipping point has been crossed. More important, our rapid urbanizing comes at exactly the same moment the planet begins its transition to a new (and unknown) climate state.

Revolutionary discoveries don't always breakthrough the hustle of daily life.

After all, when the Wright Brothers lifted their rickety plane off the sands of Kitty Hawk, the rest of the world was just out buying their eggs, milk and toilet paper. On that day who knew — or could imagine — that decades into the future millions of people would be sitting in giant jet-planes watching Direct TV and soaring five miles above the planet's surface.

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