Reverse-Entropy

Entropy, or the second law of thermodynamics, is a central principle in the study of science.  I learned about it in high school and then studied it more closely in university-level physics classes.  Entropy explains that in closed systems, the amount of energy available to “do work” usually decreases.  It sounds pretty innocuous until you look at its implications on a macro level—many physicists speculate that the universe is gradually unraveling and is fated to something called “heat death.”

Learning about entropy was a highlight of my brief career in science.  It was a Eureka moment for me—a light-bulb popped in my cranium and illuminated entropic transfers taking place all around me: bodies aging, cars burning up fuel, glaciers melting. I was now privy to one of the secrets of the universe and that put a bounce in my step for weeks.

But the concept also cast a gloomy shadow over my world.  Unlike creative energy, entropy was about disorder, chaos and eventual death.  Entropy was a reason to have another drink, skip class or lay on the sofa all day—the universe and human beings were doomed anyway.

After giving birth to Ayla—pregnancy is one of the few examples of negative entropy in the universe—everything that came afterwards felt entropic.  I was a frazzled mess, the house had gone to the dogs and anything that Ayla got her hands on ended up smushed, tossed, dumped, splattered or otherwise destroyed.  As Ayla became mobile, I spent my days running after her, collecting upturned boxes of stuff and putting them back in place.  I fantasized about days when Ayla might actually build something, or an even more potent hallucination, the moment when she’d learn to tidy up. 

Then, last week, the tide finally turned.  I was in my usual cleaning posture—on my knees, hunched over, with rag in hand—when the house fell silent.  Where was my cackling, bemused little mischief-maker, I wondered? What sort of devilish act of entropy had occurred now?

You can imagine my surprise when I saw Ayla carefully piling two large blocks on top of each other, instead of knocking them down.  Later that day, she fed baby Owen Cheerios—rather than dumping out the container of O’s onto the floor.  In the bath that evening, she snapped the lid onto a container. 

There are critical inflection points in your child’s life.  Walking, talking, and sleeping through the night are probably the most anticipated milestones for parent and child. But for me and my aching joints, the moment when Ayla put something together, rather than tearing it apart, was sheer bliss.

Sure I was eager for Ayla to learn to tidy up.  But there was more.  Human life is defined by our ability to create.  My peak experiences were always linked to creation: writing books, making art, building an organization, cleaning up a polluted river, and, of course, conceiving Ayla.  Those were the moments when I forgot all about entropy and was certain that the universe was hurtling towards equilibrium, not apocalypse.

I stayed frozen on my hands and knees watching Ayla create, feeling strangely triumphant.  I couldn't put my finger on the source of my joy until later in the day.  That's when I realized that my child had broken free of entropy and was now capable of making the world a better place. 

Comments

[shannon]

I. Love. This. Thank you for sharing your hope for yourself and your daughter to defy entropy with your life missions.