And I wonder whether the person sitting next to me ever thinks about the same things as I do

Perspective.

Electrically charged elementary particles form electrically neutral objects. If one looked close up they would look like an endless desert consisting of numerous units linked to each other by an electric interaction. One could live a whole life observing the features of each one of them, write an encyclopedia of five parts. Then finally, in the end one would raise one's look satisfied to see endless similar shapes repetitively surrounding one, strecting to eternity. And understand the insignificance of such a complicated object. A drop in a galactic sea, an atom in the empty space between groups of galaxies.

We live 30 000 short lives. Each one can not be good, but every single one seems to have a purpose. I spend a day sitting in an old house, surrounded by echoes, staring in front of me and calculating simplified simulations of The Real World, because I will need that skill in the future. I feel joy of success, I feel pride; because of a single cup of warm, soft coffee I feel endless pleasure. When sitting late in the night in a tram travelling through darkness I am able to enjoy the soft lights, the content look on a man's face and the familiar melody I've been longing for the whole day.

Is an outcome the sum of its individual parts? When from close up one sees the variations of electric charge and from a distance the galaxy groups spinning around dark matter, what ever could be the right perspective? Is a day equally valuable to a year, a decade, a lifetime? What is the sum of the parts?

Does a happy life consist of a daily cup of warm coffee and an absent-minded touch on the arm, is twenty-four hours the right scale for a human?