The Idea Of Other Possible Worlds

I’ve made a lot of dumb choices, done a lot of dumb things. But I’ve always felt that there’s another world in a parallel universe where I made better choices and did smarter things. I’m not going to say I’m fully invested in such an idea. I’m not. But I find it weirdly comforting.  Multiverses represent all metaphysical possibilities. It’s a paradise for all the sad, modal statements I make: “if only I had done this or that,” “I should’ve done that, gone there, not said that,” and so on. It’s got the flavor of fantasy about it, and remorse, and regret, and impotent wistful wishing, but if these imagined alternate worlds are actual, then there’s a plate at the table of an alternate world for me with a heaping mound of mashed potatoes & a chicken cordon bleu dripping with Dijon cream sauce. But would the food in an alternate world be the same food as this world? And what evidence do I have that multiverses are a real possibility? I don’t. I’m not a physicist. Not in this world. I’m a physicist in that other world. I’m doing equations. And in one of these equations I discover a world in which mashed potatoes and chicken cordon bleu exist. It’s the same world as this world but in that world I work at CERN and I can afford a big house and healthcare and plenty of places to put my books. And people behave more responsibly and less savagely so that the climate remains stable and rain cycles are robust and the air is sweet. In other words, it’s the same world as this world, but different. The differences are subtle but they have large consequences. It’s a better place. I have no reason to assume that it’s better, it’s just better. I can feel it. But how do I get to that world? I might be just a breath away. Is the air a membrane? Are there invisible doors we can open? Yes. They’re called words. Words are the very coinage of possibility. The currency of conjecture. That’s what makes them so delightful, so devious, so mercurial, so potent, so delicate, and so indestructible. Each word a world. Each world a word. I write them down and for a while I’m elsewhere. I’m here but elsewhere. And were it not for memory, & staring in a rearview mirror, I’d avoid collision. I’d pull to the side of the road and smell the air. And find that other world in my left pocket, with some loose change.