When I was in high school, our physics teacher, Mr. Andresen, attempted to teach a bunch of us about the laws of thermodynamics—fundamental principles of physics, describing the behavior of the entire universe. I’m oversimplifying, but they are: Energy can be neither created nor destroyed; entropy, inevitably, breaks down all things; and the heat death of the universe awaits us all. Conceptually, it was a lot for a classroom of fidgety sophomores to grasp. Mr. Andresen simplified it even further for us: “You can’t win. You can’t break even. And you can’t even get out of the game.”
Entropy is a constant in the universe. Nothing can resist its relentless assault. By infinitesimal degrees, entropy chips, wears, and erodes our flimsy human efforts. Wheels rust and fall off. Screens flicker and die. Our bodies grow feeble and break down. Even the tallest mountains eventually crumble to dust. And thus goes the universe. Eventually, all things fall apart. Every day, every hour, every second, every thing is succumbing to entropy. And there’s nothing we can do about it. That, I think, was Mr. Andresen’s point.
It stuck in the back of my mind, even as I went off to college. I wanted to be a coder—to create software and apps for the then still new revolution of mobile technology: sleek laptops, snazzy iPads, and razor-thin phones. Entropy, though, is especially hard on the gadgets I dreamed of creating. They break or become obsolete almost as quickly as they are released. Most personal computers have a lifespan of about three years. The life of a smartphone is even shorter: 18 months. And when the hardware fails, so too does the software—a whisper of a ghost, trapped inside a dead machine.
Despite fleeting lifespans, engineers like me ravenously design more stuff every year—simply for the sake of making something newer, better, and more fashionable. Think back to every new tech release of the last few years, every new phone, laptop, smartwatch, fitness tracker, and gadget that we stood in line for hours to buy. Tech companies promise their products will change the world. Except, of course, that after the hype settles, the ‘next big thing’ winds up being just one more thing that will end up on the trash pile, entropy gnawing away at its frame. Even in college, I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t enough to just make more things.
Before I left for school, my grandfather—a master craftsman and cattle rancher—handed me a toolbox. He passed away a few years ago, but in my memory my grandfather is never far from his workshop, patching things up, oiling his tools, finding a way to make something on his ranch last for just one more winter. In his world, a toolbox was almost sacred—a symbol of utility and self-reliance. Sometimes, that toolbox got more use than my books did. Out from under the protective umbrella of a parent’s care, most of the kids on my floor in college didn’t really know what to do when something fell apart. So, they started bringing their broken stuff to me.
That first year in the dorms, I rebuilt things that entropy had worn down: laptops dropped from beds, bookshelves that wouldn’t stand straight, chairs with wobbly legs. I fixed them all. And the moment that a broken laptop whirls to life again, or a shelf carries textbooks again, or a chair sits square again—that’s an amazing moment. Yes, things fall apart. But with a screwdriver and a little determination, you can put them back together again.
I went to college because I wanted to make new stuff. I left college with a passion for fixing old stuff. I’m sure there’s some sort of irony there. But somewhere along the way I realized, the world already has enough things. I often think back to what Mr. Andresen said about the laws of the universe: “You can’t win. You can’t break even. And you can’t even get out of the game.” It still rings true, though something about the formulation isn’t quite right. When you repair something, you hold entropy at bay. Not forever—just for a little while. Maybe just for one more winter, like my grandfather, or one more semester, like me. Maybe even just for one more day. But that’s enough. Because it’s one small way to fight back against the force that pulls the universe apart, and to rise above it. To put things right again.
When you fix something—just for a moment—entropy loses its iron grip on the universe. When you fix something—just for a moment—you’re the victor.
Wiman hiding her face behind a bunch of cashCanva
A mansion and its reflection in the swimming poolCanva
Salzburg at nightCanva
Fancy homeCanva
Happy volunteersCanva
Parents of young children get more time with them if they work from home.Photo credit: Canva
Juicy subject matter
Giphy from The Blacklist.
We could start a rumor.
Grieving couple comforting each other
This response to someone grieving a friend might be the best internet comment ever
When someone is hit with the sudden loss of a friend or loved one, words rarely feel like enough. Yet, more than a decade ago, a wise Redditor named GSnow shared thoughts so profound they still bring comfort to grieving hearts today.
Originally posted around 2011, the now-famous reply was rediscovered when Upvoted, an official Reddit publication, featured it again to remind everyone of its enduring truth. It began as a simple plea for help: “My friend just died. I don't know what to do.”
What followed was a piece of writing that many consider one of the internet’s best comments of all time. It remains shared across social media, grief forums, and personal messages to this day because its honesty and metaphor speak to the raw reality of loss and the slow, irregular path toward healing.
Below is GSnow’s full reply, unchanged, in all its gentle, wave-crashing beauty:
Why this advice still matters
Mental health professionals and grief counselors often describe bereavement in stages or phases, but GSnow’s “wave theory” gives an image more relatable for many. Rather than a linear process, grief surges and retreats—sometimes triggered by a song, a place, or a simple morning cup of coffee.
In recent years, this metaphor has found renewed relevance. Communities on Reddit, TikTok, and grief support groups frequently reshare it to help explain the unpredictable nature of mourning.
Many readers say this analogy helps them feel less alone, giving them permission to ride each wave of grief rather than fight it.
Finding comfort in shared wisdom
Since this comment first surfaced, countless people have posted their own stories underneath it, thanking GSnow and passing the words to others facing fresh heartbreak. It’s proof that sometimes, the internet can feel like a global support group—strangers linked by shared loss and hope.
For those searching for more support today, organizations like The Dougy Center, GriefShare, and local bereavement groups offer compassionate resources. If you or someone you know is struggling with intense grief, please reach out to mental health professionals who can help navigate these deep waters.
When grief comes crashing like the ocean, remember these words—and hang on. There is life between the waves.
This article originally appeared four years ago.