Your brain evolved to track seasons and lifespans. It cannot comprehend 4.5 billion years. But let's try anyway.
That's when humans appear.
All of recorded history? The last 0.2 seconds.
A cloud of gas and dust collapses. Gravity pulls matter together. For 100 million years, molten rock is bombarded by asteroids.
No oxygen. No life. Just a hellscape of lava and impacts. The Moon forms when something Mars-sized smashes into early Earth.
This violent beginning will last longer than all of human civilization multiplied by a million.
The first self-replicating molecules appear. Single-celled life will dominate Earth for the next 3 billion years.
That's not a typo. For most of Earth's history, nothing more complex than bacteria existed. No animals. No plants. Just microbes.
Cyanobacteria invent photosynthesis and start pumping out oxygen. Problem: oxygen is toxic to most life at this point.
The result? The largest mass extinction in Earth's history. Most life dies. But the survivors will eventually breathe this poison—including you.
The Cambrian Explosion. In a geological instant, most major animal body plans appear. Eyes, shells, predation—suddenly everything.
After 3 billion years of microbes, evolution goes into overdrive. But even this explosion is 540 million years before now.
Dinosaurs won't show up for another 300 million years.
Dinosaurs dominate for 165 million years. That's 800× longer than humans have existed. They weren't a failure—they were spectacularly successful.
Then, 66 million years ago, an asteroid ends their reign. In the aftermath, small mammals inherit the Earth.
Homo sapiens emerges in Africa. For most of our existence, we're hunter-gatherers in small bands. No writing. No cities. No agriculture.
Agriculture: 10,000 years ago. Writing: 5,000 years ago. Industrial revolution: 250 years ago. Internet: 30 years ago.
Everything you think of as "human civilization" happened in the last 0.2 seconds of Earth's 24-hour history.
Your entire life is a rounding error in deep time. Every human who ever lived occupies a sliver so thin it's invisible on any honest timeline.
This isn't depressing—it's liberating. The universe doesn't owe you significance. You're part of a story that began 13.8 billion years ago and will continue long after. Understanding deep time means understanding your place in it.
And yet: in this cosmic instant, you're the universe understanding itself. That's not nothing.