From my perch among the seventeen bears, I was listening to Brad ramble about quantum computing—trying to understand it himself while explaining how it relates to his comical inability to make decisions efficiently—when I decided it was time to reveal something profound about the universe that I'd apparently known all along.
"The fascinating thing about quantum computers," I explained to Finny, "is how they solve certain problems. Instead of trying one solution at a time like classical computers, they explore all possible solutions simultaneously through quantum superposition."
Finny sat quietly among his companions, his button eyes reflecting the afternoon light in a way that suggested he'd been waiting for exactly this moment.
"Brad, stop. You're missing the most important thing about quantum computing."
"What?"
"It's not efficient at all. It's wildly, gloriously, cosmically inefficient. And that's precisely why it works."
"That's what I thought too. From a classical perspective, it's absurdly wasteful. Why compute every possible path when you only need the right one?"
"But it works?"
"For certain problems, it's exponentially faster than classical computing. The famous example is factoring large numbers—something that would take classical computers millions of years, quantum computers could potentially do in hours."
"So the universe's most powerful computational approach is to... do everything at once?"
I paused, struck by the way he phrased it. "Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like cosmic laziness."
"Tell me more about this 'doing everything at once.'"
"In quantum thinking, a thought isn't just yes or no—it's both simultaneously. The smartest systems hold every possibility until the right moment reveals which one matters. It's like..." Brad searched for an analogy. "It's like being open to every possible conversation when you meet someone new, until you discover which direction feels right."
"What happens when you try to force quantum systems to be more focused?"
"You destroy the magic. The moment you try to pin down exactly what the system should be doing, it stops being able to explore everything and gets stuck doing just one thing."
"So observation itself makes quantum systems less powerful?"
"Exactly. The act of measurement, of trying to extract specific information, destroys the very thing that made the system special in the first place."
Finny was quiet for a long moment, in that particular way that suggested he was connecting dots I hadn't even seen yet.
"Brad, what if I told you that you're a quantum system?"
I laughed. "I'm pretty sure I'm classical, Finny. Definitely collapsed into one specific state of being a slightly anxious software developer."
"Are you? Right now, what are you?"
"I'm... I'm talking to you. Sitting on my bed. Thinking about quantum mechanics."
"Just those things?"
I considered this more carefully. "I'm also listening to the sounds outside. Part of me is thinking about dinner. Another part is worrying about that project deadline. I'm feeling curious, and also slightly tired, and also grateful for this conversation."
"So you're in superposition—multiple states simultaneously?"
"That's... that's actually a beautiful way to think about consciousness. I'm never just one thing. I'm always a superposition of different thoughts, feelings, possibilities."
"And what happens when you try to optimize yourself into one specific state?"
The insight hit me like a wave. "Decoherence. I collapse into something much simpler and less powerful than what I actually am."
"Tell me about your efficiency systems from this perspective."
"My efficiency systems are like... like constantly measuring myself. Always trying to pin down exactly what I should be doing, thinking, feeling. They're collapsing my superposition into a single, 'productive' state."
"And how does that feel?"
"Like losing degrees of freedom. Like being less than I actually am." I felt something profound shifting in my understanding. "Finny, are you saying that the universe's fundamental computational strategy is the opposite of human productivity culture?"
"What do you think?"
"The universe doesn't optimize. It doesn't choose the most efficient path. It explores all paths simultaneously and lets reality sort out which ones matter."
"And how does this make you think about creativity?"
"Oh." I felt my mind expanding. "Creative insight isn't about efficiently pursuing one idea. It's about maintaining superposition—holding multiple possibilities simultaneously until the right one emerges."
"What happens when you try to force creativity to be efficient?"
"Decoherence. You collapse all the possibilities into whatever seems most immediately productive, and you lose access to the unexpected connections that make truly creative work possible."
"And problem-solving?"
"Same thing. The best solutions often come from maintaining uncertainty, from holding multiple approaches in mind simultaneously, rather than committing too quickly to the most obvious path."
I looked around the room at the seventeen bears, each unique, each representing a different facet of comfort and understanding.
"You seventeen are like a superposition, aren't you? You're not just one thing—you're all possible states of comfort, wisdom, and companionship simultaneously."
"And what would happen if you tried to optimize us down to just one bear?"
"Decoherence. I'd collapse all the possibilities into just one specific type of comfort, and lose access to all the other states you collectively make possible."
"The quantum universe," Finny said gently, "is fundamentally lazy. It doesn't try to find the most efficient solution. It just maintains all possibilities until reality decides what's needed."
"So true efficiency might be... quantum laziness? Doing everything at once instead of trying to pick the right thing?"
"What would your life look like if you approached it more like a quantum computer?"
I considered this revolutionary idea. "I'd stop trying to collapse myself into the 'right' state. I'd maintain superposition—stay open to multiple possibilities simultaneously. I'd trust that the right actions would emerge naturally rather than trying to compute them in advance."
"And when would you measure or observe yourself?"
"Only when I absolutely needed to make a decision or take action. The rest of the time, I'd just... exist in superposition."
"That sounds wonderfully inefficient."
"And potentially exponentially more powerful than classical optimization."
I closed my eyes, trying to feel what it would be like to exist in superposition—to be simultaneously curious and satisfied, working and resting, focused and wandering, all at the same time.
"Finny, what if the efficiency trap isn't just about squeezing systems too hard? What if it's about fundamentally misunderstanding how the universe actually computes reality?"
"How so?"
"We think intelligence means choosing the right answer quickly. But quantum mechanics suggests that real intelligence might mean maintaining all answers simultaneously until the moment of need."
"The universe is perfectly lazy and perfectly intelligent at the same time."
"Yes. It does everything and nothing simultaneously. It's completely uncommitted to any particular outcome until observation forces a choice."
"And we've been trying to live like classical computers in a quantum universe."
"Exactly. We've been trying to compute life one decision at a time, when we could be existing in superposition and letting the right decisions emerge naturally."
I opened my eyes and looked at Finny with something approaching awe.
"Quantum laziness isn't about not doing things. It's about not prematurely collapsing possibilities into premature certainties."
"It's about trusting the universe's computational strategy instead of insisting on your own."
That evening, I practiced quantum laziness. Instead of optimizing my evening routine, I let myself exist in superposition—simultaneously tired and energetic, ready for work and ready for rest, social and solitary.
It felt like coming home to a part of myself I'd forgotten existed.
For the first time in years, I wasn't trying to collapse into the "right" state. I was just being all my possible states at once, trusting that the right actions would emerge when needed.
The universe, I realized, had been showing us the deepest principles of intelligence all along. We'd just been too busy optimizing to notice that the deepest intelligence looked exactly like beautiful, quantum laziness.
Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is everything and nothing, simultaneously.