GRAND PRIZE
“Wyoming adapts, from oil and coal to thorium and uranium, our economy and our pride are illuminating the United States. Solar and wind are no strangers to our lands either. This state may no longer be so carbon based, but we remain the bona fide battery of America.”
Bright Future
Ethan Cearlock
Age 17
Powell, Wyoming
Fiction
An inconsiderate ray of sun shines across my closed eyes. A bird begins its opera. My cat leaps onto my stomach and then onto the window for a listen. I sit up in bed, not even close to being wide awake but with no chance of going back to sleep. Why did I even bother to buy an alarm clock? A look out the window reveals pine trees with little drops of dew still dripping down. Rugged, purple, snow capped mountains loom in the distance. Not another person in sight. An introvert’s dream come true.
I’ve barely been up for a minute when the angst hits. Today’s the big day, the day that a year’s worth of work boils down to. I look around my room, hoping to distract myself by noticing old things for the first time. My framed statistics degree is slightly askew, along with several desk toys and baubles. No doubt the cat’s doing. As I put everything back in place, I reflect on these objects I often overlook. The degree that allows me to work where I please and not be constrained to a single field of science, the little model rocket I was gifted as a child that sparked my fascination with space, a Rubik’s Cube that’s almost solved but not quite completed because I’m too stubborn to look up how to do it, a copy of Hamlet with a bookmark in the middle right next to a Calvin and Hobbs comic book that I’ve read a dozen times, a rook serving as a paperweight, holding down my ambivalent invitation to speak at the Theodore Roosevelt Space Center today, it’s as much an honor as a burden. You can learn a lot about a person by their decorations and shelves. You can learn a lot about yourself by pretending to be a stranger in your own home, asking questions and making observations. A sort of environmental psychoanalysis. After completing this particular morning ritual, I move on to the next.
I use the time while brushing my teeth and showering to brainstorm projects, my ideas fluid like the water running down me, no constraints on what I may think of or about. Any subject, any time, reality or fantasy. These few minutes in the realm of wonder are where I find inspiration, inspiration that will encourage me to think outside the box, that will foster my ideas for the day. If you ask your brain a question, it will spit out an answer. This is the time I dedicate to finding the right questions.
Tea and breakfast in hand, I sit outside and orchestrate my plans for the day. The morning should be similar to yesterday, but come afternoon I’ve got a conference at the new Theodore Roosevelt Space Center followed by another meeting with the Department of Energy.
When I’m finally ready to head to work, I step off my porch and walk ten steps to my little office. Built from logs, it’s just as cozy as the cabin I live in. I’ve dedicated my professional life to playing my small part in the advancement of humanity, but I truly love living in such a quaint place and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on this planet. I chuckle to myself at the irony of living in the middle of nowhere yet spending my days working on space projects and nuclear power initiatives.
Just yesterday I completed a deep dive analysis of the benefits and costs of building another nuclear power plant, and I did it all right from the comfort of the forest. I’ll present my analysis and give a speech during my meeting with the Department of Energy today. Our innovative nuclear plants have made electricity our most profitable export, and we provide the nation with massive quantities of it. Wyoming adapts, from oil and coal to thorium and uranium, our economy and our pride are illuminating the United States. Solar and wind are no strangers to our lands either. This state may no longer be so carbon based, but we remain the bona fide battery of America.
I’ve spent countless hours in this room, hunched over my desk, standing in front of the wall-encompassing white board, refreshing my memory from the bookshelves opposite it, hanging upside down for a change in perspective. It’s home. It’s not easy, not always fun, and I’m not always happy, but it is deeply satisfying seeing a problem resolved. That’s the Wyoming way, we are forced to persevere through the tough, harsh, and inhospitable circumstances, and we have discovered that there is satisfaction and beauty on the other side. The key to making it here is to understand that what is enjoyable, beautiful, and easy seldom overlap. That pain and pleasure aren’t, in fact, mutually exclusive opposites, but two aspects of emotion that may coexist with one another. This idea isn’t hidden, you can find it in any athlete at the gym or problem solver deep in thought, it is the principle that has forever pushed humanity forward, and the principle that is pushing Wyoming forward now. From pioneers on the plains to pioneers in space, from oil to thorium, from old to new, from challenge to challenge, Wyoming perseveres.
A few hours have passed. I’ve typed up and printed off all the notes I’ll need for the day and head out of my retreat and towards civilization. The Theodore Roosevelt Space Center is relatively new and very hot in the press, being one of the most exciting things happening in the nation let alone Wyoming. The University of Wyoming pulled a CalTech and bought some land, built a center run joint with NASA. Poised to be a burgeoning force in the realm of asteroid mining, today is its first official day of operation. Given that I was a lead advocate, I am expected to give a brief speech and I may well be questioned by the press. There’s no point in dreading over what I can’t control, so I prepare. I rehearse a few key points under my breath, just to be certain I’m ready.
I use the commute time to calm my nerves. If the public won’t support this, it could all go to waste. Upon arriving I find a relatively small crowd compared to what politicians speak before, but still there are numerous cameras and at least a dozen dozens of people. A small podium and a microphone are soon in front of me. I can’t remember how I got here but I know what to do. My palms are sweaty but my voice is strong.
“A hundred years ago, Wyoming was a mining state. A hundred years from now we still will be, but we’re moving away from the Earth and towards the stars. The potential had been tantalizing for years, mountain sized hunks of metal and rock just out of our reach, we’ve been like small children on tippy toes with outstretched arms trying to reach a cookie jar on top of the fridge; but no longer. We will innovate. We will climb. We will seize our fantasies. We will no longer watch the future from the past, we refuse to be buried by the sands of time, we will succeed where others have only dreamt. We will reach beyond this earth, beyond the moon, beyond mars, and we will grab the iron, platinum, and titanium that will build our future societies.
“This facility was named after one of our nation’s greatest presidents, Theodore Roosevelt. He was a man that believed in a strenuous life, that satisfaction comes from pushing your boundaries and expanding your horizons. We are now not only pushing the boundaries of our state, but of humanity itself. We will go to places darker, colder, and more isolated than the deepest mines, and we will return richer for it. For most of human history, wealth has been defined by the natural resources a state holds within its borders. This is no more. Our borders now stretch for millions of miles, containing incomprehensibly vast amounts of material. We have pushed our boundaries further than any conqueror, we no longer need to fight over access, we will traverse hardship and find satisfaction, surplus and prosperity unparalleled in history. From our doorsteps we get to watch the next age rushing in one shuttle at a time. It is my honor to welcome in this new age as I welcome you all to the Theodore Roosevelt Space Center. Thank you.”
I step down from the podium. A blur of applause and questions wash over my ears. I answer as best I can, grateful for the prep work I did earlier. The talking lasts far longer and is far more stressful than the speech itself, but if it raises support, it’s worth it. After the excitement has calmed, hours have passed, I barely have time to eat a bagel before my appointment with the Department of Energy.
The appointment arrives. I begin.
“Oil is a relic of the past. Nuclear has managed to keep this state afloat, but Wyoming deserves not just to survive, but to thrive. That is why it is paramount we construct more reactors, reactors that advance with the times, that are safer than oil by the metric of pollution, cheaper by the watt, and able to provide more stability to the state. Electricity now flows out of this state like oil used to, but as populations and demand grow, we must keep pace...”
I give another presentation, far longer than the previous and to a much smaller and more scrupulous audience. Despite the slide show, graphs, and esoteric jargon, the speech I give here requires more passion and rhetorical finesse than I used earlier, simply delivered in different forms.
I feel as though I’ve succeeded in securing the development of more reactors, but the process is slow and tediously bureaucratic. It'll be months before I know if Wyoming can continue to keep pace with a rapidly advancing society. My job is to make sure it does.
My work is finally done for the day. The culmination of a year’s worth of work is over. There will certainly be more to do tomorrow, but for now I may relax. I stroll downtown as the sun hangs low, reminding myself why I work so hard to keep this state great.
There are people meandering about, looking for someplace to eat or something to do. Parents with precious little tikes holding their hands, their hands barely big enough to wrap around a finger, new couples going for a stroll; I look through a restaurant window and see a first date going well, nervous and awkward but smiley. Nearby a group of friends is celebrating something or other, glasses raised high; three generations of a family gathered around a table, leaned in close to hear the eldest tell a tale. A little further and I pass a cafe and a bookstore. At this hour, they’re remarkably similar, with college kids sipping coffee, typing on laptops, studying, finishing up homework. Before I know it, my hand is pulling out my phone and calling up an old friend. Soon I’m in one of the cozy little restaurants, tucked away in a corner, marshmallows bobbing in my hot cocoa, the sight of a passerby through the window, an epic tale being woven by the person sitting across from me about the previous month of her life. We sit and talk as old friends do, picking up right where we left off on year old conversations, speculating about where we’ll be a year from now, joking, laughing, eating, enjoying each other’s company. By now it’s gotten dark, it seems about time to head home, but she invites me to one of the best things you can do in Wyoming.
We head up into the mountains, far away from city lights, which takes less than 30 minutes in our part of Wyoming. The mountains are surprisingly lively lower down, with large groups gathered round campfires and families that dragged their kids camping, singing and drinking, s’mores, beers, stories, a very unique kind of nightlife. We hike a little further up, past giant boulders, past a babbling brook, past a foul pile left by a horse, and to a little alcove in the mountain. We pull out maps on our phones, set up the telescope, and star gaze. We see the little dots surrounding Jupiter, the craters of the crescent moon, the thousands of worlds we will never know. It’s peaceful and nostalgic. Lying there, observing the heavens, seeing the same beauty in the sky that people all around the globe have been enchanted by throughout time.
After the moon had long passed its peak and the sky had swirled and I had drifted off once or twice, it was finally time to head home. I had been exhausted by the day. The weight starts in my legs, every step coming slower. It fills me like lead poured into a mold. By the time I get to the front door, reaching for the doorknob feels like curling 20 kilos. Brushing my teeth takes all the strength I have left. The weight reaches my eyelids as I fall into bed. My cat curls into a ball beside me. I can’t wait to do it again.