The Multiverse Theory

Let me start with the obvious: no, this is not about the Marvel Multiverse. Sorry to disappoint any superhero fans, but you won’t find Spider-Man swinging through this article. What I want to talk about is a scientific idea that has fascinated some of the brightest minds in physics — and one that, surprisingly, can also be used as a coping mechanism for ordinary humans like us, who are just trying to get through their to-do lists in the 21st century.

The multiverse theory is not some fringe fantasy — it has serious scientific foundations. Inflation theory, which explains how the universe expanded rapidly after the Big Bang, is supported by strong observational data. Some versions of it — eternal inflation — suggest that our universe is just one “bubble” among countless others. Add to that the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, which proposes that every possible outcome of a quantum event really happens in its own universe, and you’ve got the scientific groundwork for a reality far bigger, stranger, and more layered than we could ever imagine. Scientists have even tried to find traces of “bubble collisions” in the cosmic microwave background radiation — the afterglow of the Big Bang. No proof yet, but the research continues.

But let’s put the science aside for a second and talk about why this fascinates me on a personal level.

Because here’s the thing: modern life often feels like a never-ending list of jobs, improvements, and “what ifs.” What if I had chosen a different career path? What if I had moved to another country? What if I had stayed with that one person, or walked away earlier from another? We all have those moments of looking at our lives and wondering how things might have been if we had just turned left instead of right.

This is where the multiverse theory offers me comfort. Even though we don’t have solid evidence for it — and maybe never will — I like to think that somewhere out there, in one of those possible universes, another version of me is living out those other paths. Maybe she’s a professor of physics, maybe she’s a painter in Paris, maybe she’s a quiet librarian in Tokyo or a winemaker in Tuscany. Maybe she’s someone who made all the bold decisions I didn’t, or avoided all the mistakes I did.

And the beauty of this idea is that it allows me to stop obsessing over the “what ifs” here. I don’t need to carry the weight of all possible lives in this one. I can find peace in knowing that every facet of my soul, every dream, every wild alternative version of me exists somewhere. Which means I exist in all of them.

That thought gives me a sense of calm and even a strange kind of freedom. Because if some version of me is already living out the life where she became a Nobel Prize–winning scientist or a nomadic poet traveling the world, then this version of me gets to fully embrace the life I’m living right here, right now. I don’t need to keep chasing every possible outcome or constantly second-guess my past. I can own my decisions, embrace my fate, and give my best to this one chosen path — knowing that in the grander scheme of infinite universes, I didn’t really miss out on anything.

It’s like outsourcing your regrets to another universe. Someone else — another you — took care of them. Which leaves you with the much lighter job of living your current life as honestly and fully as possible.

And maybe that’s the deeper point. Whether the multiverse exists or not doesn’t matter so much for our daily lives. What matters is how the idea can shift our perspective. Instead of drowning in endless comparisons, endless tasks, endless optimization, we can step back and say: this version of me is enough. This one life is enough.

So yes, physicists may still debate whether the multiverse is real, and maybe we’ll never get the kind of proof that satisfies the scientific method. But for me, it’s already useful. It’s a reminder that the “what ifs” don’t have to haunt me. They’re simply other pages of a story I don’t need to read right now.

And in that way, the multiverse doesn’t just belong to science or philosophy — it belongs to us as a gentle coping mechanism. A way to accept our lives, love our choices, and live in peace with the fact that we can’t do it all in this one universe.

Because somewhere, somehow, another version of you already did everything.

Love,

Faja