If you pause to consider the staggering vastness of our universe—or as much of our universe's staggering vastness that our human brains are able to comprehend—you can't help but find yourself overcome with awe. The building blocks of matter are so simple, yet when combined with one another, they become paradoxically intricate and complex.

The Earth is exactly the right distance from the sun, and the sun is exactly the right size for that distance to help support the tightly-woven tapestry of life that sprung forth from the raw elements on the outermost, wafer-thin layer of this planet. This vulnerable membrane is host to absolutely everything we know, have ever known, and will ever know, and only for as long as we are alive. If the Earth was a house, the very concepts of nations, borders, race, religion, science, technology, art, music, color, taste, touch, smell, and life itself would exist only in the house's exterior paint. When we're gone, everything we know will be gone, too. Eventually, the illusions of sociopolitical constructs, our very temporary cities, and any other trace of our microscopic human race will be swept away. There will be no one to remember us.

Put into the correct perspective, it's easy to feel very small and insignificant in the scheme of the galaxy, let alone the much larger and wholly incomprehensible scope of the universe. But it also helps us understand that the existence of life is precarious, precious, and fragile. We may exist briefly, by chance, and in a water droplet on the wind, but we are lucky to be part of it, to feel love, and to experience friendship. We're fortunate to possess self-awareness, a capacity to learn, and a limited understanding of how remarkable, closely-related, and isolated life is on our tiny, unique, blue-green planet. It's temporary and fragile, but worth embracing, enjoying, and celebrating.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Happy tax day, everybody!