The trick, perhaps, is to see the astonishing underneath the boring. Every once in a while I recall that more than fifteen of every hundred nitrogen molecules I breathe is behaving in a way that would cause any self-respecting 19th century physicist to shriek, "Impossible! Imaginary* velocities? No, no and simply, no!" (Also, that's on the order of 1021 molecules in each and every breath I take.)
Or, to Gorey's point, that there is a non-zero probability that I could tunnel through the closed door of my study. Vanishingly small, true, but still, non-zero. Could today be the day that the door shivers and my wavefunction slips through its wavefunction to emerge on the upstairs landing? The door is marginally more exciting when seen in that light, no?
Or perhaps the boring is what would delight us? I follow TinyTales on Bluesky for a quick step outside the maelstrom of current events. (Browse their offerings if you, too, need a moment of respite: tinytalesdaily.com) The other day the story was about a diary:
The diary predicts tomorrow, but only the boring parts.
"You'll forget your keys," I read. "Lunch will be adequate."
My diary these days is pretty boring. Errands. Medical appointments. Email. I might forget my keys (roughly as likely as that air molecule ibeings stretched beyond its classical limit.) Lunch will be adequate. (#defaultLunch: plain yogurt, cheese and crackers, a piece of fruit — the same thing I have had for lunch most days since graduate school.)
And in the mornings, I write. Don't tell my diary. It's not in the least boring.
*By "imaginary" I don't mean the velocities are made up, I simply mean that the values are complex. Just to complicate things, "complex"in this context doesn't mean complicated, but means they are not real numbers. Right. Well, they involve factors of i, where i is the square root of -1. Never mind...just trust me, it's very, very upsetting to a classical physicist.
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