Possibility Thinking

Welcome to The Circular Journey Cafe, where life is beautiful, and if you ever experience a day that disappoints you, you can start it over. Terms and conditions apply. Satisfaction not guaranteed. Void where prohibited by the laws of physics.

I woke this morning to the realization that the world was renewed, and I was happy about it. I was slightly concerned that I might have swallowed my mouthguard while I slept. It wasn't in my mouth, and it wasn't hiding in the bed linens. Aside from that minor mystery, the morning was perfect.

I bounded from bed with the enthusiasm of a Price Is Right audience member who's just been invited on stage to play the game. 

"Wonder," I said to the good and righteous woman, "I feel good today. I'm looking forward to whatever comes my way. I would go so far as to say the bluebird's on my shoulder and everything is satisfactory." 

"Not a bluebird, "said Amy, "It's me sitting on your shoulder."

Wonder looked up from her coffee with the expression of someone who suspects pharmaceuticals are involved. "I wouldn't worry about it," she said. "It's probably a side effect of having a few meds on board. When you finish the prescription, you'll feel normal again."

"Ha, ha," I said, in the way people say "ha, ha" when they mean that wasn't actually funny, but I acknowledge you're trying to be funny. "I like the feeling, and I think my new attitude is the reason."

"A new attitude?" she asked as if it was the first time she'd heard of it, despite having been subjected to approximately a dozen "new attitudes" in the past month alone, each one heralded as the definitive solution to life's problems.

"Don't do that," I said. "You know perfectly well my new approach to life is to not fight the depression, the anxiety, or the absurdities. Accept them and get on with life." I delivered this with the serene wisdom of someone who has just discovered a profound truth that humanity has overlooked for thousands of years.

"Good for you," she said, with the careful neutrality of someone who's careful not to encourage my philosophical epiphanies. "I'm happy to hear it. Does this have something to do with our conversation about possibility thinking?"

"No, Poopsie, I'm talking about a fresh new world. It's a concept from quantum physics explaining how all the fundamental particles of matter alternately appear and disappear continuously." I waved my hands in what I imagined was a quantum-like fashion, but thinking back on it now, it may have resembled someone trying to dry nail polish.

"Oh?" she said, and it left me wondering if I hadn't explained myself fully.

"I don't mean to discount the philosophy of life espoused by Dr. Robert Schuller, founder of the Crystal Cathedral. Not at all. A big fan of the man since the good old days." I nodded sagely, as if a connection existed between quantum physics and possibility thinking.

Wonder took a sip of her coffee, perhaps to hide her expression, or possibly to brace herself for whatever was coming next. "But even if those particles disappear and instantly reappear without our noticing, doesn't it imply that the new particles begin where the old particles left off? So it's really the same world reconstructed."

I didn't reply right away. I felt cold and empty, like a refrigerator whose light had gone out—still technically functional but lacking any magic. She raised her eyebrows, as if asking whether I had more to say or wondering if her question had encountered a 404 error—page not found.

"Damn!" I said, with the profound disappointment of a child who's just realized Santa's handwriting is suspiciously similar to his father's.

"I know," she said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring you down."

"For someone not trying, you certainly are good at it. Your natural, untrained talent must leave the professionals in awe."

Wonder, displaying the emotional pivoting skills that have kept our relationship functional for years, offered, "Hey, that's not nice." Then with a softened expression, she said, "Ride with me to the Riverlights Harris Teeter and we'll get ice cream at the new shop." She delivered this as if presenting the grand prize on that game show.

"Did I hear someone say ice cream?" chimed in Princess Amy, who'd remained silent, likely waiting for the precise moment when her intervention would be most dramatic or involve dairy products.

"Is there a new confectionery at Riverlights?" I asked, beginning to feel better already, which probably offers insight into my mood disorder, but I was too busy thinking about ice cream flavors to explore it.

"Yes, there is, and I've heard it's a pippin," Wonder said, meaning the ice cream place was excellent or that it somehow resembled an apple, but it made no difference to me.

"Maybe it's a new world after all," I said, my philosophical crisis resolving itself with remarkable speed in the face of cappuccina-flavored ice cream.

"Close enough to be getting on with," said Amy, who always has the final word. In her royal wisdom, she understands that quantum physics may not actually create a new world each morning, but ice cream makes it not matter at all.