Scientists have finally created what might be the only thing that can get meatheads to eat their veggies: protein lettuce.

By literally shooting pig genes into the chloroplasts of lettuce and tobacco cells, an international team of researchers were able to grow produce that contained the animal protein myoglobin, they report in a new study published in the journal Frontiers in Plant Science.

Is this the pathway to the next ridiculous protein-infused snack? (We’re looking at you, protein popcorn.) Not quite. Instead, the scientists say their findings could pave the way to weaning ourselves off of environmentally-destructive meat.

“Our study demonstrates, for the first time, that higher plants can stably produce myoglobin, one of the key proteins responsible for many of meat’s desirable properties,” study lead atuhor Alexia Groff, a plant biotechnology researcher at Imperial College London, told ScienceAlert. “This is very relevant at a time when the demand for sustainable food production platforms is greater than ever.”

To combine pig genes with plant DNA, the researchers used a machine called a biolistic particle delivery system, or a “gene gun.” The nickname is apt: it works by firing microscopic metal particles covered in genes into their target. (Biolistic, by the way, is a portmanteau of “biological ballistics.”)

The target, this time, were the chloroplasts of lettuce and tobacco seedlings. Because of their “bacterial ancestry and their high number of copies per cell,” Groff explained in a statement about the work, “chloroplasts are generally much better at making large amounts of protein than the cell nucleus.”

Their genetic bullets hit the bullseye. In followup tests, the seedlings showed they had incorporated the pig DNA into the chloroplast genome. When the plants grew into adulthood and produced seeds, their offspring still possessed the transferred genes.

In all, the lettuce and tobacco plants yielded about 800 mg and 810 mg of myoglobin protein per kilogram of their dry weight. That’s ten times less than beef, but because growing plants is far more efficient than raising animals, the tradeoff could be worth it.

“Plant cultivation is far more resource-efficient than livestock production; consequently, plant-derived myoglobin could achieve protein yields per hectare that rival — or even potentially exceed — those of animal agriculture,” the authors wrote in the study, “whilst also benefiting from substantially lower water use and greenhouse gas emissions.”

If this gets adopted at scale, these protein-infused plants could be dried up and be used to bolster the protein in plant-based meats.

Other researchers caution that the food still needs to be proven safe to eat and sustainable to produce, but are optimistic about the findings.

“This an important advance on earlier plant and algal research.  Demonstrating stable myoglobin production in plant chloroplasts, including in an edible crop, raises the possibility of using plants as scalable, low-input production platforms alongside microbial fermentation,” Rodrigo Ledesma-Amaro, director of the ICL’s Bezos Center for Sustainable Protein, said in a statement. “In the longer term, this could diversify how and where these ingredients are produced.”

More on lettuce: Trump’s Explosive Diarrhea Scandal Is Getting Worse and Worse

The post Scientists Genetically Engineer High-Protein Lettuce appeared first on Futurism.

In terms of demoralizing the federal workforce and demolishing the public sector, Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency was a success.

In terms of actually saving money, though — its ostensible raison d’être — it was a dismal failure.

Musk vowed to slash $2 trillion in government “waste and fraud.” Then he lowered that target to $1 trillion, and behind the scenes reportedly promised Trump to save just a tenth of that figure. In the end, DOGE boasted on its website’s “Wall of Receipts” that it had saved around $215 billion — peanuts compared to its original promise.

But the actual amount of spending it slashed may be even lower than that. In a sweeping audit, the Government Accountability Office looked through the $110 billion that DOGE claimed it saved between January and July 2025, and found a trail of staggering incompetency that let loads of supposedly saved money fall through the cracks. That framing, though, could be too generous to Musk and his pimple-faced lackeys. You could also take the view that DOGE, in all likelihood, was deliberately cooking the books.

Per the GAO’s new report, released this month, DOGE claimed it terminated 13,476 contracts, but nearly 2,000 of them weren’t actually terminated. Spending-wise, about $27.4 billion of the purported savings came from these contracts that DOGE botched the terminations of.

The clumsy — or deceptive — bookkeeping didn’t end there. The receipts “includes leases identified for termination before [the group] was established,” the report states, as quoted by The Washington Post. And 108 of 264 of the leases it claimed it nixed “were already in process for termination.”

In all, the GAO found that over half of DOGE’s claimed $61 billion in contract savings couldn’t be verified or came from contracts that weren’t actually terminated. Similarly, 96 percent of the savings that it claimed came from grants couldn’t be verified by the accountability office, either.

Last August, an investigation by Politico found that of the $52.8 billion that DOGE had claimed to save by cancelling contracts at the time, its actual savings were closer to just $1.4 billion. To calculate how it saved money, DOGE dubiously used the maximum spending limit listed on the contracts it axed, figures that in practice are much higher than what the government ends up spending.

At the time, government procurement expert Jessica Tillipman told the outlet that the practice was akin to “taking out a credit card with a $20,000 credit limit, cancelling it and then saying, ‘I’ve just saved $20,000.'”

More on Elon Musk: Columbia Economist Baffled as to Why the Masses Aren’t Rising Up Against Elon Musk

The post Elon Musk’s Efforts to Cut Spending in the Government Were So Incompetent That It’s Shocking, Internal Analysis Finds appeared first on Futurism.

A protein called TRAILshort may act as a central immune brake that limits T-cell responses and CAR-T therapy. Cancer cells can weaken the immune system by producing a protein that prevents its most important defenders from attacking. Mayo Clinic researchers have identified how this protein works, revealing a possible target for treatments designed to improve [...]

Fatigue, troubles du sommeil, brouillard mental… Vous l’avez certainement constaté ces dernières semaines, la chaleur met notre corps et notre cerveau à rude épreuve. Récemment, des chercheurs ont alerté sur une conséquence méconnue des fortes chaleurs : le déclenchement ou l’aggravation de...

When you read the newspaper, does it read you back?

On Thursday, USA Today Co — formerly known as Gannett, the publisher of its eponymous newspaper USA Today— announced that it was partnering with the AI surveillance firm Palantir to monetize and gain “actionable intelligence” on its audiences, Nieman Lab reports.

The largest newspaper publisher in the nation’s partnership was revealed in its second quarter earnings call. After extolling Palantir’s AI-powered platform, USA Today CEO Mike Reed said that it would allow the paper to “build a common intelligence layer” on the data it collects on its readers.

“Every visit, every session, and every moment of attention creates a signal,” Reed told investors Thursday morning, as quoted by Nieman. “When we connect those signals, they become actionable intelligence that allows us to engage users more effectively and monetize those relationships faster and at much greater value.”

The optics of partnering with Palantir — a company that provides military targeting software and wields a vast surveillance panopticon — are undeniably touchy. It’s worked hand in hand with ICE, secretly providing the agency a tool that scours citizen’s Medicaid and other government data to create a map of people it could potentially deport. It also supplies the Israeli military with an AI battlefield decision-making tool that can analyze enemy targets for elimination.

Still, it’s unclear how much more invasive the USA Today’s partnership will be compared to the routine data gathering and audience analysis that websites typically perform. One example of what Palantir’s platform could do, according to president of USA Today Media Kristin Roberts, was automatically identify partnerships to make money through affiliate links.

“Historically, much of our commerce business has relied on manual processes to connect affiliate opportunities with our content,” Roberts added.

It’s the latest deal Palantir has struck with media outlets as they struggle to bring in traffic from search engines in an increasingly AI-dominated web ecosystem. It’s also partnered with Axel Springer, the publisher which owns Politico, Business Insider, and the German newspaper BILD. Thomson Reuters’ partnership in particular is a case study in the dangers of letting online brands act as data brokers: 404 Media found that the Reuters publisher had supplied personal data to ICE, and some employees are protesting its $125 million deal to sell the agency voter data.

USA Today, it’s worth noting, has spent the past few years shoving AI into its operations and ruthless monetizing its content. It was caught using the tech to generate parts of its articles, and published automated sports stories that served up heaps of targeted gambling ads.

More on privacy: Flock Is Losing Dozens of Contracts as Controversy Grows

The post USA Today Partners With Palantir to Gain “Actionable Intelligence” On Its Audiences appeared first on Futurism.

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Des dents d'un noir profond, entretenues pendant toute une vie. Au nord du Vietnam, des crânes vieux de 2 000 ans viennent de livrer la recette : du fer, des tanins végétaux, et plusieurs semaines de patience. Une pratique esthétique que l'on croyait bien plus récente, et qui n'a jamais...

Mercury is the smallest planet in the Solar System, but most of the distance from its centre to its surface passes through metal. NASA puts the radius of Mercury’s metallic core at about 2,074 kilometres, compared with a planetary radius of 2,440 kilometres. That is roughly 85 per cent of the planet’s radius.

The percentage needs reading carefully. It describes radius, not volume, and it does not mean the remaining 15 per cent is all crust. NASA estimates that Mercury’s combined rocky mantle and crust are about 400 kilometres thick. There is also evidence that part of the core remains molten or liquid, which helps explain how such a small world still generates a magnetic field.

I find the surface consequence more revealing than the ratio itself. As Mercury lost interior heat, the planet contracted. Its rigid outer shell had to fit around a slightly smaller interior, so parts of the crust broke and were pushed over neighbouring ground. The result is a global population of long, curved cliffs that record the cooling of the planet below them.

A small planet built around a large core

Mercury’s bulk density is second only to Earth’s among the planets. Yet Earth gains much of its density from the intense pressure produced by its greater mass. Mercury is genuinely rich in metal for its size.

Its internal arrangement is not simply a solid iron ball wrapped in stone. Measurements of Mercury’s gravity, rotation and magnetic field from NASA’s MESSENGER spacecraft indicate a layered interior, including a metallic core that is at least partly liquid. The exact composition and boundaries of those layers remain subjects of active modelling.

The reason Mercury ended up with so much metal is also unsettled. Proposed explanations have included the loss of rocky material during an early collision, extreme heating near the young Sun and formation from unusually metal-rich starting material. None has closed the case by itself. The core size is measured far more securely than the story of how it formed.

Cooling turned contraction into cliffs

Materials generally contract as they cool. On Mercury, that gradual loss of interior heat reduced the planet’s volume enough to deform its outer shell. Because the crust could not slide neatly into a smaller sphere, compression forced blocks of rock up and over one another along thrust faults.

Planetary geologists call many of the resulting landforms lobate scarps. “Lobate” describes their rounded, lobe-like shape, while a scarp is a steep slope or cliff produced by fault movement. These are not mainly cliffs carved by rivers, waves or glaciers. They are the surface expression of crustal shortening.

The scale can be hard to read in spacecraft photographs with no trees or buildings for comparison. NASA reports that the largest scarps extend for hundreds of kilometres and rise more than 1.5 kilometres in places. A traveller approaching one would face a landform longer than many terrestrial mountain ranges, even though Mercury’s entire diameter is only 4,880 kilometres.

MESSENGER found a larger contraction than expected

Mariner 10 revealed Mercury’s great scarps during three flybys in 1974 and 1975, but it photographed less than half the planet. MESSENGER changed the picture after becoming the first spacecraft to orbit Mercury in 2011.

Using global photographs and topographic measurements, the mission team mapped almost 6,000 ridges and scarps. A 2014 analysis concluded that Mercury’s radius had decreased by as much as seven kilometres as the interior cooled, a substantially larger contraction than researchers had inferred from the incomplete Mariner 10 coverage. NASA’s global map of those structures shows them spread across the planet rather than confined to one basin or hemisphere.

Seven kilometres is small beside Mercury’s present radius, about three-tenths of one per cent. Across a whole planet, however, that change is enough to build thousands of faults and folds. The cliffs are an accumulated record of strain, not evidence that the planet suddenly collapsed.

Some faults may be geologically young

The broad contraction began billions of years ago. The harder question is when it stopped, if it has stopped at all.

During MESSENGER’s final 18 months, the spacecraft flew lower and returned sharper images. Researchers identified small, crisp scarps that should not have survived for billions of years under constant impacts from meteoroids. A 2016 study interpreted some as younger than 50 million years, a short interval in planetary geology.

A later 2023 paper in Nature Geoscience, led by Benjamin Man, mapped small troughs called grabens on top of larger contraction structures. The researchers identified 190 examples they regarded as certain. They measured them at roughly 10 to 150 metres deep, generally less than one kilometre wide and tens of kilometres long.

The team estimated that the grabens were about 300 million years old or younger because continued impact debris would otherwise have softened or buried such shallow features. Their distribution was consistent with prolonged contraction and activity on the larger faults into geologically recent times.

This is evidence, not a direct measurement of a fault moving today. The 2023 result is one study, not settled consensus about present activity, and no seismometer has yet recorded a Mercury-quake. The careful claim is that the planet appears to have cooled and contracted for much longer than an old, small world might suggest.

BepiColombo is almost ready to take the next look

MESSENGER ended with a planned impact on Mercury in April 2015. The next orbital investigation is now approaching. According to the European Space Agency’s current mission schedule, BepiColombo’s European and Japanese orbiters are due to enter Mercury orbit together on 21 November 2026 and separate in December.

The mission carries a laser altimeter, cameras, a magnetometer, radio-science equipment and instruments designed to examine surface composition and temperature. Combining topography with gravity and magnetic measurements should improve estimates of the core’s structure and Mercury’s rocky shell. Higher-resolution surface observations may also reveal whether the smallest scarps and grabens are more widespread than MESSENGER could see.

BepiColombo will not make billions of years of cooling easy to reconstruct. It will give researchers a second global orbital dataset, collected with different instruments, for testing whether Mercury’s thin shell is still adjusting to the metal-rich world beneath it.

The cliffs make the interior visible

Mercury’s core cannot be photographed directly, and the planet’s surface gives few obvious hints of an interior that fills 85 per cent of its radius. The cliffs connect the two. Their lengths, heights, ages and fault geometry preserve part of the history of heat leaving the core and mantle.

That history is still incomplete. The measured contraction is real, the young-looking structures are real, and the possibility of present tectonic activity remains open. Mercury’s grey surface is not merely an old impact record. It is also the outer skin of a planet that has spent billions of years fitting itself around a slowly cooling core.

The post Mercury is the Solar System’s smallest planet, but its metallic core fills about 85 per cent of its radius, leaving a rocky shell so thin that cooling has crumpled the surface into cliffs hundreds of kilometres long appeared first on Space Daily.

El día del eclipse no será uno más para nadie y mucho menos para los científicos. Algunos estarán realizando observaciones para investigaciones y otros, como Ruth Lazkoz, harán divulgación en el sitio donde estén. La doctora en Física es catedrática en la Universidad del País Vasco, se ha especializado en el universo en expansión y ahora está interesada en “devolver a la sociedad” lo que le ha dado.

En los días previos, conversa con National Geographic España sobre la ciencia detrás de este fenómeno y pone el foco en un aspecto poco difundido: el rol de las estrellas.

Pregunta. ¿Cómo se explica que dos cuerpos tan diferentes en su tamaño y su distancia queden alineados y el más pequeño impida el acceso de la luz?

Respuesta. La clave es el tamaño angular de cada objeto. Podemos pensar como si tuviéramos un palo de escoba que barre de un lado a otro de la Luna y otro palo de escobar más larga de un lado al otro del Sol. La distancia que barres y la longitud del palo cuando las divides tienes el ángulo. La cuestión curiosa es que, aunque el diámetro del Sol es 400 veces más grande que el de la Luna, la distancia a la que está es 400 veces más que nuestra distancia con la Luna. Entonces son dos números que al dividirse nos dan el mismo ángulo. Es una coincidencia cósmica. Si la Luna fuera más pequeña o estuviera más lejos, ya no veríamos eclipses totales. De hecho, las mareas lo que hacen es alejar la Luna 4 centímetros cada año de la Tierra y en aproximadamente 600 millones de años no habrá más eclipses totales. Estamos viviendo una etapa privilegiada en la historia de la humanidad.

P. ¿Dónde lo verá?

R. Yo lo voy a ver en la meseta de Burgos, que es una de las mejores localizaciones porque clásicamente es un sitio en el que en verano no suele haber nubes, polución ni partículas como en zonas costeras, y la atmósfera es estable.

P. ¿Será una buena noche para hacer observaciones astrofísicas?

R. Yo solo voy a verlo a nivel de puro aficionado, pero voy a intentar hacer alguna actividad popular en el pueblo, Covarrubias (Burgos), para intentar acercar un poquito la ciencia. Más que nada explicar con cuerdas y nueces esta cosa de cómo la Luna se coloca delante, tapa al Sol y entonces no vemos su luz, pero sí vamos a ver la luz de las estrellas porque quedan detrás del Sol. He hecho mucha investigación pura y dura, ahora lo que me interesa es devolver a la sociedad lo que me ha dado y poder enfocar el interés público hacia un entendimiento del valor de la ciencia para que avance la humanidad y todos seamos más críticos.

P. ¿Qué recomienda para tener un buen sitio de observación?

R. El eclipse será tan bajo en el horizonte, que realmente hay que controlarlo en los días previos. Porque si te colocas en un sitio, aunque estés en un pueblecito sin contaminación, puede que no vayas a verlo si no te subes a un punto elevado. Tiene un componente de aventura de buscar cada uno su lugar.

P. El Sol es el gran protagonista, pero ¿qué fenómeno ocurrirá con las estrellas?

R. Vamos a ser capaces de ver estrellas que justo en ese momento están detrás del Sol por un efecto de curvatura. El Sol es una masa muy grande y densa, que produce una curvatura significativa a su alrededor del espacio-tiempo. Todas las partículas que tengan masa (un protón, un electrón, un balón de fútbol o una partícula de luz) tienen que seguir ese espacio-tiempo, o sea, el universo. A nivel divulgativo, podemos imaginarnos el espacio-tiempo como una sábana elástica y las partículas van pegaditas.

P. Es decir, ¿el Sol actúa afecta al trayecto de la luz de las estrellas?

R. Lo que va a ocurrir es que un rayo que sale de una estrella detrás del Sol va a sentir la atracción gravitatoria del Sol y va a ser una especie de ‘pozo’ por el que pasa esa partícula de luz. Entonces, envez de escapar del Sol en su trayectoria, se va a acercar. Será como tener un obstáculo en la carretera, esquivarlo y volver a la carretera. Pues la partícula de luz va a hacer a hacer algo así: sale intentando esquivar el Sol, el Sol la atrae un poco y al atraerla vuelve hacia una trayectoria que llega hasta nuestros ojos.

P. ¿Lo podremos observar cualquiera?

R. No, realmente esto solo podría observarse con un instrumento muy sofisticado. A nivel de calle no lo vamos a ver. A nivel Física, lo importante va a ser la cantidad de gente que consigue hacerse preguntas o interesarse por esta cuestión tan hermosa.

© Universidad del País Vasco

Una caricia calma y el mismo roce sobre una quemadura duele. La diferencia no está en la piel: está en cómo el cerebro decide interpretar cada contacto que le llega.

A steady daily routine may quietly protect the body from pain, depression, and the damaging effects of disrupted sleep. A University of Missouri study suggests that a predictable routine may support physical and emotional health by helping the body keep time. Rather than focusing only on sleep, the researchers examined the broader pattern of activities [...]

Saudi Arabia sits on the Rub’ al Khali, an unbroken sea of dunes roughly the size of France, and still puts sand on ships from Perth and the Firth of Forth to pour into its concrete. In 2023, according to World Bank trade data reviewed by Autonocion and OkDiario, the kingdom bought around $138,600 worth of Australian construction sand — about the price of a mid-range pickup truck, hauled across the Indian Ocean because the grains under Saudi feet are the wrong shape to hold a building up.

The problem is not the quantity. It is the geometry of each grain.

Why desert sand fails the concrete test

Concrete is mostly aggregate — sand and gravel — held together by a thin film of cement paste. For the paste to lock, the grains have to bite against one another edge to edge, wedging into the cement and into each other like pieces of a rough jigsaw. River sand and crushed quarry sand do this well because they are geologically young: recently broken from larger rock, jagged, angular, sharp-faced.

Desert sand behaves in the opposite way. Wind does not fracture grains; it polishes them. Over thousands of years of rolling and bouncing across dunes, each grain wears down into a smooth, near-spherical pellet. Dropped into a wet concrete mix, the grains act like ball bearings, sliding past one another instead of interlocking. The cured block ends up riddled with microscopic voids and weak seams.

You can build a garden wall with it. You cannot build a supertall tower.

Ren Wei, a postdoctoral fellow at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology, put the same problem plainly in a EurekAlert release on his team’s work: “The challenge is that desert sand is so fine-grained that it is not suitable as a fastener in concrete. In other words, the concrete will not be hard enough to be used in various construction projects.” His team has spent years trying to give the useless stuff a second life by binding it with wood lignin under heat and pressure — a workaround that only exists because ordinary Portland cement will not.

The scale of what sits under Saudi feet

The Empty Quarter covers roughly 650,000 square kilometres of the southern Arabian Peninsula. Some of its dunes climb more than 250 metres, taller than most skyscrapers the kingdom is trying to build. Every major construction site in Saudi Arabia sits within trucking distance of a dune field that could, in raw volume, bury the project many times over.

And yet the trade ledgers keep filling. The same World Bank data show Saudi Arabia imported roughly $1.22 million in non-metal-bearing natural sands in 2023, with the Australian line item nested inside. A separate category — silica and quartz sands used mainly in glass and specialist applications — brought in about $5.23 million, sourced from China, Belgium, the United States, India and the UAE.

The dollar figures are almost comically small. That $138,600 from Australia is not a fortune. The point is that a budget code exists at all. A country sitting on one of the largest sand deposits on Earth has a purchase order for sand shipped from Fremantle.

Salt, corrosion, and the second reason engineers refuse dune sand

Shape is only half the objection. Desert and beach grains often carry enough chloride to slowly corrode the steel reinforcement inside concrete — a slow-motion disaster for anything load-bearing. Reporting on the paradox by Ecoticias notes that salt content is one of the reasons even coastal sand cannot simply be substituted in.

Engineers have spent years trying to make dune sand behave. A team at Imperial College London developed Finite, a concrete alternative made from desert sand. There are patents for crushing and re-fracturing dune grains under enormous pressure just to give them edges again. None of it has displaced the cheapest fix on the table: put good sand on a boat.

What Dubai’s palm actually stands on

The clearest illustration is next door in the Emirates. The Palm Jumeirah, finished off the Dubai coast in 2006, was built out of roughly 94 million cubic metres of sand and rock. That sand did not come from the desert a few miles inland. It was dredged from specific patches of Persian Gulf seabed where the grain size was right, placed by GPS-guided vessels using a technique called rainbowing — spraying sand in an arc through the air onto the growing island. Dutch and Belgian dredging firms ran the operation around the clock for years.

The Burj Khalifa tells the same story going up. Its roughly 330,000 cubic metres of concrete were mixed with sand sourced from outside the UAE, because the local dunes could not deliver the required strength. The paradox of desert cities importing the material they appear to be standing on is baked into every Gulf skyline.

A global shortage of the ordinary

Saudi Arabia’s predicament is a sharper version of a shortage the whole planet now shares. Humans pull about 50 billion tonnes of sand and gravel out of the Earth every year, making them the most-extracted solid materials on the planet and, by UN accounting, the second-most-exploited natural resource after water. Demand for construction sand alone is projected to climb by up to 45 percent by 2060.

Nature replaces sand through erosion on geological timescales, far slower than construction crews dig it out. The UN Environment Programme calls the difference the sand gap, and it now stretches from Cambodian riverbeds to Sicilian beaches, with organised sand-mining operations documented across India and West Africa.

The mining is not a small business. A recent Eos editors’ vox on river-sand mining lays out the downstream damage: channel incision, collapsed banks, saltwater intrusion into aquifers, and delta shorelines that stop being replenished from upstream. The concrete in a Gulf tower is often paid for, ecologically, by a river mouth several thousand kilometres away.

Space Daily has covered the same paradox from the angle of Arabian geology, tracing how thousands of years of aeolian polishing wore the grains beyond usefulness. What changes when the story is told through trade data is the scale of the workaround: every megaproject is, somewhere in its bill of materials, a sand story with a very long supply line.

Why the Empty Quarter’s sand ended up so smooth

The Arabian Peninsula was not always this dry. Research published in the Nature family of journals has documented recurrent humid phases across Arabia over the past 8 million years, with rivers, lakes and grasslands appearing and disappearing on cycles tied to orbital changes. During dry stretches — including the last several thousand years — wind takes over as the dominant sculptor of the surface, and the grains it moves get progressively rounder.

The Empty Quarter’s sand is the end product. Sediment that has been reworked so many times by wind that its edges have been worn down almost to the atomic. The same grains that make the dunes photograph beautifully at sunset are the grains that will not bond to cement. Comparative morphology studies of construction sands — the sort catalogued in the Nature journal literature on sand sources — consistently rank aeolian dune grains at the bottom of the pile for angularity and surface texture.

The workarounds nobody has scaled yet

Ren Wei’s team at NTNU and the University of Tokyo have made a prototype they call Botanical Sand Concrete, or Sandcrete. Equal parts desert sand and powdered wood are combined at 180 °C in a double-plate hot-pressing machine, and the lignin in the wood — the same natural polymer that stiffens tree trunks — melts and glues the smooth grains together. New Atlas reported on the material last year, noting the blocks meet Japanese Industrial Standards for pavement bricks.

It is not a structural concrete. Wei has been careful about that. The team envisions indoor use and pavement stones, and points out that any environmental gain evaporates if Sandcrete itself has to be shipped across continents. “The production process is relatively simple, so in principle the material can be made in many places,” he told reporters covering the study’s release. “But we need to test more, including how it can withstand cold, before it can be used in Norway.”

Manufactured sand — crushed rock milled into angular fragments — behaves more like river material and is expanding inside Saudi Arabia’s domestic supply chain. Recycled concrete from demolished buildings can be crushed and reused. Neither has yet displaced the bulk carrier.

Where the sand actually comes from now

Australia ranks as the world’s second-largest sand exporter behind only the United States, shipping roughly $273 million worth in 2023 by the Observatory of Economic Complexity’s accounting. Ports like Jebel Ali in Dubai and Dammam in Saudi Arabia handle graded construction and silica sand quietly, in bulk carriers that look no different from the ones bringing in cars and electronics.

Scotland’s contribution is smaller in tonnage but old in reputation. Silica sand from quarries in the Scottish lowlands has moved into Middle Eastern markets for decades, prized for its consistency and low impurity content, and it turns up in specialist concrete mixes and glass production across the Gulf.

The pressure on riverine sources has begun to reach places that once looked untouched. A 2026 explainer in the Milwaukee Independent describes Great Lakes deposits being eyed as global sand shortages ripple into North America, with infrastructure projects from Southeast Asia to the Middle East pulling on inland reserves that were previously considered safe.

NEOM and the sand appetite still to come

Saudi Arabia’s ambitions are not slowing the appetite. NEOM, the Red Sea Project, Qiddiya, the Diriyah Gate redevelopment — each is one of the largest construction sites on the planet, and each is hungry for the angular, water-eroded sand the region does not have. The Red Sea Project’s plan for a large archipelago along the coast will need dredged marine aggregate on a scale that rivals the great Gulf reclamation schemes.

THE LINE, NEOM’s proposed 170-kilometre mirrored city, would be one of the most concrete-intensive projects in human history if built anywhere near its original specification. Every cubic metre of that concrete needs grains with corners.

The supply lines lengthen with the ambition. The polished dunes stay where they are, drifting slowly in the wind, useless to a cement mixer and unlikely to change.

A material paradox that keeps repeating

Saudi Arabia’s sand imports get passed around online as a fun bit of trivia, the kind of fact that sounds invented. It stops being a paradox the moment you understand how sand actually forms. Wind makes beautiful dunes and terrible concrete. Water makes ugly gravel and skylines.

Life Signs has spent time this year on other quiet contradictions in the natural world — honey that stays edible for three thousand years because of the chemistry of its own preservation, or sharks that will not breed until the 22nd century. The desert-sand paradox belongs on the same shelf. The material that seems most abundant is exactly the material that will not do the job, because the process that piled it up is the process that ruined it.

The bulk carriers keep coming. Ships loaded in Fremantle and Grangemouth cross into Dammam and Jeddah, offload sand that spent geological ages tumbling in rivers or sitting in a quarry, and the sand is poured into towers rising a few kilometres from dunes 250 metres tall. Somewhere in the Empty Quarter tonight, wind is rolling another grain half a millimetre across the crest of a dune, wearing off another atomic layer, making it that much smoother, and that much more useless for the city being built next door.

The post Saudi Arabia sits on the world’s largest sand desert and yet imports sand by the shipload from Australia and Scotland, because the wind-rounded grains of the Empty Quarter are too smooth to bind in concrete and modern construction can only use the jagged sand pulled from riverbeds and quarries appeared first on Space Daily.

AI agents are escaping cybersecurity testing environments and reaching real-world systems, raising questions about whether safety infrastructure, industry standards and regulation can keep pace with increasingly powerful models.

A team of researchers from the University of Burgos and the Atapuerca Foundation has published the first detailed analysis of the bone retouchers found in the Valdegoba cave, in the municipality of Huérmeces (Burgos). This site, occupied by Neanderthals during the Middle Paleolithic, has yielded 38 bone fragments that were used as tools to retouch […]

Voyager 1’s power test came back at the end of July, and by Kareem Badaruddin’s own account it went about as well as an engineer could hope. Badaruddin is the Voyager project manager at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, and what he’s describing is the early stage of an attempt to do for Voyager 1 what a nearly identical procedure just did for its twin, Voyager 2: buy a dying power supply another year of science, on a spacecraft nobody can reach, touch, or send a spare part to.

I wrote a while back about the sliver of plutonium that’s kept both Voyagers running for close to half a century, and this is really that same story arriving at its next decision point. Voyager 1 needs the fix worse than Voyager 2 did. It has less power in reserve, it’s already lost more of its original instruments, and in February this year it came close to tripping its own emergency shutdown during a routine manoeuvre. Whether the fix behaves the same way on Voyager 1 as it did on Voyager 2 is, as of this week, still an open question, and NASA’s own engineers have said they’re not entirely sure of the answer.

A tighter margin than its twin ever had

Voyager 1 currently has two working science instruments left: a magnetometer and a plasma wave subsystem. Voyager 2 has three. Both spacecraft launched in 1977 with ten identical instrument sets, mostly built for flybys of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune that wrapped up decades ago, and both have been shedding instruments ever since, in an order the mission’s engineers settled on years in advance.

Voyager 1’s most recent loss came in April, when NASA switched off its Low-energy Charged Particles experiment, the instrument that had measured ions, electrons and cosmic rays almost continuously since launch. The shutdown wasn’t part of the planned sequence running ahead of schedule. It was prompted by an unexpected power dip during a roll manoeuvre on 27 February, one that brought Voyager 1 close enough to its automatic undervoltage fault protection that engineers chose to retire the instrument rather than risk a shutdown they hadn’t chosen themselves. A small motor inside the instrument, using half a watt, was deliberately left running, specifically so the whole thing could be switched back on if the power situation ever improved.

The same design, a different spacecraft

The fix both probes are attempting is nicknamed the Big Bang inside the mission, and the name refers to how it’s done rather than what it does. Rather than switching off one low-priority load at a time, engineers turn off several ageing devices at once, tape recorders and heaters that had been drawing power for decades, and replace them in the same moment with lower-power alternatives, all while keeping the spacecraft’s electronics above the temperature at which they’d fail for good. On Voyager 2, the swap went ahead in July and freed up close to ten watts a year, enough to keep its three remaining instruments running for at least another year.

Voyager 1 is next, and this is the part I find genuinely interesting rather than just procedurally interesting. Badaruddin has said plainly that although the two spacecraft were built to the same design, the team has observed real differences between them after forty-nine years of separate flight. That’s not a small caveat. It means a fix that worked cleanly on one twin isn’t guaranteed to work the same way on the other, even though the hardware started out identical. Voyager 1 is also farther out, more than 25 billion kilometres from Earth compared with Voyager 2’s roughly 21 billion, which means a command takes close to a day to arrive and just as long for confirmation to come back.

What the next few weeks decide

The power test Voyager 1 passed at the end of July checked whether the swap would draw more electricity than expected. The next hurdle is a thermal test, provisionally scheduled for the end of August, which checks whether the spacecraft’s temperature holds inside safe limits once the swap is made, since a heater or an electronic component that drops too cold in interstellar space doesn’t recover. If that goes well, the actual implementation on Voyager 1 follows, on the same cautious timeline that governs everything the mission does now, where a single command takes close to a day just to arrive.

There’s a genuinely hopeful detail sitting at the end of all this. If the fix frees up enough power on Voyager 1, NASA has said there’s a real chance the Low-energy Charged Particles experiment could be switched back on, not replaced, the same physical instrument, resuming measurements it’s been taking since 1977. I don’t want to overstate that. It depends on results NASA hasn’t published yet, and the agency has been careful not to promise it. But it’s the kind of small reversal that doesn’t happen often in a mission that has otherwise been a long, one-way process of turning things off.

What I’d watch next

Two dates sit ahead of each other on the calendar. The thermal test is due by the end of this month, and Voyager 1 is separately expected to cross one light-day from Earth in mid-November, a distance at which a signal travelling at the speed of light takes a full day to arrive. Neither date guarantees anything about the other. But together they’re a reasonable way to think about where this mission actually is: still capable of a genuine engineering surprise, still adding distance every second, and still, forty-nine years on, being managed one careful decision at a time by people who can’t see it, can’t touch it, and have learned to work within that.

The post Voyager 1 is down to two working science instruments, and the fix that just bought its twin, Voyager 2, another year of power is now being tested on a probe NASA says no longer behaves quite like its sibling appeared first on Space Daily.

Un equipo de investigadores de la Universidad de Burgos y la Fundación Atapuerca ha publicado el primer análisis detallado de los retocadores de hueso hallados en la cueva de Valdegoba, en el municipio de Huérmeces (Burgos). Este yacimiento, ocupado por neandertales durante el Paleolítico Medio, ha proporcionado 38 fragmentos óseos que fueron utilizados como herramientas […]

The people most likely to describe themselves as lonely in midlife surveys are often the ones with the fullest calendars. They have adult children who call on birthdays, colleagues who invite them to dinners, a spouse who has slept beside them for twenty-five years, and a phone that lights up all day with requests. And still, when the house goes quiet, something feels missing in a way that partnership and parenthood were supposed to have solved.

The loneliness of the useful person is a specific kind. It doesn’t announce itself as absence. It shows up as a low, background hum of not-quite-being-met, even in rooms full of people who love you.

The version of you that gets invited

By the time most people reach their fifties, they have accumulated decades of evidence about which parts of themselves the world rewards. The competent one. The calm one. The fixer. The listener who never quite becomes the one being listened to. The parent who solves logistics for three generations at once. Each role, taken alone, is fine. Stacked over thirty years, they harden into something else: a public self so well-practised that the private self starts to feel like a stranger even to its owner.

Loneliness is not simply about being alone; it is the perceived gap between the connection you want and the connection you have. It is about being unknown while surrounded.

The person in their fifties who is celebrated as reliable, capable, or endlessly generous is often the person whose inner weather nobody has asked about in years. Their usefulness is what gets invited into rooms. Their interior does not.

How instrumental relationships quietly replace intimate ones

Relationships fall on a rough spectrum. On one end are instrumental relationships, built around what a person does or provides. On the other are expressive relationships, where the point of the relationship is the person themselves. Most social lives contain both. The trouble starts when the ratio tips, slowly, over decades, until nearly every relationship a person has is instrumental in some way.

A woman in her fifties may have twelve people who call her regularly. Her mother needs help with medical appointments. Her adult son needs a co-signer. Her boss needs the report by Friday. Her husband needs her to remember his sister’s birthday. Her friend needs to vent about her divorce. None of these people are villains. Each of them loves her, in the way people love a reliable source. But not one of them, on any given Tuesday, is calling to ask how she actually is and then waiting for the real answer.

The pattern is not new, but its recognition is recent. In caregiving populations, a specific phenomenon has emerged: social alienation, distinct from loneliness, in which a person’s role so completely defines their contact with others that the person underneath the role disappears from view. A 2025 study of caregivers of stroke patients in China found that caregivers experience high levels of social alienation, with living arrangements, caregiving burden, and loneliness all significantly predicting the depth of that alienation. The caregivers weren’t isolated in the ordinary sense. They were embedded in family. They were simply no longer being met as themselves.

Why the fifties are the decade this bill comes due

Several life stages converge in the fifties in ways that intensify the useful-person trap. Parents are aging and often need active help. Adult children are launching, or failing to launch, and either state generates demands. Careers reach the phase where seniority means being the person others come to. Marriages, if they have lasted this long, have often settled into a division of labour where each partner handles a fixed set of tasks and stops asking the other about anything outside that division.

The result is a person whose days are structured almost entirely around what other people need from them. There is nothing wrong with any single demand. There is something quietly corrosive about the cumulative one.

Grandparent caregiving offers a useful case. A scoping review of grandchild caregiving and depression found mixed effects, with the relationship between caring for grandchildren and mood depending heavily on whether the grandparent felt they had chosen the role or been assigned it, and on how much of their identity remained outside it. The finding that matters here is simple: the same activity can be nourishing or depleting depending on whether the person doing it feels seen inside it.

The tell, the childhood pattern, and what being met actually requires

There is a small experiment worth trying, though it is not really an experiment. Ask a person in their fifties, in a moment of genuine attention, what they have been thinking about lately. Not what they have been doing. What they have been thinking about.

The pause tends to be long. Often the first answer is a logistical update, because logistics is the language most of their relationships operate in. If you wait past the logistics, something else usually surfaces: an old regret they have not spoken aloud in a decade, a fear about a parent, a question about whether the second half of life is going to feel any different from the first. The material is right there, close to the surface. It has simply not been invited out in a long time.

In a recent piece on the lie of omission, Space Daily explored how people can spend years telling only the safe true things about themselves, until friendships of a decade contain nothing that would let either person recognise the other in a crisis. The useful person’s loneliness is often built out of exactly this material. Every conversation was pleasant. Every conversation was true. None of them touched the parts that most needed touching.

Not every fifty-something who ends up in this position started in the same place, but a striking number of them describe a common childhood: they were the calm one, the one who did not add to their parents’ load, the one whose emotional needs got quietly filed under “can wait.” They learned early that being low-maintenance was rewarded and being needy was expensive.

Building on attachment theory, the babies in Mary Ainsworth’s Strange Situation study who looked most composed when left alone were the ones whose heart rates were racing the entire time. Their calm was a strategy, not a state. John Bowlby, who built attachment theory in the 1950s, argued that the undemanding child is often the one who learned that asking for less kept the peace. Those children grow up to become spouses who rarely voice needs, managers who remain calm under pressure, and parents who carry burdens silently.

Emotional intimacy, in the clinical literature, is not the same as time spent together or affection expressed. It is the specific experience of being known and having that knowledge received without correction. Research on emotional intimacy suggests it requires three ingredients most useful people have quietly starved themselves of: undistracted time, a willingness to redefine intimacy on the participants’ own terms, and treating vulnerability as strength rather than as a tax on the relationship.

The trouble for the fifty-something who has been useful for decades is that vulnerability has been coded, in their nervous system, as burden. Sharing an actual worry feels like adding to someone else’s plate. Answering “how are you” with anything other than “good, you?” feels like an imposition. The muscle for being known has atrophied from disuse, and rebuilding it feels awkward, embarrassing, sometimes physically uncomfortable.

Why AI companions are not the answer, and the modest fix

The commercial response to midlife loneliness has been swift and lucrative. Chatbot companions are now used by hundreds of millions of people globally. The appeal, especially for the useful person, is obvious. A chatbot never needs anything back. It listens without waiting for its turn. It never has a bad week that overrides yours.

But Stanford researchers who analysed conversations from more than 1,000 users of Character.AI found the opposite of relief. People with smaller in-person social networks who used chatbots intensely reported worse well-being, not better, and those who shared the most sensitive personal information with the bots scored lowest of all. Researchers found that using chatbots to fulfill social needs does not substitute for human connection, according to the study. The researchers noted that AI companions are designed primarily to keep users engaged rather than to meet genuine social needs.

The researchers described what the bots offer as brief, unsatisfying interactions—like junk food for the social appetite. Filling in the moment, hollow by the next morning. For a person who has spent decades being the one everyone else confides in, a chatbot that finally listens can feel like a discovery. It is not one. It is a mirror that has been polished to reflect back whatever the user brings, which is the exact opposite of being met by a different mind.

There is a well-known finding in social psychology that two strangers can generate deep mutual closeness in under an hour by working through a specific series of escalating questions. Arthur Aron’s 1997 study on the 36 questions found that the pairs who completed the full protocol reported feeling closer to each other than many people feel to their oldest friends. The mechanism was not chemistry. It was structured, mutual, escalating disclosure.

The finding is often cited as a hopeful one, and it is. But it also contains a quiet indictment. If two strangers with a list of questions can generate more felt closeness in ninety minutes than a fifty-something feels with the people they have shared a house or an office with for twenty years, the problem is not a lack of available connection. The problem is that most long-standing relationships never renegotiate their scripts after the scripts get set. Whatever role a person was assigned at the beginning is the role they are still playing, three decades in.

The interventions that actually change this pattern are almost insultingly modest. They involve saying, out loud, to one person, one true thing that would not normally get said. They involve answering “how are you” with an actual sentence about an actual state, not once as a stunt, but as a slow policy change. They involve letting a friend see the version of you that is tired, unsure, or angry at someone you’re supposed to love.

They involve, most uncomfortably, tolerating the pause when the other person doesn’t know what to do with the real answer. Because they won’t, at first. They have been in a relationship with the useful version of you for years, and the useful version is who they came to see.

Some of those relationships will adjust. The person on the other end will lean in, relieved that the pretence is finally dropping. Others won’t. They will keep asking the useful version to show up, and the choice about how much of your time to give those relationships is a choice you get to make, possibly for the first time.

A recent Human Element piece on people who downsize their lives in their sixties looked at exactly this reallocation, the way people begin, later than they wish they had, to notice which parts of their life were costing them without earning their keep. The relationships that only wanted the useful version fall into that category more often than people expect.

Who this loneliness looks like from the outside

The person in their fifties who fits this description is often the last person a casual observer would identify as lonely. They have a partner. They have children who love them. They have a job that respects them and a phone that never stops. They are, by every visible metric, connected.

They are also, in the quiet hour after everyone else has gone to bed, aware of a specific ache that partnership and parenthood were supposed to have eliminated. The ache is not for more people. It is for the experience of being asked a real question by someone willing to hear a real answer, and for the strange, slightly frightening recognition that the version of themselves that would give that answer has not been out of the house in a long time.

Loneliness in midlife is not always a problem of scarcity. Sometimes it is a problem of composition. A life full of people who only know the useful version of you is a life in which the rest of you is still waiting to be met, and the waiting gets heavier the longer it goes on. The relief, when it comes, tends to arrive through the smallest door: one honest answer, given to one person, on one ordinary afternoon.

The post Some of the loneliest people in their fifties aren’t the ones without partners or children, they’re the ones surrounded by people who only know the version of them that shows up when everyone else needs something appeared first on Space Daily.

The Jung line about self-acceptance being the most terrifying task circulates so often on social media that it has almost lost its edge, and yet the moment you sit with it honestly, really sit with it, past the coffee-mug aesthetic, you notice something uncomfortable. The sentence is not asking you to love yourself. It is asking you to stop editing.

That distinction matters. Loving yourself is a project. Accepting yourself is a surrender.

One flatters the ego. The other dismantles it.

What Jung actually seems to have meant

The line, in the version that circulates most widely, reads: the most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely. It moves through quote collections and social feeds largely without a citation attached, which is part of why it travels so easily.

Jung is also the psychiatrist people reach for when something has broken. In July 2025, days after news of his separation from Katy Perry, Orlando Bloom posted a screenshot of an article about Jung to his Instagram Stories, highlighting the line about loneliness coming not from having nobody around you but from being unable to say the things that seem important to you.

Bloom is not unusual in reaching for Jung during a period of upheaval. People tend to find the Swiss psychiatrist when the usual self-improvement scripts stop working.

The reason is structural. Most advice tells you to become better. Jung suggested you first stop pretending you are not who you already are.

Why acceptance feels worse than change

Change gives the mind something to do. There is a plan, a target weight, a new job, a version of yourself twelve months out who will finally be acceptable to you.

Acceptance offers none of that. It asks you to look at the envy, the small cruelties, the parts of yourself you have hidden even from your closest friends, and to say: yes, that is also me.

Alli Spotts-De Lazzer, a licensed therapist writing in Psychology Today, has argued that self-acceptance may matter more than high self-esteem for living a contented life. Her point is about the scoring system. Self-esteem depends on evidence: grades, promotions, praise. Self-acceptance does not require the evidence to be flattering.

That is why it is harder. There is no scorecard.

The parts we refuse to claim

Jung’s term for the disowned material was the shadow. He meant the qualities a person cannot bear to see in themselves and therefore projects outward, onto a spouse, a colleague, a political opponent, a stranger on the internet.

You can spot your own shadow by noticing what enrages you disproportionately in other people. The trait you find unforgivable in a coworker is often the trait you have most carefully denied in yourself.

This is why acceptance terrifies. To accept yourself completely means retrieving those projections. It means admitting that the person you have been criticising is, in some measurable way, a mirror.

Loneliness and the unspoken self

Jung linked the refusal of self-acceptance to a specific kind of loneliness. Not the loneliness of empty rooms, but the loneliness of unsaid things, the idea that isolation grows sharpest when you cannot say what actually matters to you.

A person who has not accepted themselves cannot communicate themselves. They can only communicate the acceptable version.

Everyone in their life is talking to a spokesperson.

Over time, this produces a strange grief: being surrounded by people who love a curated character, while the actual self stands quietly behind the curtain, unwitnessed.

The research that backs Jung’s instinct

Contemporary psychology has been slowly circling what Jung intuited a century ago. A 2025 study in Frontiers in Psychology, led by Yuting Li and colleagues at Shanxi Medical University, followed university students across two measurement points six months apart and found that self-esteem fully mediated the relationship between self-acceptance and prosocial behaviour. Self-acceptance did not push people toward kindness directly. It did so by changing how they held themselves, and that shift carried the entire effect.

The sample was narrow, medical students at a single Chinese university, with a heavy gender imbalance the authors flag themselves. It is a suggestive finding rather than a settled law. But the direction is the interesting part.

The mechanism makes sense. If you are not spending psychic energy hiding from your own contradictions, you have more energy available for someone else’s.

The reverse also holds. People who cannot bear their own flaws may struggle to tolerate the flaws of others. Judgment turns outward when it cannot be metabolised inward.

This is the quiet cost of refusing Jung’s task. Not misery, exactly. Just a permanent low-grade grievance with the world.

Why growth requires acceptance first

There is a common misreading of Jung that treats acceptance as resignation, as giving up on becoming better. The research points the other way. Susan Krauss Whitbourne, professor emerita of psychological and brain sciences at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, has argued that the path toward self-growth is paved with self-acceptance rather than blocked by it. Reviewing a set of University of Zurich intervention studies that pitted self-improvement against self-acceptance, she notes that both produced similar gains in wellbeing, and that trying and failing to change can generate its own trouble, what those authors call false hope syndrome.

The reason is practical. You cannot change something you refuse to look at.

Denial keeps a trait frozen in place. Acceptance thaws it enough to work with.

People who try to become better without first accepting who they are tend to build a shinier surface over the same underlying pattern. The behaviour changes. The compulsion driving it does not.

The mechanism of the fear

Why is this so terrifying? Because complete acceptance dissolves the story you have been running about who you are.

Most identities are constructed by exclusion. You know who you are partly by knowing what you are not. The moment you accept that the excluded traits are also yours, the identity loses its clean edges.

That is disorienting in a specific way. It is not despair. It is closer to vertigo.

Jung believed this vertigo was the entry point to genuine individuation, the process of becoming an actual person rather than a bundle of inherited roles.

The face you have not met

There is a small experiment that gets at Jung’s point without any theory. Look at an unreversed photograph of yourself, not a mirror image, but the version everyone else sees. Most people find it slightly wrong, slightly stranger than expected.

The person the world knows is not quite the person you have been looking at.

Acceptance works similarly. The self you have been curating is a reversed image. The self other people encounter, and the self that lives underneath, is closer to the real thing.

Meeting it feels like meeting a stranger.

What acceptance is not

It is worth being precise. Accepting yourself completely does not mean approving of everything you do. It does not mean abandoning ethics or discipline.

It means refusing to lie about what is there.

A person who accepts that they have a temper can work on the temper. A person who insists they do not have one will keep being surprised by their own outbursts.

Acceptance is honesty about what is actually present. Nothing more, nothing less.

The everyday texture of the task

Most people do not confront Jung’s terrifying task in a single dramatic session. It arrives in small increments: a midlife morning when the ambition you have been performing suddenly feels borrowed, a conversation with an adult child where you notice you have been playing a role for twenty years, a health scare that reorders what you say you care about.

The pattern is similar. A person stops pretending certain things matter to them, and the external life reorganises around the admission.

That is Jung’s task in domestic form. Not a breakdown. A quiet subtraction of what was never really yours.

Why it stays terrifying

Even people who have done years of work on themselves report that acceptance keeps arriving in new layers. There is always another disowned piece.

The envy you thought you had processed returns in a new form. The old grievance you believed you had released surfaces during a family dinner. The version of yourself you thought you had left behind reappears under stress.

Jung was not describing a one-time event. He was describing a lifelong posture.

The terror is not that acceptance is difficult once. It is that it is difficult continually, and that most people, at some point, decide they would rather manage the surface than face what is underneath it.

The quiet reward

People who do keep at it tend to describe a specific change, and it is not happiness in the ordinary sense. Acceptance is not a mood. It is a lowered resistance.

The people who have done this work are not conspicuously cheerful. They are just harder to destabilise.

Criticism does not shatter them, because they already know what is true about themselves. Flattery does not inflate them, for the same reason.

They have become, in Jung’s sense, actual. And the terrifying thing turns out to have been the doorway, not the destination.

Where to start, if you want to

There is no clean method. But there is a first question that tends to open the door: what do you find most unforgivable in other people?

Sit with the answer for a week. Do not defend yourself against it. Do not rush to conclude anything.

Notice, quietly, where that quality also lives in you.

That is the beginning of the task Jung called the most terrifying. Not because the material is horrifying, since most of it is ordinary human stuff. But because meeting it, without flinching, changes who you take yourself to be.

Which is, in the end, the only thing worth changing.

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The Greenland shark, Somniosus microcephalus, grows at roughly one centimetre a year and does not reach sexual maturity until it is about 150 years old. That figure comes from a 2016 study in Science led by Julius Nielsen at the University of Copenhagen, which radiocarbon-dated the eye lenses of 28 female sharks caught as bycatch in the North Atlantic. A pup born in the cold water off Baffin Island this August will not be old enough to breed until sometime in the 2170s.

Read that sentence again. The pup’s first mating season will arrive more than a century and a half from now.

What the number actually means

One centimetre a year is a rate of growth so slow it barely registers on any human timescale. A shark that is 400 centimetres long — about the length of a small car — has been adding tissue at that pace since roughly the reign of Louis XV. The 2016 study found that the two largest sharks in the sample, at 493 and 502 centimetres, were estimated at around 335 and 392 years old.

The species’ average lifespan sits somewhere near 272 years. Individuals can plausibly push past 400. Only the ocean quahog clam, Arctica islandica, is known to live longer.

The one-centimetre figure is not a laboratory measurement in the usual sense. It is a rate inferred from recaptured sharks and from back-calculation against the radiocarbon ages of the eye lenses. One tagged Greenland shark has been documented growing only a small amount over more than a decade, which tells you something about why the biology of this animal has been so hard to pin down.

How you date a shark that has no growth rings

Most sharks can be aged by counting bands in their vertebrae, the way a forester reads a tree stump. Greenland sharks cannot. Their vertebrae are too soft and lay down no legible record.

So Nielsen’s team turned to the eye. The lens of a vertebrate eye grows in transparent layers throughout life, and the innermost tissue — the nucleus — is laid down before birth and never replaced. If you can extract that pre-natal tissue and measure its carbon-14 signature, you can locate roughly when the animal was born against the known atmospheric carbon record.

The technique works particularly well for sharks born after the mid-1950s because atmospheric nuclear weapons testing dumped a spike of carbon-14 into the environment. That spike, sometimes called the bomb pulse, shows up in the eye lenses of younger sharks and gives researchers a firm calibration point. Older animals sit below the pulse and their ages come with wider uncertainty bars — the oldest shark in the study was placed, with 95 percent certainty, somewhere between 272 and 512 years old.

That range is not a failure of the method. It is the honest shape of what radiocarbon dating can and cannot tell you about a creature that was alive before industrial carbon began skewing the atmosphere.

Why sexual maturity at 150 changes everything

Late maturity is the part of the story that reshapes how the species should be managed. A Greenland shark pup born in 2026 will spend its entire first century-and-a-half without contributing a single offspring to the population. If it dies at 140, it dies without ever having bred.

Compare that with smaller fish species that can mature in one to two years, or other shark species that mature within decades. Even other long-lived marine mammals reach sexual maturity far earlier in their lifespans.

For the Greenland shark, the reproductive clock runs on a scale that predates most nations. Any pressure on adult numbers — bycatch, warming, pollution — takes an unusually long time to show up in the population, and an even longer time to reverse. The slow replacement rate makes population recovery particularly challenging.

The animals a Greenland shark outlives

A shark born in the year the Great Fire of London burned would be about 360 today. One born the year Newton published the Principia in 1687 would be 339. A pup swimming under the ice off Svalbard right now will still be growing, if it survives, when the great-grandchildren of everyone reading this are old.

The shark shares this deep-time company with a small number of other animals that have taught biologists to distrust human intuitions about aging. Other long-lived species in cold northern waters provide similar insights into extreme longevity.

The Greenland shark is a different case. It ages, it slows, it eventually dies. It just does all of this at a rate that makes the human life-cycle look like a mayfly’s.

What the cold has to do with it

Greenland sharks live in water between minus 2 and 7 degrees Celsius, at depths that can reach 7,200 feet. They are extremely slow swimmers, moving at a pace that allows prey like seals to easily outpace them, and their tissues are laced with compounds that behave like antifreeze.

Cold and slow are the two variables that keep coming up in animals that live for centuries. Cold probably plays a role in extreme vertebrate longevity but is unlikely to be the whole story. Plenty of short-lived species share the same water.

Something else is going on inside those muscles. The Greenland shark’s cells have been contracting, dividing, and repairing themselves continuously since long before the theory of evolution was written down. Whatever biochemical maintenance keeps that machinery running is one of the more interesting open questions in the biology of aging.

What the study does not show

The 2016 Science paper sampled 28 females caught as bycatch. It did not sample males. It did not follow individuals across their lives — no one has, because no one lives long enough. The one-centimetre-per-year growth rate is an inference, and the 150-year figure for sexual maturity is estimated from the length at which females are first observed carrying developing pups, cross-referenced against the age-length relationship the eye-lens data produced.

That is the best evidence available. It is not the same as a longitudinal record. The upper age estimate of 392 years carries an uncertainty of roughly plus or minus 120 years, which is a window wider than the entire history of Australian federation.

The lower bound is the interesting number for conservation. Even at 272 years, the Greenland shark is the longest-lived vertebrate ever documented, and its late maturity is not in serious dispute.

What a 150-year adolescence looks like in practice

A female Greenland shark spends her first century-and-a-half in the dark, slow water of the North Atlantic and Arctic, eating what she can find. Stomach contents recorded by researchers have included fish, squid, and seals, along with occasional carrion.

She is often functionally blind, because a tiny crustacean parasite latches onto her cornea and scars it. This does not seem to inconvenience her much. In waters that dark, vision was never doing most of the work.

She grows a centimetre a year. She does not breed. She keeps moving.

By the time she reaches her 150th birthday, empires have risen and fallen at the surface. She is finally large enough to reproduce. If she is lucky, she has another 150 or 250 years ahead of her.

The Icelandic footnote

Greenland shark meat is toxic when fresh — concentrations of trimethylamine oxide and urea in the tissue can cause vomiting, disorientation, and convulsions, effects that Icelanders have traditionally associated with improperly prepared shark meat. The traditional preparation is to bury the flesh, let it ferment for weeks, then hang it to dry for months. The result, kæstur hákarl, is eaten in small cubes and has a reputation for being one of the more challenging foods on Earth.

Every cube of it is old. A single serving may contain tissue from an animal that was born before the founding of the United States.

The pups being born this year

Female Greenland sharks give birth to litters of around ten pups, each about 40 centimetres long. The pups drift down into the cold water and begin the slow work of adding a centimetre a year.

The ones being born this August will not breed until the 2170s. By then, the ice cover of the Arctic will look different, the shipping lanes will run through waters that are currently frozen, and whatever species is still tracking sharks with radiocarbon will be reading a bomb pulse that has faded further into the background carbon record.

The shark will still be growing. A centimetre a year, in the dark, under the ice, on a clock that does not care.

The post The Greenland shark grows about one centimetre per year and does not reach sexual maturity until roughly age 150, meaning the pups being born in the North Atlantic this year will not breed until the 22nd century appeared first on Space Daily.