Why I Love Multiverse Theory

If you’ve read The Living God, or held a lengthy philosophical conversation with me at any point ever (or happen to follow me on social media), you may have concluded I’m a fan of multiverse theory. Any shape or form, actually. 

For those I haven’t subjected to my gleeful, excited babbling about the potential of a world where I have, in fact, become Batman (or for those who have never been exposed to scifi), let me explain what multiverse theory is.

Short answer from Wikipedia: The multiverse, also known as a maniverse, megaverse, metaverse, omniverse, or meta-universe, is a hypothetical group of multiple universes. Together, these universes comprise everything that exists: the entirety of space, time, matter, energy, information, and the physical laws and constants that describe them. 

I like to subscribe to the portion of the theory where everything exists. Where every potential possibility is available, just a universe away. 

If our universe is infinite, and there are an infinite amount of other universes layered on top (or below?), there are an infinite amount of possibilities.

One should, in theory, lead to me being Batman, or Queen of the World, or, more boringly, an accountant. Of course, it also means there are countless versions of Earth where I do not exist, but who needs those?

So why do I love multiverse theory so much? 

I have, for the longest time, been unsatisfied (and very disappointed) with the fact I can only live one life. And this gift of life is limited to a certain amount of decades, and those decades are limited to a certain amount of viable, independent years in which I am not being fed or clothed or having my ass wiped by my elders or youngers. 

In other words, I have between the ages of 18 and 85–if I am of relative good health and faculties–to pursue an infinite amount of possibilities and opportunities of which I only have the time, energy, and focus to hone and experience half a dozen. 

The time between 18 and 85 seems vast from the human perspective and miniscule–not even a speck of dust, really–when compared to the lengthy expanse of time in which the universe exists. Therefore, I haven’t much time at all. 

I cannot be a quiet farmer in a small town, an archaeologist, a doctor, a nurse, a TV personality, a time traveler, an inventor, a writer, a general, a mother, a scientist, a space explorer, or Batman in the span of 67 years. At least, not with the current cost of higher education.

The problem is… I want to be all those things.

I want to experience all of those things.

I want to live an infinite amount of lives, see the farthest reaches of space, and take down an intergalactic warlord while I’m at it. Unfortunately, that isn’t possible.

So I love multiverses because I can imagine there are worlds where I am at least one or two or maybe three of those things. Of course, this also means there are worlds where I’m an addict or dead or a murderer (but again, who needs those?). 

Another reason I love multiverse theory (even more so than for the strange, grandiose, and impossible reasons aforementioned) is because somewhere there is a universe where my dad is still alive. 

In one universe or another, I stayed longer than a week after his surgery and picked up on his infection before the nurses, or at least badgered them to check him for sepsis before it was too late. In one of those universes, he never got sick at all. In one of them, he pursued his desire to be a doctor after his father died. In one of those, his father never died, and I got to meet him. 

I love multiverse theory because it offers infinite possibilities for a life in which I can only have one or two of each. It lessens my irrational bitterness for being denied an infinite life to explore my infinite choices. I thrive on endless possibilities and the fear of unfulfilled potential, and multiverse theory lets me be content with the idea of some me, somewhere, doing what I, at this moment, cannot.

And that makes my one life, my one speck of dust in an unimaginable length of time, bearable.

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