Just Open The Box

BLACK

It was a bit of a long shot really.

I’d only ever seen her a few times. Walked by her at a few parties, one too many parties it now seems, given how much I’ve thought about her recently.

She looks sweet. And funny too. I’m sure we’d have a great time if we were to hang out.

“The worst she can do is say no.” That’s what they say. As if her saying no isn’t exactly what I’m anxious about.

I’m a pretty funny dude, I remind myself. If she says no, I’ll just make a joke. We’ll have a nice awkward laugh at my expense and then part ways, doomed to a couple years of uncomfortable eye contact at all the future events we both attend. Nothing I’m not used to.

. . .

Two days pass and there she is, somehow making me both regret and applaud my decision to come to this holiday party.

I walk up to her.

“Haha yeah, chatGPT is really gonna take all our jobs huh. ” Mandatory small talk.

I ask her out.

“I’d love to!” she responds.

“Okay great, it’s a date” I say, half a statement and half a question.

“It’s a date” she reassures me.

Nice. And no joke necessary. Honestly, I’ve never been that funny anyways.

WHITE

It was a bit of a long shot really. 

I’d only ever seen her a few times. Walked by her at a few parties, one too many parties it now seems, given how much I’ve thought about her recently.

She seems sweet. Even if she’s not interested, I’m sure she’d let me down easily  - smile and agree to hang out while subtly slipping in an indicator of her disinterest:

“Yeah, let's definitely meet up! There’s this new coffee shop in my neighborhood that I’ve been looking to check out with a friend.”

“Well I think you need to find another friend That sounds great. Let’s do it” I’d respond, doing my best to mask my disappointment, as if finding a new coffee buddy is secretly what all men are looking for.

. . .

Two days pass and there she is, somehow making me both regret and applaud my decision to come to this holiday party.

I walk up to her.

“Haha yeah, chatGPT is really gonna take all our jobs huh. ” Mandatory small talk.

I ask her out.

“ . . .for a friend to try out this new restaurant with!”

Ah. Friend.

Hey, at least it’s not coffee. I much prefer tea anyways.

GRAY

Superposition is the theory in quantum physics that a thing can simultaneously exist in multiple realities. Particularly when this thing is linked to a random event with an unknown outcome, it can somehow be in many states at the same time. It can be both black AND white. The related “observer effect” proposes that until that thing is observed and the outcome verified, it exists in a superposition of all of its possible realities.

Austrian physicist Erwin Schrödinger showed the paradoxical nature of such a theory with a simple thought experiment:

Take a cat. Put him in a box with a radioactive substance and a vial of poison. Close the box. Once the radioactive substance decays, a trigger is supposed to release the vial of poison and kill the cat.

Superposition theory would conclude that while the box is closed - unobserved by the outside world  - Schrodinger’s cat is both dead AND alive, superimposed in a paradox of realities. It’s not until somebody takes action, until somebody opens the box, forces reality’s hand, and faces what’s inside that the multiple realities converge into one and we know whether the cat is dead or alive.

BLACK

“It’s just not ready yet.

It’s good. Maybe almost great. But it’s just not ready yet. And if this is the first piece I’m going to share with the world, the least it can be is ready.”

This is the talk track I’ve been playing in my head for 4 months now. Good, but not ready. Great, but not ready. Perfect, even, but not ready. 

Finally, I’d exhausted even myself.

Determined to put an end to the loop, I share my first short story online. But not just on the instagram page with 12 followers I haven’t told anybody about. I share it on my personal page. My real page. Even though it’s not ready.

As expected it’s met with applause and congratulations from my friends: “It’s about time” “Everybody’s going to love it” “Just wait bro, this is just the beginning”.

To my surprise, others soon join in the celebration: “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you wrote” “Wait, this is so good!” “Very cool work my guy”

Before long, it had reached 1,000 views, many of which were accompanied by new followers to my humble instagram page and interesting conversations with strangers who had somehow come across my work.

Work that, to me, still wasn’t ready. But, it seems, work that was still good enough.

WHITE

“It’s just not ready yet.

It’s good. Maybe almost great. But it’s just not ready yet. And if this is the first piece I’m going to share with the world, the least it can be is ready.”

This is the talk track I’ve been playing in my head for 4 months now. Good, but not ready. Great, but not ready. Perfect, even, but not ready. 

Finally, I’d exhausted even myself.

Determined to put an end to the loop, I share my first short story online. But not just on the instagram page with 12 followers I haven’t told anybody about. I share it on my personal page. My real page. Even though it’s not ready.

As expected it’s met with applause and congratulations from my friends: “It’s about time” “Everybody’s going to love it” “Just wait bro, this is just the beginning”.

I secretly waited for others to join in the applause, telling myself I didn’t need the external affirmation but still finding myself checking instagram every 5 minutes.

One like. Three. Ten. They slowly trickled in, each one teasing the wave of celebration and approbation that I was hoping for.

But it never came. 

Soon my work faded into the background of our usual feeds covered in comedy clips and breaking news. In the end, very few people beyond my small circle of friends came across my work.

Work that, to me, still wasn’t ready. And, it seems, work that maybe could have used a bit more time.

MORE GRAY

Over the course of my life, I’ve spent hours, likely days, playing realities over and over again in my head. Much like the examples above, I imagine it down to the most minute detail. 

Where will I see her? Oh, maybe I’ll see her at this party. What will I say? What will she say in response to what I say? What will I do if she says yes!?  Oh man, I hope she says yes. What joke can I make if she says no? 

Is that piece really ready? What if I share and nobody likes it? What if I share and nobody even cares? Do I care if they care? Ok, fine, I care a little. I’ll just share it on my instagram. I wonder how the likes will trickle in? All at once or over time? I know my friends will support me, but it would be embarrassing if nobody else did. What if everybody actually likes it? What kind of comments will I get?

Give me enough time and I could imagine my whole life - for better and for worse. In black and in white.

Recently, though, I’ve grown anxious with my imagination. Burdened, almost, with the energy it takes to maintain multiple realities in my head. Everyday I would replay these scenes in my mind, alternating the ending each time. This time she says yes. The next, she says no. This time it’s a huge success. Next time, it fails.

Anxiety soon gave way to dissatisfaction. Frustration even. Because as many times as I played these realities over in my head, none of them became any more real.

Much like I’m sure you felt while reading the more or less duplicative narratives above, even with different endings, there’s a point where you grow annoyed and tired replaying fabricated realities over and over again in your head. What purpose does it serve? You could replay and rewrite the story in your imagination forever, and it would still be just that - imagination. 

And as long those desires stay in imagination, they’re just like Schrodinger’s cat - a superposition of realities, an infinite combination of fulfilled desires and failed dreams. 1’s an 0’s. Yes’s and No’s. Black and White. An unopened box of gray waiting for somebody to take action and finally face what’s inside.

In my last piece I touched on one of the common traps of an unlived life: when you passively let life pass you by. Living in my imagination feels the same. Disguised as waiting or “taking my time”, it’s just another way to let life pass me by

. . .

I suppose this, then, is my call to action. To you and to me.

We all have desires. Things we want to do. Questions we want to ask. And I don’t believe that I’m the only one who finds they spend more time living out these desires in their heads than they do in the real world.

This is something I’d like to stop.

Because while living in our imaginations -  replaying and rewriting the stories of our lives - is safe, there’s one thing I’ve never been able to find just living in my head: Peace.

As comforting as it is to imagine how it might turn out, I am now finding that I would much rather have the peace that comes with knowing. Knowing how they feel or if the idea will work. Knowing whether, in this case, the world is black or white. Knowing whether the cat is dead or alive inside that box.

I haven’t been able to find that peace outside the box. No matter how much I lived inside my head, I still never felt like I was actually living.

TWO MORE WAYS TO WASTE YOUR TIME

As you might imagine, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about this. This isn’t even the first time I’ve come to this conclusion.

I’ve resolved to send that text before. To shoot that DM.

But then, I wait. Because maybe they’ll give a hint first - a flirtatiously long stare, a suspiciously tight hug, liking every picture on my Instagram. You know, something subtle. 

I’ve decided to share my projects before. To post that new idea. 

But maybe it makes sense to take my time. See if someone serendipitously asks me if I have any hidden talents. Wait for a sign that this is the right time to post. Just a clear indicator that this is what I’m supposed to do.

Seneca once said “While we wait for life, life passes.”

More than opening the box, to me, is opening the box early.

Success or failure. Yes or No. Black or White. Regardless of the outcome, there’s only so much use in waiting.

If it’s going to succeed, waiting only delays your happiness. Forgone days, weeks, months, years of a fulfilled desire that you can’t get back.

If it’s going to fail, waiting only delays your happiness. The road to success is paved with failure, and that’s as true for creative ventures as it is for relationships. Failing early and failing often just brings you one step closer to your success.

THERE’S ALWAYS ANOTHER BOX

I can’t think of a single box I’ve regretted opening. And I’ve opened many to find my fair share of dead cats. Multiple realities that merged into a single one of heartbreak, failure, and pain. 

I won’t use the space to tell you how you might deal with those situations. I, myself, don’t always know how to deal with those situations.

The best news I can give you is that once you open the box and face what’s inside, there’s always another box. Always another idea to try. Always another person you’d like to know better. Always another want, need, or desire to pursue.

And who knows, maybe when you open that next box, you’ll find a lot of life in there.