Don’t Give Up on Your Dreams (Improve Them)

I often imagine what my younger self would think of me now. There are some things he’d undoubtedly be happy about: I’m a father now, just like I always wanted to be; I married my high school crush; I’m living in a house with wheels; etc.

On the other hand… If he asked, of all the video games and stories he wanted to make, which ones I’ve finished–or the places I’ve traveled and languages I’ve learned–or what my career has been like–well, just imagining his crestfallen face is enough to make me cringe.

I’ve always had big dreams–sometimes too big; the gap between fantasy and reality is often much wider than I expect it to be. So the thought that I’ve failed to live up to my dreams–that my past self would say I’ve given up on them–well, it’s discouraging. Are we all just doomed to lose our childlike ambitions as we age? It can certainly feel that way.

I don’t think that’s quite right, though. When I reflect on it, I haven’t actually given up on many of my most ambitious dreams, I’ve just–put them aside for now. And there are other things I’m working on, or have already accomplished, that don’t sound as impressive as the things I imagined doing as a child, but which are at least as ambitious. Perhaps part of the reason it seems like we become less ambitious as we age, is simply that we get a better idea of the difference between things that sound impressive and difficult, and things that are actually valuable.

It’s important to remember that revising your dreams is not the same as giving up on them. Do you still have dreams? Then you haven’t given up! Sometimes, our priorities change as we get older, or we learn more about the difference between what we think we want and what we truly value. Indeed, it would be strange if our dreams didn’t change as we aged–it would mean we hadn’t learned anything new about ourselves or the world since we were children!

So it’s okay to let go of some of your past ambitions, just as it’s okay to delete an awkward paragraph from an essay. The important thing–in art and in life–is to keep trying.

(P.S. I’ve written a follow-up with some more concrete examples.)

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Why Am I Like This, pt. X

The contents of a fun-size bag of Skittles, arranged in precise rows and sorted by color.
Eating sequence: top to bottom, right to left. One of each color first, then two different colors at a time, etc. Leave one of every color for last and eat them all at once.

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Actually, New Grief Sorta Tempting

There’s a scar on my heart.

I don’t think it will ever be “fully” healed (although it got a lot better once I was able to stop picking at it). That’s okay, though; I have a pretty big heart. There’s room on there for lots of scars.

…and for some reason, saying it like that makes me want to get another? I guess it’s like getting a tattoo: once your first has healed, you immediately start thinking about your next one. Or maybe it’s just another way grief is like exercise: sometimes it’s addictive!

I think that’s okay, too. Remember, grief itself isn’t a bad thing: it’s just your mind’s immune system working to heal the sort of hurt you get when you lose something important. You can’t get that kind of hurt unless you let yourself be vulnerable in the first place; let something outside yourself reach in deep and grab hold. To never grieve would mean you’d never fully loved.

I’m proud of myself for being vulnerable, it felt good to open up, and even though it ended badly this time I still want to do it again.

I’m doing a major rewrite of that poem I mentioned a while back–some of the things I wanted to say then aren’t true anymore, and there are things I want to say now that didn’t need saying then–but once it’s finished, I think I’ll finally be ready to post it.

I suppose I’ve grown.

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Office Problems, pt. II

Every office building should have a cozy, dimly-lit room with couches and a couple desks where you (1) aren’t allowed to make noise, and (2) are allowed to take a nap.

You think I’m joking, but no–it would be for accessibility! There are lots of flavors of neurospicy other than mine that need some peace and quiet sometimes, and there are also times when the best thing you can do for your productivity is…take a nap. Rest isn’t a sign of laziness! Also, you don’t keep lazy people from avoiding work just by banning lazy-seeming behavior! Productivity should be measured by (gasp) how much work you actually get done, not how much time you spend looking busy!

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

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Never Knew Blueberries Had Legs

Wonder where this one’s off to in such a hurry?

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Why Am I Like This, pt. IX

*shares a meme on social media*

*scrolls through more memes, shares another*

*scrolls back, sees the meme I shared 15 seconds ago*

*has to check own status because I can’t remember if I actually shared it or just thought about sharing it*

*meme is about ADHD*

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Star Whys

The Star Wars movies were some of my favorites when I was little. I watched them so many times my parents can probably recite Episodes IV, V, and VI by heart. I remember when the Special Editions came out–I was excited to see them because of all the new, fancy tricks. The VHS tapes I owned were all of the old, boring edition.

I still have the tapes, but it’s been a long time since I owned a VHS player, so now that my children are into Star Wars I’ve had to suffer through George’s “improvements” over and over again. There are precisely three changes that actually improve on the originals:

  • The CGI critters the stormtroopers are riding when they’re searching the escape pod crash (it’s a small improvement, but a nice world-buildy detail nonetheless).
  • The CGI added to the Sarlaac pit–a more active monster in the center of the action really does make that scene more fun to watch.
  • The montage at the end showing different planets celebrating the Emperor’s defeat (again, a relatively small change, but it’s a nice bit of world-building and does a good job of communicating the scale of the heroes’ accomplishment).

That’s it. Those are the only things that got better. Every other change was superfluous at best and cringe-inducing at worst–a world-class case study in “just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

Which parts of the films suffered? Oh, let us count the ways! Worse pacing? Check. Worse music? Check. Worse characterization? Check. Brand-new, never-before-seen plot holes? Check. Replacing Sebastian Shaw’s sympathetic face with Hayden Christensen’s obnoxious, arrogant smirk? Check, and check.

Thank goodness they managed to keep George away from the keyboard for the sequels.

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Bookend

The kids have been really into Star Wars lately. Maybe even as much as I was when I was their age! Luckily, they have three times as many movies to choose from as I did, so I haven’t gotten completely sick of any of them (yet). It’s also been a nice reminder of why I liked those movies in the first place. For example:

This is probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire franchise. It takes a throwaway line from the first twenty minutes of A New Hope, and turns it into a moment of unexpected character growth just before the original trilogy’s final act–and for one of its most overlooked characters. It’s just such a lovely story beat!

As a kid, I didn’t care much for C-3PO (R2-D2 was way cooler), but now that I have more writing experience I’m really impressed at how endearing a character he is in spite of all his obnoxious, whiny dialogue. The “complainer with a heart of gold” trope is just so hard to pull off!

What’s your favorite moment from the series?

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Macroscopic Decoherence Demystified

Disclaimer: I Am Not A Physicist. All errors and inaccuracies are mine alone. Do not use this essay as a reference in your thesis paper. Please consult a professional physicist before using this essay to derive Maxwell’s equations. Do not derive while intoxicated. Designated derivers save lives.

The Schrödinger’s Cat thought experiment is one of those “quantum physics things” that practically everybody has heard of, but very few people really understand–it’s the kind of idea that makes a great headline if you just skim off the “weird” surface details and leave behind all the context that actually explains it. (It doesn’t help that a lot of the people teaching quantum physics find it weird and confusing, too.) But quantum physics is reality. We spend our whole lives in it–if it seems weird, that is not the fault of quantum physics!

So, if you find Schrödinger’s Cat confusing or bizarre, or if you’re not sure you fully understand it (or if you don’t have any idea what it’s about), we’re gonna fix that!

First, we gotta talk about superposition. Imagine a single atom of some radioactive material–let’s say, oh…potassium-40. Potassium-40 is an unstable isotope of potassium, meaning that eventually it will “decay” to a more stable configuration, releasing a bit of energy in the process–that’s radioactivity.

(Imagine one of those little rubber cup toys that you turn inside-out and then they pop back into shape after a few seconds. The rubber toy releases kinetic energy that propels it into the air, while the atom releases energy in the form of particles like neutrons or electrons.)

Now, according to old-fashioned classical physics, the exact moment the atom decays (radiates? radio-activates?) is fundamentally random, impossible to predict. However, we now know from quantum mechanics that the atom’s behavior isn’t random at all–it decays and doesn’t decay at every possible moment simultaneously. This is the phenomenon known as “superposition.”

I’m not going to go into the evidence here– maybe in a future post–for now, just take my word for it that scientists have conclusively determined, by experiment, that this really is a thing that happens, and that there really is no better way to describe what’s happening than to say the atom is in two (or more) different states simultaneously.

Schrödinger’s Cat starts with a single such atom. To keep things simple, we’ll imagine that instead of decaying continuously, the atom can only decay at specific points in time–exactly once per minute, say–and we’ll be conducting our thought experiment at one of these times. So the experiment starts with your watch’s minute hand ticking over, and the atom transitioning (the technical term is evolving) into a superposition of [decayed + not-decayed].

In our thought-experimental setup, we have a particle detector next to the atom that can tell whether or not it decayed. Now, since the atom is in a superposition of simultaneously decaying and not decaying, you may wonder what happens to the detector. Does it sense the decay, or not?

Luckily, the answer isn’t complicated. As far as we can tell, the laws that govern individual particles apply in exactly the same way to collections of multiple particles, no matter the size. So when the atom evolves into a superposition of [decayed + not-decayed], the sensor likewise evolves into a superposition of [sensing + not-sensing] the decay.

Wired up to the sensor is an explosive, and next to the explosive is a cat. As you might expect, when the minute hand ticks over and the atom and sensor go into their superpositions, the explosive also evolves into a superposition of [kablooie + not-kablooie], causing the cat to evolve into a superposition of [why? why does it have to be a cat? why does the cat have to explode?? WHY ARE THOUGHT EXPERIMENTS SO VIOLENT??? + napping].

The entire setup is inside a sealed box, so you have no way of knowing what’s going on inside until you open the lid. And what happens when you do open it? Well, naturally, you evolve into a superposition! Probably something like: [“what? what the f**k?? did they even think to run this by the ethics committee?! I’m gonna be sick!” + “awww, kitty!”].

So that’s Schrödinger’s Cat. That wasn’t so hard, was it? And now we’ve demystified Macroscopic Decoherence!

…all right, fine, I’ll give you some context.

Back in the bad old days, when people were first discovering quantum mechanics and had no idea what the results of their experiments actually meant, superposition confused the living daylights out of them. So much so, in fact, that when Schrödinger’s Cat was originally conceived, it was considered a paradox! You see, people kept experimenting with superposition, looking at their instruments, seeing a single experimental outcome (e.g. exploded decayed or not-decayed, never both), and thinking that this…mysterious phenomenon…went away when they looked at it. But that left open the question of exactly when the superposition disappears. Schrödinger’s Cat was intended as a critique of that question, but at the time nobody saw the obvious answer.1

Macroscopic Decoherence, also known as the “Many Worlds” theory, is the obvious answer. Those old, puzzled researchers kept trying to figure out why the superposition “went away,” forgetting–rather embarrassingly–that they themselves were made of particles, that they themselves could be subject to exactly the same laws, with no variation or exception, despite the enormous difference in scale. And so we ended up with a whole bunch of “collapse” theories that try to “explain” where and why the superposition “disappears,” and in the absence of any better ideas these theories gained so much traction that even today many people still believe in them and think that many-worlds is the “weird” or “improbable” theory.

Collapse theories have a lot of intuitive appeal, which helps explain why they’ve stuck around so long. Of course, so does the flat-Earth hypothesis! The Earth sure looks flat from where we’re standing, and the universe sure looks like only one thing happening at a time, rather than a zillion different possiblities all taking place at once. But, just like the flat-Earth hypothesis, this is an illusion of scale: different states within a superposition are less likely to interact the farther apart they are–and not just in space and time! (The technical term for this “distancing” is decoherence.) A large enough difference in charge, spin, momentum, or any other attribute can decohere a superposition, and that distance multiplies with each additional particle.

(Think of it sort of like walking in a random direction blindfolded while trying to hit a piñata: if it’s right up close you’ll probably find it, but if it’s thirty yards away you’d have to get very lucky to land a hit–and each additional piñata you have to find makes the task as a whole exponentially more difficult.)

You are made up of very, very many particles,[citation needed] and by the time your brain has noticed the results of a measurement, gazillions of those particles have evolved into very different superpositions. The only way you and an “other you” could ever possibly interact with each other is if you were already so similar that there was no detectable difference–every single particle (never mind neuron) in almost exactly the same state.

So these “many worlds” aren’t worlds you can go and visit, or even detect–they’re nothing like the “parallel dimensions” or “alternate universes” you often see in science fiction. We can’t directly verify their existence–but then, the same is true of superposition itself! And after all, we believe in lots of things we can’t see: we can’t directly observe quarks and atoms either, and you personally have probably never been to, say, the Red River Inn in Silt, Colorado–yet you’d be a fool to doubt their existence. The “many worlds” of Macroscopic Decoherence are implied by the fully general laws of physics we’ve pinned down by experiment. Unless and until new evidence radically overturns existing theory, there’s no reason to believe those other worlds aren’t every bit as real as our own.

…and now you can sound super smart in all those worlds by teaching your friends about “Macroscopic Decoherence!”


  1. It was also intended as a critique of the first, naïve answer, which was that the superposition literally goes away when and only when a human being looks at it. Oops! ↩︎

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Tiny Tenant

Content note: jumping spider

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