Popping In And Out Of Existence

The electron, as I understand it from quantum physics, does not behave.

It doesn’t sit neatly in orbit like we used to believe. 

It doesn’t trace a line. 

It doesn’t follow a path.

It pops in and out of existence.

It isn’t here, and then suddenly, it is.

It doesn’t glide. 

It appears. 

It vanishes. 

It shows up again, somewhere else.

Not quite where you expect.

Not exactly when.

It exists as a probability, a cloud of maybe, and only when you look at it does it settle into something definite.

It behaves.

Until then, it’s not “there.”

It’s not anywhere.

And so the question comes:

Is it the same electron that reappears each time?

Or is it a new one, showing up in the right place, with the right charge, doing the same job?

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

But the charge, that stays.

And so I wonder: are we, too, like the electron?

Do we pop in and out of existence?

You go to sleep. 

You disappear into unconsciousness. 

You return in the morning.

Same name, same body, same memories.

But what if it’s not the same you at all?

What if “you” are just the new instance of a recurring charge, a flicker of identity that only looks continuous because it tells a story to itself?

And here’s the stranger part:

With the electron, observation itself determines reality.

When we look, we cause the wave function to collapse.

The electron becomes “real” precisely because we demanded to know where it was and how fast it was going.

So what about us?

Do we also become real by being observed?

Who is observing us then?

Does the presence of another mind, a gaze, an audience, a witness, cause the loose particles of our identity to snap into form?

Are we fields of potential until someone sees us clearly?

Is visibility what makes us exist?

Maybe that’s why we’re so drawn to attention, to affirmation, to being remembered.

Maybe we are wave functions, looking for someone to collapse us.

Maybe we can’t locate ourselves until someone else says: “There you are.”

It’s unsettling, but maybe it’s not a flaw.

Maybe it’s the nature of things that flicker.

Because even if you can’t be sure it’s the same electron, the charge remains.

Likewise, even if you can’t be sure it’s the same “you,”

You love the same people.

You carry the same wounds.

You leave the same trace.

You show up. Again and again.

The pattern holds.

The charge is consistent.

Maybe that’s what existence is.

A series of bright flickers across the void.

Unfixed.

Uncertain.

Brought into being by the act of being seen

We vanish.

We appear.

And we call it a life.