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288 pages, Hardcover
First published July 15, 2025
"This is what I want for you in reading this book. I want you to bask in this current moment, in the awe that we get to be here at all."
"If that asteroid had landed just a few minutes later in water just a few hundred meters deeper, everything could have been different. Less rock may have vaporized, less solar radiation may have been blocked. Sauropods and stegosaurs and tyrannosaurs and all the rest of them may have clawed their way through and come out on the other side, never opening up the space for those small, hairy beings to rise to dominance.
We grew from that devastation, that piece of space debris thrown randomly down to Earth. That wreckage brought with it the possibility of bouquets and dance parties and fresh-baked pastries; orchestras and paintings with pigments in heartbreaking hues. It brought the possibility of narratives, of stories passed down through mouths and later through hands and ink and paper and now silicon. Of people who could weave stories from stone.
This hits me not only when I'm sitting with strata but when I'm out in the world in a wholly human experience. I'm at a concert at a small stadium, my shoulder brushes the arm of the man sitting next to me. He slurps soda from a plastic straw and bobs his head as he mouths the words to nobody. Everyone is sweaty and we all know the song. When the stage lights flicker from fuchsia to yellow to alien green in tempo with the bass, we scream and cheer because we get to be here. The lights flash again and for a moment, in the darkness, I'm not here but floating through the depths of an Ediacaran sea. I'm swimming through the brine of those sightless, earless, boneless beings.
I'm remembering the ice ages that they sprang from and the mudlessness of land in those days. I'm remembering the lunglessness and soundlessness and now I'm remembering to breathe and turn back to the music. .
But I can't take my mind off it. How, after all those epochs, after everything Earth had been through, the thing that made this moment possible may have just been that random piece of space junk."
"Though we generally use the word mundane to describe things we may find boring, the word has roots in mundus, the Latin term for "world", as in, of this world rather than of the heavens. This duality of meaning - of this world and boring - perfectly embodies the fundamental nature of stratigraphy. It requires a commitment to paying attention to the events that have unfolded across this planet millions of times over. A commitment to patience, to breathing in and out and finding meaning in the ordinary."