It is estimated that the Earth is 4.6 billion years old.
When I was born, there were 5.3 billion people on the planet.
Today, there are over 7 billion in it.
The Earth’s surface area is 510 million sq km.
In that space, there are 196 countries.
In those countries, there is an estimated 50,000 cities.
The world is a very old, large, and well-populated place.
And yet, your parents are your parents. This may seem insignificant at first glance, but think about it. It’s all a game of chance. What are the chances that two people would meet in an exact place, at a precise time and would at some later date decide to come together in an act that would result in you?
Imagine the sheer number events and experiences that transcribed in your parents lives; their childhood, upbringing, education, migration, work, family issues, love lost, and love found, that led to their meeting and coupling.
Take it further.
There are around 250 million sperm cells in a single ejaculation.
A woman carries 1–2 million eggs in her body in a lifetime.
Now, consider how small are the odds are that one exact sperm cell from one specific man happened to fertilize just the right egg from so precise a woman to form you.
Think of how minuscule the probability is that your parents, and their parents parents, and their parents parents parents all also met and had children of their own. Revel in the fact that this series of impossible occurrences began with your first ancestors centuries ago.
It’s as if all of human history lead up to the moment you were born. Every word, act, glance, decision, occurrence, and experience, played a part in your conception.
You, in all your imperfect perfection.
Your eyes, the way you see things. Your hands, how you feel them. Your voice, the way you laugh. Your mind, how you think. Your heart, the way you love.
And still, you lose yourself in this thing called life. You become paralyzed by all the world has to offer and in turn forget how much you have to offer in return. You feel like everyone is moving in hyperdrive while you are stuck, motionless and without purpose. Living but not alive. You accept that you are not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not strong enough. Not worth it, not special.
It’s easy to feel small in such a large world. Easy to feel insignificant in the midst of so much movement. Easy to forget what you are.
A miracle. An event so extraordinary that it is inexplicable by natural or scientific law.
You think yourself ordinary because there are so many others like you, even better than you. You become so blinded by all the extraordinary around you that you lose sight of your own unique beauty. If only you could look through a different lens. If only you could see what I see.
I see you.
And from where I stand, you are as incredible as you are improbable. I have never and will never see anything exactly like it.
I know living isn’t easy. There are times when the odds are stacked up against you, but that’s okay because you’re good with odds. Your existence defies the laws of logic, nature, and science.
So the next time you feel like you don’t have a purpose, recognize how much has gone into your being and realize that it all can’t be for nothing.
The next time you feel like you’re not special, understand that there is and never will be anyone else like you.
The next time you wish you weren’t alive, remember that you shouldn’t be, and rejoice.
A mathematic miracle.
And nothing could be more perfect.