The beauty of small things

It's been a busy few weeks for me, with two back-to-back peer reviews for my host office (the Department of Energy's Industrial Efficiency and Decarbonization Office) and one of our major hubs (the National Alliance for Water Innovation). Both meetings were packed with extraordinary achievements and grand promises (net-zero carbon emissions for the industrial sector by 2050? Yes, please!).

But I also noticed the granularity of those achievements - the building blocks that make up the big accomplishments. Our office's Plant Water Profiler helps manufacturing facilities estimate the "true" cost of the water that's being used in individual processes. There are NAWI projects collecting data about the individual colonies of bacteria that grow on the surface of a desalination membrane.

It's difficult to get much smaller than that - and both those examples inform the way that an individual plant is managed and operated. Small changes in operations and maintenance have big, ripple-on effects in the consumption of water and energy... and in the production of greenhouse gas emissions.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that those same small-scale "building blocks" are vital to my art, as well as my science. And so, without further ado, here is an ode to the beauty of the small, the mundane, the unseen - and the ways that they shape our lives and our art for the better.

The everyday beauty of the mundane

When I first started DMing, I thought that every interaction with my world had to be in big, sweeping strokes. I quickly realized that even apocalypse-averting heroes occasionally need to stop and admire a sunset or eat a ham sandwich by the side of the road. And honestly, some of the most fun sessions that my players have had in my game have been in the downtime in between when they're off saving the world.

The town where my PCs live is an island community of thieves, mercenaries, and petty bureaucrats - but they do know how to appreciate a good jumbo. During the New Years' celebration, the town hosts an annual cooking contest, with the winner receiving a singing bass made of pure silver. I set the scene up as a Chopped-style cooking challenge with nautical-themed mystery ingredients and a host of unscrupulous pirate teams competing against the PCs. Needless to say, they had a blast, albeit with a slight side of scandal when one of the other teams sabotaged their main course. (They retaliated by using a high-level spell to invisibly spike the the opposing team's dessert with ghost peppers).

I take this same attitude to creative writing as well. I love Travis Baldree's Legends and Lattes because the low-stakes mundanity of running a coffeeshop in a small town is such a juxtaposition to the sweeping, epic storytelling that is usually expected from a typical adventuring party.

Even though my own writing doesn't quite embrace this level of cosy-core, I still like to take the time to add in slices of the everyday alongside the plot. My most recent project has stakes that are quite literally earth-shattering... but I still took the time to pause to record the thoughts and sensual experiences of a teenager seeing the ocean for the first time. It's the breaks in the action that allow readers to empathize with my characters, after all - it's a chance to experience what makes them human.

As in art, so in life

When I was in Berkeley for the NAWI Peer Review, I took an afternoon to go for a walk out to a local park by the bay. I watched the gulls in an aerial dogfight over a pizza crust tossed carelessly in the dumpster by a local student. I listened to the excited yipping of a collie puppy bounding through grass almost as tall as she was in search of an elusive red rubber ball.

A cormorant, dark and streamlined, darted in and out of the water amongst schools of silvery fish. Their outline blurred as the wind shivered against the surface of the sea, then rose up with a hoarse chortle to pull the tails of the nearby kites.

I have learned - from my science, from my art - the importance of making time for the small things. An afternoon walk. A warm mug of tea. A moment to watch the sparrows nesting on the ledge outside my window. Laughing over a board game with friends.

All of these things add depth and color to my life. What small things add beauty to yours?