We often fixate on the dot—the one glaring issue, the latest obsession, the surface detail—while ignoring the vast, silent space around it. In this reflection, I explore what a simple classroom exercise, ancient artifacts, modern advertising, and the cosmic scale of human existence can teach us about meaning, perspective, and legacy.

The subject of this post has been on my mind for years. It concerns the blue dot perspective made popular by Carl Sagan and Voyager 1. I’m also reminded of an exercise I once used to awaken critical thinking in law students. Each was handed an A4 sheet of white paper with a small dot in the middle and asked to describe what they saw. Inevitably, they went to great lengths to describe the dot. Few, if any, took note of the vast white space surrounding it.

Watching jewelry commercials on TV calls to mind the collections housed in the British Museum. Makeup ads make me think of ancient Roman glass perfume and oil receptacles I regularly monitor at antiquarian auction sites. Magazine spreads for summer sandals harken back to leather ones recently excavated from Egyptian tombs. Will today’s “treasures”—or at least treasured objects—be auctioned off by my great-great-grandchildren? Or will they vanish into the planet’s trash bins, buried by the sands of time?

History remembers the likes of Julius Caesar—both revered and reviled—but as for the general public who once revered or reviled him, only his wife and the soothsayer who warned him of his demise remain part of that legacy. To what end, and where does the energy aimed at him and his feats go? Does it dissipate into the universe? And if the fervor aimed at Caesar only served to cement his place in history, how did it serve those who hurled the slings and arrows?

In a recent chat with GPT-AI, it described our place in the cosmos as “beyond microscopic.” It went on, more poetically:
“If Earth is a blue dot, a human is a whisper in the wind, a single note in a vast symphony, or a dust mote floating in a sunbeam—so small, it escapes notice even when you try to see it. A human is invisible, ephemeral, and yet miraculously significant, because we’re the ones who notice the blue dot, ponder it, and reflect on what it means.”

The likes of Caesar may be remembered as their likenesses are unearthed by archaeologists—but not so for you and me.

We’ve not changed much since the days of Egyptian pharaohs or Roman emperors. We still accumulate adornments, wear perfume, and opine about power and the creator of the cosmos. If little has changed, perhaps the wiser pursuit is to turn our attention inward—to those in our immediate circles—and seek meaning and purpose in our own white space.

Spend your energy seeking out your white space, and let your imagination carry you.

Tempus fugit. The time to start is now.

Author’s Note:
If this reflection resonated with you—or reminded you of your own “white space” moments—I’d love to hear about it. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or pass this along to someone who might appreciate a wider view of the world and their place in it.