Dancing Alone
Particles behave differently when they are observed. That’s the heart of quantum physics’ strangest trick: the act of watching changes what is.
Schrödinger framed it as a cat sealed in a box with poison and a flickering atom. Until someone opens the lid, the cat is both alive and dead—purring and rotting at once. Observation collapses the uncertainty into one fate.
It’s as if the universe waits for us to look before it decides. That’s wild. But what counts as “looking”? If the box is opened in an empty room, does the cat stay in limbo?
What if the lid is lifted before a cadaver—its blind eyes aimed at the cat, sockets that witness nothing? Does that count? Do particles respond to vision, or to consciousness? And if it’s consciousness… are they choosing? Are they, in some way, aware?
That thought is unsettling. Yet it circles back to something simple: Do I act the fool when others are near? Or do I dance as if no one is watching?
