Parallel Universes and Pot Plants— a Theory of Small Cosmic Miracles

Sometimes I wonder whether there’s some version of me in another universe who remembered to water the plant on time (the easy ones: pathos, spiders, etc). A version who bought the ceramic pot instead of the plastic one. A version who repotted it not for necessity, but for love. I like to imagine she has a porch bathed in Saturn-light, and the plant is thriving.

They say quantum theory allows for infinite universes—timelines stacked on top of each other as if like pages in some long ago forgotten book. What if every small hesitation, every “what if,” every missed train or chosen word… birthed another you? Not a better you, just… a slightly different one.

I don’t know why this comforts me. Maybe because it makes failure feel less final. Maybe because I like the idea that somewhere, in some layered dimension, I did the brave thing.

Sometimes, when I forget to water the real plant sitting in my kitchen, I’ll whisper to it,

“Hang on. We got it right somewhere.”

Because maybe that’s really all that the parallel universes are—some versions of us that made the tiny decisions we couldn’t.