Whenever I think of those alternate realities, those theories of time where new dimensions split open every time you choose between hot or cold coffee, I feel like hurtling myself into the sun. It’s just too big, there’s too much, and I begin to feel shackled by the “shoulds.” Which decisions might, or might not, make me the person I’m supposed to be? And, sometimes when you order cold brew they give you yesterday’s coffee on ice, and it’s like: Great, why can’t I be in the dimension where I have drinkable coffee?

There’s something so freeing about abandoning it all, or maybe just the urge to. The way in elementary school my paintings just ended up being a puddle of gray, and the art teacher would sit down with me and ask, “What were you going for? What happened?” And I would stare down at my gray puddle, unable to explain what happened.