It's the End of the World As We Know It?

So I called my sister this morning to say hi, and she told me about this show she watched on the History Channel last night saying the world is going to end in 2012.  Something about the Mayans and the Chinese and the Native Americans and a webbot project all basically ending their calendars on December 21, 2012.   Go ahead. Go look at it.  Admit you're as intrigued by this as you are by the disgusting media frenzy that is Britney Suicide Watch 2008. 

I'll wait.

Now, I don't have time this morning to debate the science. I haven't even dug into the science yet.  And, I'm still very religious in that I believe when I die I'll go to meet my Maker.  I don't know if I believe the pearly-gate-and-puffy-cloud part, but I believe there is an existence of the soul beyond death.  I doubt we'd need bodies, cause really, WHY?  Bodies just need food and sleep.  But I do think there is something beyond, because if I didn't believe that, our very existence on Earth -- our art and science and love and hate -- would be rather meaningless.

Let's forget the science for a moment and just pretend it's true.  The world is going to end in 2012.  Which, unlike when I was in grade school and fascinated with Arthur C. Clarke's 2001, is not a date in the distant future.  My retirement funds won't even have pulled out of the recession by then.  It's like tomorrow.

While I was talking to Blondie, my very first thought was oh, my God, I have to read a ton of books in the next four years. I mean, I haven't even fully covered the Western canon. This really bothers me. I feel as though I'm walking through life not getting hordes of literary allusions that would enrich my experience of my culture.  You may think I am joking, but I am really that big of a nerd.

My second thought was sadness that the little angel only gets to be eight before the world ends. 

Then I thought, we have to get to Disneyland!  She must see the princesses!  She must understand the power of corporate money!

Then I thought, maybe being obliterated at the age of eight isn't so bad.  True, she wouldn't get to experience a romantic relationship, but she wouldn't have her heart broken, either. She wouldn't have to experience date rape, probably not the death of a good friend, and hopefully not the death of her parents.  My fears about her developing an eating disorder like I did would probably not be realized.  And she would only know a reality surrounded by loving friends and family who told her every day how much they loved her.  She would only know sleeping at night surrounded by lavender nightlights and large stuffed Miffys and Poohs and Ski Bears and Pink Kitties.  She wouldn't have an existential crisis at 26.  She wouldn't get laid off or fired.  She wouldn't ever worry about her mortgage.

This adulthood thing is a double-edged sword. Imagine not experiencing it?  Imagine the world just...ending at age eight?

Trying to comfort myself about the little angel only getting to be eight, I thought about the fabulous parties there would be if we all believed, really believed, that the world was going to end in four years.  How many of us would change our attitudes about life.  Perhaps knowing it would all go poof in four years would force me to stop worrying about the future so much.

Then it dawned on me.  Whether or not it's true (I know, I keep thinking of Y2K, too), it's at least feasible. I don't think we've ever been closer to global crisis than we are now, not even during the Cold War. And whether or not it's true, I should behave as though it is.  What if it is true?  Why not eek a little more enjoyment out of the days?  Why not push to achieve life goals a little faster?  Why not make sure you see friends and family as much as possible? 

If the world ended in four years, there are some things I'm not looking forward to that I wouldn't have to face.  I wouldn't have to grow old.  I'd be 38 years old when it all went down.  I wouldn't have to witness my body shutting down.  I wouldn't have to give up my four-times-a-week workouts as my joints started failing me. I wouldn't not be able to lift heavy things, ever.  I wouldn't have to watch myself and my husband get weaker.  I probably wouldn't have to witness the deaths of my parents. They'll only be 68 when it all goes.  I'd be spared many of the great sorrows of this life. 

When we think about the world ending soon, it seems depressing.  But what if its end gave us four years of happiness and spared us forty more years of drudgery, laundry, accounting and arguments over who made dinner last?  What if it were a gift?