Fate is just a wave that forgot it was the ocean.
Imagine this:
The waves of Mother Ocean. Always moving. They don’t question the pull of the moon, the whisper of the wind, the tug of unseen currents. They go where they are taken. They rise. They fall. They disappear.
Forever stretching, expanding—existing in possibility. Each one different from the last. Unpredictable. Untamed. Free and wild. Untethered and unbound.
Until.
The moment the crest folds into itself. The momentum shatters. The infinite is no longer infinite.
In a final breath, the wave becomes something else.
It hits the shore.
One moment. One impact. No longer many things at once, but one thing, forever.
The boundless becomes bounded. The uncertain becomes certain.
The wave collapses.
And in that collapse, something profound happens.
The wave does not simply disappear. Its energy transforms.
It moves the sand. Shapes the rocks. Feeds the creatures that wait along the water’s edge. It carves the shoreline, leaving behind an imprint that wasn’t there before.
Without this moment—without the wave collapsing into something definite—there would be no life. No shifting landscapes. No ecosystems. No rhythm to the ocean’s breath.
The wave must collapse for something new to begin.
And in that collapse, it takes form.
No longer a field of endless motion. It solidifies. It becomes matter.
A particle.
One location. One impact. No way back.
The wave has collapsed into its fate.
Or was it free will all along?
The Quantum Truth: You Were Never Just One or the Other
Science backs this up—quantum physics, of all things. Ever heard of the double-slit experiment? It’s one of the most baffling discoveries in physics.
When individual photons (particles of light) or even electrons (tiny parts of an atom) are sent toward two slits without being measured, they behave like waves. They don’t take just one path—they exist in a superposition, traveling through both slits at once, creating an interference pattern on the screen beyond, as if they were ripples in water.
But the weirdest part? The moment we place a detector at the slits to observe which path each particle takes, everything changes. The interference pattern disappears. The particles no longer act like waves; they behave like tiny solid objects, traveling through one slit or the other, landing in distinct clusters instead of spreading out.
In other words, when unobserved, light and matter behave as waves—fluid, undefined, full of possibility. The moment they are measured, they collapse into fixed particles, taking on a definite form.
The wave becomes a particle.
Reality, it seems, changes depending on whether we’re watching it.
Read that again. Reality shifts based on how we observe it.
Fate and free will, when viewed through the lens of quantum physics, become two sides of the same cosmic equation—an interplay between determinism and possibility.
A particle is definite, measurable, and locked into a specific trajectory—much like fate, which implies a predetermined outcome.
A wave, on the other hand, exists in a state of potential, spreading across possibilities until it is observed—mirroring free will, which flourishes in uncertainty and choice.
Fate is to particle as free will is to wave.
The deeper principle here is uncertainty itself. In quantum physics, Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle tells us that the more precisely we measure a particle’s position, the less we know about how fast it’s moving—or where it will go next. And the reverse is also true: the more we focus on its motion, the less we can define exactly where it is.
Think about that.
The more we try to pin down something as fixed and certain (like fate), the more the possibilities ahead slip out of focus. And the more we embrace uncertainty—the openness of choice—the harder it is to see life as predetermined.
The Power of Thought: You Create the Reality You Observe
But this isn’t just a strange quirk of physics—it’s the nature of reality itself. Just as a wave collapses into a particle when observed, so too does possibility collapse into reality when we make choices.
Every path, every outcome, exists in a state of potential—until we decide. The moment we act, the infinite narrows to one. The life we could have lived fades, and the life we chose takes shape.
But what guides this collapse?
Our thoughts. Our emotions. Our energy.
Thoughts and feelings are waves. They exist in potential, vibrating, unseen—until they take form. The energy we put into the world manifests in the reality we experience. This is not just philosophy. It is physics.
The adage is true: thoughts become things.
We are both the recipients of serendipity and the architects of our own fate. What we encounter is not just what happens to us—it is what we have created. We are not victims of the hand we were dealt. The hand we are playing is one we have shaped with our own energy.
And if we do not like the cards in front of us?
We are free to create a new deck.
You Were Not a Cosmic Accident.
This is where it gets personal.
If you are an adoptee, you may feel like you were a wave that never got to choose where it landed. Your shoreline was decided for you. A collision of choices made by others—a tide that pulled you away from where you began.
It’s easy to look at your life and see only the particle—the fixed, collapsed moment where everything changed. The relinquishment. The papers. The placement. The family you did not choose.
Fate, locking you into place.
But that’s not the whole truth.
Because even as a wave collapses, the ocean never stops moving.
Even as one outcome solidifies, the next wave is already rising. The tides still shift. The currents still pull. The energy of your life is still unfolding, still creating, still shaping the shorelines ahead of you.
And this is where free will enters.
Because you are not just the wave that collapsed. You are the ocean that keeps rising.
The past may feel like a series of unchangeable particles. But if you look deeper, you will see it—the miraculous serendipity of events, the unseen energies that collapsed waves into moments that shaped you. The ones that cracked you open, but also the ones that built you.
The wave becomes the particle.
The wave becomes the particle.
And you?
You are both.
A living paradox. A walking quantum event.
You flicker between fate and free will, your life a waveform collapsing into moments, only to expand again into possibility.
And perhaps, in the grandest view, even fate is just a wave waiting for you to choose how you observe it.
So, what’s it gonna be?
Are you the sand on the shoreline, letting life carve its marks on you?
Or are you the wave, shaping your own damn shore?
Either way, the tide will keep coming.
But how you dance with it?
That’s entirely up to you.
