Many Worlds Theory

Quantum Physics Solved My Summer Driving Woes

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This post may not be what you’ve come to expect, but don't worry, and put down that remote control. Have I ever let you down? Of course not! Once you've read it, we'll share a laugh, and you'll thank me for it.

The Great Traffic Transformation

The Carolina coast is a subtropical paradise, but we do suffer from a unique type of stress caused by the summer vacation season. Tourists flock in droves to our beaches, surfing spots, seafood restaurants, and art festivals. You know the routine—you've probably been here yourself, adding to our delightful chaos.

With the tourists comes the inevitable traffic on Ocean Highway—a bumper-to-bumper nightmare that would make a city planner weep. Picture hordes of vacationers rushing from the downtown riverwalk and its seafood restaurants to get to the beaches for surfing and Island Ices. It's like watching salmon swim upstream, except the salmon are in minivans and nobody's going to spawn. On second thought, I’ve heard stories that might challenge that assertion.

This year, the traffic buildup started unusually early, in March. By the time June rolled around, I'd given up trips to the beach because the traffic on Ocean Highway was terrific! And not in a good way. When I say "terrific," I'm thinking of the song "Home for the Holidays" by Andy Williams. Many have sung that song, but none can compare to Andy's holiday magic.

The M. Night Shyamalan Plot Twist

Yesterday morning, I read a news story about a record decline in summer tourism along the Carolina coast from Myrtle Beach to Surf City. The article reported that coastal roads are experiencing lighter-than-expected traffic during what should have been the busiest weekend of the season.

Wait, what? How is it possible that news media are reporting lighter-than-expected traffic, while I'm experiencing heavier-than-expected? My first instinct was to cry "fake news!" But then something extraordinary happened.

Around lunchtime, I left home to visit Dr. Coast on the island. I left early to give myself plenty of time to negotiate the heavy traffic. Are you sitting down? You should sit.

I haven't seen traffic so light since last fall. I couldn't believe it. Not only was it not "terrific," it wasn't even worth mentioning. The highway was practically empty—it was like driving through a post-apocalyptic movie, except instead of zombies, there were just a few confused seagulls wondering where all the French fries went.

The Many Worlds Theory

Now, if you've made it this far, I want to thank you, and I haven't forgotten my promise to make this post worth your time. Get ready for the punchline—and a brief, painless journey into quantum physics. No equations, I promise.

There is a theory in quantum physics known as the "many worlds" or "multiverse" theory. It attempts to explain the collapse of the wave function. I understand! Tranquilo, tranquilo, mi amigo. Take a deep breath.

What it means is that all possibilities exist simultaneously. It's like this: Will you get that job you want or not? According to the "many worlds" theory, both events occur, just in different dimensions. You get the job and are happy, but another "you" in another world didn't get the job and is disappointed. Somewhere out there, there's a version of you celebrating, and another version eating ice cream and updating your resume.

Here's where it gets interesting for our traffic mystery. There's only one sensible answer to how traffic can be both lighter and heavier at the same time: it's both, just in different worlds. See? Simple.

I know! I didn't want to believe it either, but there's no other explanation—the wave function collapsed when I read the article about the drop in tourist numbers. Perhaps reading the article caused the collapse! One moment I was stuck in Traffic World A, and in the same moment I was breezing through Traffic World B, windows down, and the Climax Blues Band singing their hit song, 'Finally Got It Right.'

Living in the Best Timeline

It is possible, my dear and deserving followers, that some members of our community are now reading a different Circular Journey post. In another dimension, I'm blogging about my successful career as a famous travel journalist. I must remember to keep that in mind as I compose future blog posts.

No matter what's happening in all those other worlds, I'm happy you're in this world with me, and not in another. I'd miss you. Besides, this timeline appears to be the one where the traffic finally cooperated—and honestly, that's a pretty good world to be stuck in.

So the next time you're caught in 'terrific' traffic that suddenly becomes perfectly clear, don't question it. Just smile and remember: somewhere in the multiverse, another version of you is still sitting in that traffic jam, wondering when you'll get home.

The Rube Goldberg Deal

It has been my experience that life is what happens when you're not busily engaged with a digital device. In my case, it's the stuff that happens when I'm not staring blankly at a screen and contemplating the peculiar shimmer of dust motes in a sunbeam.

I've been a moderately successful blogger with some minor yet gratifying recognition, but lately, my well of witty observations has been sputtering off and on like an airplane engine running out of fuel. It's not that the Muse has abandoned me entirely. There's plenty to write about here on the Carolina Coast. The problem is that nothing has been resonating with who I am inside.

The Spark

It was during a moment of reflecting on The Deal, the movie I'd watched the night before, starring William H. Macy and Meg Ryan. In the film, the protagonists decide to produce a major Hollywood movie despite lacking funds, a crew, or any knowledge of how to manage such a large and complex undertaking. Yet they decided to do it anyway—audacity masquerading as a business plan.

Little did I know that watching this movie would set off what I can only describe as a Rube Goldberg machine of ambition. You know, that delightful contraption where a candle burns through a string, causing a lever to fall, which makes a ball roll down a slope, which triggers a line of dominoes... well, you know what I mean.

The Setup

Right on cue, as if summoned by her sense of dramatic timing, Ms. Wonder shimmered into my office with an announcement. She'd been accepted into the Shapes and Colors program, a yearly showcase of prominent artists worldwide, and the whole rigamarole had inspired her to aim higher. 

"I want to get my photography into maritime museums," she declared with the confidence of someone who'd just discovered the secret to perpetual motion.

As a well-known figure in abstract photography who works wonders with her camera—capturing the very souls of ocean-going freighters—her ambition wasn't entirely unreasonable. On first hearing her words, I began comparing maritime museum exhibits with making a major motion picture masterpiece with no resources. And not in a bad way!

If a movie could be produced from nothing, as in The Deal, why not stage a solo photography show in a major museum with similar resourcefulness? And then it hit me—if Wonder could pull off her scheme, I could do similar with my writing--go from blog posts to publication in local media.

I'd continue to blog, of course. Nothing will take me away from The Circular Journey.

The pattern was elegant in its simplicity: The Deal's movie project became Wonder's maritime museum quest, which became my magazine article ambitions.

What started with William H. Macy and Meg Ryan's fictional Hollywood gamble had triggered a real-world chain reaction: Wonder pursuing maritime museums, me pursuing local media recognition, and all of us pursuing something bigger than where we started.

This is precisely my element--on the road to Find Out. Thank you, Cat Stevens, for giving me those inspirational words. Thank you, Ms. Wonder, for joining me in the Rube Goldberg approach to life.

We did it before with travel writing and photography. We'll do it again with art photography and local journalism.

My New Reality

Today's post will address a truly weighty subject: my official, wholehearted, truly blissful surrender in the lifelong, often-baffling fight to understand the true nature of reality. Let me explain why, hopefully over a strong cup of coffee that, as far as I know, might just be a delightful figment of my own imagination.

From an early age, I realized that the world isn't exactly as it seems. My first clue came when I was just five years old, during a vivid "vision" of Atlantis. I refer to it as a "vision," but it felt more like a waking dream, filled with dancing dolphins and ships with painted sails. You might expect a five-year-old to forget about it, but it left a lasting impression on my young mind, much like a stubborn sticker.

That was the same idyllic summer my great-aunt Nanny, a woman who inherited her esoteric wisdom from her Celtic ancestors, taught me to see faeries. And let me tell you, it wasn't difficult. The little rascals weren't exactly hiding. They were there, bold as brass, flitting among the azaleas – tiny, gossamer-winged beings, probably discussing the merits of pollen versus nectar. 

After years of fantasizing and delving into any subject that promised an explanation for the "unseen" world, I finally encountered science. Eureka! I thought. I felt much like Archimedes must have felt when he sank into the bathtub and water overflowed onto the floor. Not something I'd normally consider a groundbreaking achievement, but I suppose it could possibly have led to bubble baths.

For many years, science, with its comforting laws and predictable reactions, provided me with a delightful framework for understanding the world around me, making it feel as comfortable and predictable as a Sunday morning coffee at Luna Cafe. Then, just when I thought it was safe to leave the house again and go outside again, I encountered quantum mechanics.

Suddenly, I was presented with the possibility of an explanation for the unseen reality. It seemed to be the final frontier, the shimmering, elusive key to unlocking the universe's deepest secrets. It promised answers! It promised clarity! It promised... well, it promised a lot.

That promise, dear readers, was a false one. It didn't happen. In a sort of cosmic coup de grâce, a final drape thrown over the birdcage of my mind, Ms. Wonder decided to become an abstract photographer. Her artistic calling, and as one who has seen her in action, I can assure you, it is a calling. The woman can not let an ocean-going vessel dock at the port of Wilmington in peace.

"What's that got to do with hidden reality?" you may ask. It's a fair question, and one I've wrestled with myself. But consider this, hot off the press, right there in her artist's bio, she states, with an air of profound, unquestionable certainty: 

"Through my photography, I offer glimpses of an unseen world, that exists in plain sight. My photography goes beyond the obvious and makes visible what is otherwise hidden."

For the sake of my sanity—and probably yours too, since listening to me ramble on about quantum foam, lost continents, and dancing faeries can be quite exhausting—I've decided to embrace my imaginary world as the only reality that truly matters. 

Why struggle with complex cosmic truths, which would make a lesser man take up interpretive dance, when a perfectly comfortable delusion, custom-tailored to my personal whims and desires, is so much more appealing? It's a far less taxing way to live, and frankly, makes for much better blog material.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I just glimpsed something small and curious flitting past the window. It may be a new species of dust bunny, or else, and you may find this hard to accept, it could possibly have been a squirrel in a tutu. Living with an abstract photographer, the mysteries, it seems, never cease, even in a world of one's own making.

Cats, Cameras, and Mockingbirds

Ah, the Carolina coast! A place where life is easy, breezes are gentle, and the spirit of Jimmy Buffett seems to drift through the salty air like a catchy tune. You'd think, wouldn't you, that living this idyllic life would provide an endless flow of fascinating stories for a blog? And you'd be right. There's always something brewing.

But in my little corner of the internet, The Circular Journey isn't just about documenting every wave and sunset. My goal, you see, is to mix things up and share pieces of life that genuinely make me smile, and hopefully, make you smile too. 

After all, a blog that sings only one note, no matter how lovely, risks becoming as monotonous as a broken record. I learned that lesson the hard way, but the story involves too much caffeine and oversharing about my morning routine. We'll save that one for a later post.

The Perilous Path of Picking a Topic

I've since cultivated a refined list of about seven topics that keep my interest piqued and allow me to, as I like to say, "spread goodness and light." The trick, however, isn't just having the topics, but knowing when to unleash them. My choice of subject depends on the event that sparks the idea, the phase of the moon, or whatever my subconscious decides to obsess over while I'm trying to sleep.

Currently, my brain is doing a rather vigorous two-step between cats and Wilmawood. Yes, I'm thinking about cats—because honestly, is there any topic more universally adored, more inherently fascinating, than our furry, purring overlords? I think not. 

But then there's Wilmawood, our very own Hollywood East, the film industry that adds a certain glitz and glamour to our fair city. And so, here I sit, quite stuck, needing to choose one and let the other ride the bench for a bit.

A Dream, a Cat, and a Question Mark

I'm stuck on the horns of ...what is it? Begins with a 'D' but forget that for now. Let me explain the dilemma. My dream this morning was about Eddy, the tiny ebony kitten we rescued from under our deck just days before the construction crew arrived to transform it into a screened porch. 

It was perfect timing, really—any later and Eddy would have been living in a construction zone, which is no place for a dignified feline. I keep thinking about the dream, but my thoughts include more than Eddy's outdoor escapades.

Wilmawood Woes and Alligator Glee

On the film industry side of the house, I've been feeling a bit of a chill in the air. Filming has been unusually slow this year. "The Runarounds" wrapped production in early April, and frankly, the scene's been quieter than a library during finals week. You'd think in a place dubbed "Hollywood East," we'd have more action than a few scattered production trucks and the occasional sighting of someone who might be famous.

And so, I think you can see why I say, when it comes to blogging inspiration, I'm drifting aimlessly on the breeze, like a dandelion thistle.

The Wisdom of Mimi, the Mockingbird

Desperate times, as they say, call for a meditative stroll. So, I ventured out into nature, taking my customary walk around Brunswick Forest. It's a reliable wellspring of inspiration for me, thanks to Mimi, the Mockingbird. That tiny brain of hers is packed with an astonishing amount of wisdom. She has a habit of serenading the morning with popular hits from yesteryear. This morning, her chosen anthem was The Rascals' "Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?".

"Well, yes, Mimi," I muttered, looking up at her tiny form. "That's precisely what I'm trying to do now. I don't need a reminder; I need a suggestion!"

It truly is amazing what profound truths you can glean from nature. It's how our ancestors, those intrepid souls, managed to survive all those volcanoes, saber-toothed tigers, and other natural disasters, so we could eventually live the carefree life Jimmy Buffett sang about. 

Eventually, Mimi (bless her musically inclined heart) found a truly inspiring song. It was getting into late morning, and the temperatures were definitely rising when she launched into Buster Poindexter's "Hot Hot Hot." I took it as my cue to seek the cooling breezes.

The Balm of Cooling Breezes

And so, here I sit, in the window of Luna Cafe, with an iced Americano, waiting for further inspiration to strike. I do apologize for not having one of my usual "pippens" (those delightful little blog treats) to entertain you today. But, occasionally, the creative well runs dry, and all we can do is wait. 

I'll continue to focus on the Wilmawood angle for tomorrow's post, as it appears more promising than my current fleeting thoughts about outdoor cats. If I don't come across a truly brilliant idea soon, I'll be left with little more to write about than our upcoming move to Montevideo, Uruguay. And honestly, who wants to read about packing boxes when there's potential cinematic drama to explore?

Welcome to The Journey

Good morning, and welcome back to The Early Show that I like to call The Circular Journey, because if you pay close enough attention, that's what life is! 

I have a great episode for you this morning, full of philosophical musings and amusing anecdotes, delivered in soothing, creaky, dulcet tones. I don't actually know what 'dulcet tones' are, but I heard someone say it and was so impressed that I just had to use the line somewhere, and so there it is. The rest of this paragraph is questionable, too, if you want the truth, and who doesn't? But it sounds promising and uplifting, doesn't it? That's got to be worth something.

Despite all that, I do welcome you and I'm happy you're here. To show you how much I appreciate your attention, I'm up at this early hour, with amazing and amusing words to write—that much is certainly true, and I'm hoping to give you something to smile about. That's the mission of The Circular Journey: to spread goodness and light. Let's get started.

Here in our little corner of the internet, I like to set expectations—or perhaps I should say that I want to lower them considerably. Here at The Journey, you'll encounter many characters, some of them—not all—exist only in my imagination, but they feel more real than many of the solid people I meet at the grocery store. 

There's Princess Amy, my imaginary companion who appears whenever I need someone to deliver perfectly timed sarcasm or point out the obvious flaws in my reasoning. She's the voice of practical wisdom I probably should have been born with but wasn't, so I invented her instead.

You'll also meet The Voice—not the television show with spinning chairs, but the mysterious phenomenon that speaks to me in those drowsy moments between sleep and consciousness. The Voice delivers profound messages like "Life is on the moon" and "Hello, I'm Claudia from Sweden," which I dutifully record in The Journey because, as the saying goes, 'We're only as sick as our secrets.'

Then there's Island Irv, my coffee companion at Cafe Luna, who serves as both friend and unwitting straight man to my daily observations about the peculiar nature of existence in coastal North Carolina. Irv is as real as you or I and my best friend on the coast. We solve the world's problems over lattes, though our solutions rarely extend beyond the front door of Luna.

Our cast of characters wouldn't be complete without Wynd Horse, my trusty vehicle that bears witness to adventures ranging from optimistic beach trips that end in grocery store hypothermia to philosophical journeys through downtown lots.

The topics we explore here are as varied as they are ridiculous. One day, I might ponder the existential implications of weather forecasts that promise beach bliss but deliver atmospheric betrayal. Another day, we might imagine the conversations of birds, squirrels, dogs, and even trees. I justify it all by claiming that animals can be understood by their behavior in the moment, and trees by their "nature."

If that isn't strange enough for you, then consider the fact that I actually believe it. It isn't actually insanity, you know, it's a thing. It really is, and I'm going to write about it on The Circular Journey. Be sure to check back often so you can be the first to hear about it.

We discuss mood disorders on this blog with the kind of humor that only comes from living with them, not mocking the struggle, but finding the absurd comedy in how our brains occasionally decide to throw elaborate tantrums or deliver midnight inspirations that make perfect sense until morning arrives.

You'll read about mornings when I wake up feeling inexplicably fine with nothing on my mind, which somehow becomes the foundation for entire philosophical expeditions. You'll discover how a simple trip for coffee can become a meditation on dignity, weather patterns, and the cosmic sense of humor that seems to govern weekend plans.

The beauty of The Circular Journey is that it truly is circular—we start somewhere, wander through various territories of thought and experience, and somehow end up back where we began, but with a few extra laughs and perhaps a slightly different perspective on the beautiful absurdity of daily life.

Whether you're here for the imaginary conversations, the meteorological mishaps, the philosophical musings, or simply because you appreciate the art of finding humor in the mundane, welcome aboard. The Circular Journey doesn't promise to take you anywhere specific, but it guarantees you'll have some interesting company along the way.

So grab your coffee, settle in, and prepare to explore the wonderfully weird landscape of a mind that finds comedy in climate control, wisdom in half-asleep voices, and adventure in the simple act of getting through another day with curiosity intact and humor engaged.

After all, if we're going to navigate this beautifully ridiculous existence, we might as well have a laugh.