Superposition

Ghosts of ourselves, alive in the fog of possibility.

Last week, my brother and I drove to Cincinnati to watch the Red Sox play the Reds in their second game of the 2026 MLB season. Sox lost, as they continue to do (worst start in 80 years, woof). But in my opinion, there’s just about nothing better than a warm, sunny afternoon at the ballpark, so it was pretty perfect.

On the drive down from Columbus, My brother and I got to talking, about… so many things. Greg is both incredibly passionate and incredibly measured—a rare combination. It’s one of the things I admire most about him. He can have a thoughtful dialogue with just about anyone about anything. He always keeps an open mind despite any biases, and he always has something new and interesting to bring to the table. Any time I get to spend with him, especially one-on-one, is such a gift.

On this particular day, Greg introduced me to the concept of atomic superposition and the theory that multiple versions of reality may be existing simultaneously. Before I get into this, please keep in mind that I am a mere poet, not nearly smart enough to fully comprehend the science, but deeply moved by the magic.

I understand it kind of like this:

Electrons, by their nature, do not exist in one state, but in a wave or cloud of possible locations at once. Like a guitar string vibrating when strummed, electrons exist in motion and only move into a set position once observed or interacted with by another object or force. Since everything is made up of atoms, this means that nothing exists in a static state until observed—even us. So there could be multiple versions of ourselves and our lives all buzzing in a haze of possible reality all at once.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about choices and regrets, the woulda-coulda-shouldas, the what-ifs. Call it a midlife crisis. Whatever. I’m thinking about intersections, crossroads, big and small choices that I was so close to making differently, that could have rippled out into entirely different lives I could have lived.

What an unexpected comfort superposition of electrons has brought me. What a terrifying, amazing new perspective from which to consider… everything. I am living the life I am living, of course. But there is a sort of hazy ghost version of me—many millions of my ghosts, actually—living in the fog of possibility, experiencing other lives, making other choices. I don’t know, something about the undeniable closeness of these ghosts feels like a relief. That the things I long for may not actually be so far away. That maybe to them, I am the ghost living just beneath their surface of reality, and they are dreaming about choices they could have made that would have led them here.

Maybe in one of these realities the Sox won that game on Saturday. Maybe I’m writing my novel right now instead of this little missive. Maybe Trump isn’t President. Maybe he never was. Maybe I take all the big risks, pursue myself unapologetically. Maybe I’m the best mom ever, living wholly in every moment without the desire for something else, something more. Maybe I do the thing I want to do, the thing I know I shouldn’t. Maybe I make the wrong choice. Maybe I make the right one.

I don’t know.

But feeling these ghosts living just beyond the veil, to think that I could reach a hand out in the opposite direction and touch another life, is… sad, comforting, inspiring, all of these at once. Which is fitting, isn’t it? I feel a permission, an invitation, to stay open to the possibility of everything. A multiplicitous ferality has awakened.

-Vic