The odds are infinitely for and against anything being out there. Anything. You know what that means? It means the galaxy might be one big empty space. It might be ninety nine percent cold nothing, and one percent living creatures fighting to scratch out an existence in the middle of the void. It might mean that looking at the galaxy is like flying over the middle of the country at night and looking out the window. Lots of black with the occasional splash of light here or there. But it might also mean the galaxy is full of habitable planets. Three thousand might just be scratching the surface. It might mean that once we really learn how to look, we're going to find places big and small. Alien and familiar. It might mean that looking at the galaxy is like standing in the middle of a city at noon. Someone to see no matter what direction you look in. It might mean there are planets where dinosaurs rule. Planets continually at war. Paradise planets. Ice planets. Water planets. Desert planets. Forest planets. Planets run by gangsters or Nazis or ancient Greek gods. Planets made of green cheese. Planets where there's no one over the age of thirty. Planets where everyone has superpowers. Planets on the brink of destruction. Planets swathed in clouds and subjected to millenniums-old storms. Planets so young their crust isn't even hard yet. It might also mean that maybe somewhere out there is a planet a lot like this one, with a young guy a lot like me. And maybe that young guy has found a young girl of his own. And maybe the young guy and the young girl have made a couple of little kids. Shared a dream. Built a family. And maybe that little family, the kind you see in advertisements for sensible cars or healthy frozen meals, maybe that family doesn't have the kind of time ahead that they think they have. Accidents can happen. And maybe that family is going to live in a house where one night there's a fire, and when all is said and done, maybe only the young man survives. What if a visitor like me could show up before this all happens and stop the fire and save the family? Wouldn't that be worth the effort of crossing a galaxy? I'm sure the family would appreciate it. I know I would have. But I might not find that planet. It might not be there, or I might set out in the wrong direction, or I might miss it by passing through the next system over. But then again, I might find it first time out. The odds are equally for and against me, and what that means is I have to try if I ever get the chance. People tell me I need to be more realistic. That I need a better plan, a more realistic plan. They say that the odds aren't equally for and against me. That if the odds are infinitely against me, that's all that matters. Worst of all are the ones who tell me that even if I'm completely right, until someone figures out how to get someone off this planet for real, it doesn't matter. They're my friends and they mean well, and they just want to make sure I'm not sitting around waiting for something that's never going to happen. I can't blame them. I'd probably feel the same if I were in their shoes. They don't understand how important this is to me, and there's no way they ever could. I don't know anyone who wants to leave this planet as much as I do. I'll find a way. And when I do, I'll be in a better place. Whether that place is one of the two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine other habitable planets, or some other place entirely, will be up to me. The odds are infinitely for me. The odds are infinitely against me. I can make the leap, put myself out there, and let the infinite galaxy decide my final destination. I can hardly wait.