A few years ago, I decided to tattoo the results of the double-slit experiment on my arms: an interference pattern (bands of varying width) on my right arm and two distinct lines (no interference) on my left. At the time, it felt like a brilliant idea—a permanent tribute to one of the most fascinating experiments in quantum mechanics. But now, I regret it. Who could have guessed that something so meaningful at the time would lose its appeal? Yet, in a way, the tattoo is still deeply relevant to my life—not just as a scientific concept, but as a metaphor for the choices we make and the paths we take.
The double-slit experiment, at its core, is about possibilities. When particles like electrons are not observed, they exist in a superposition of states, creating an interference pattern. But the moment we measure them, the superposition collapses, and they "choose" a single state. This idea of collapsing possibilities resonates with me, especially in the context of my career.
Over the years, I’ve worked in various types of companies, and my experiences have been as dynamic as the interference pattern on my right arm. I’ve thrived in startups, where autonomy and proactive contributions are not only encouraged but celebrated. In those environments, I felt like I was in a state of superposition—full of possibilities, free to explore ideas, and empowered to make an impact. Startups, in my view, are like fertile ground for aligned, autonomous developers who proactively deliver results. They thrive on the energy of individuals who take ownership and push boundaries.
On the other hand, consultancies and outsourced teams have been more like the two distinct lines on my left arm—rigid, predictable, and lacking the richness of interference. In those settings, I’ve withered. The lack of autonomy and rigid structures stifled my creativity and left me feeling unappreciated. It’s not that these environments are inherently bad—they just don’t align with how I work best. I’ve come to realize that I need the freedom to contribute my ideas and see them take shape, much like the interference pattern that emerges when possibilities are allowed to coexist.
This brings me to my current struggle: finding a new job. In the past, I never had to look for more than a month. Now, I’ve been searching for a year with little success. Part of the problem is that I’m aiming higher—there are fewer opportunities that match my aspirations, and I haven’t fully adapted my profile to these higher-level positions. But another issue is my tendency to overthink, to linger in a state of superposition, paralyzed by the sheer number of possibilities. I need to learn to collapse—to commit to a direction, trust my instincts, and move forward.
This is where the tattoo comes full circle. Just as the double-slit experiment shows us the importance of observation and choice, my career journey has taught me the importance of decisiveness. In interviews, for example, I often find myself branching into endless ideas, edge cases, and possibilities. But I’ve realized that this only leads to overwhelm. Instead, I need to collapse my superposition of thoughts, focus on one clear direction, and seek confirmation from the interviewer. It’s about choosing a path and committing to it, even if it means letting go of other possibilities.
In the end, the tattoo is more than just a scientific curiosity—it’s a reminder to embrace the process of collapsing. Whether it’s in quantum mechanics, career choices, or everyday decisions, the act of choosing is what brings clarity and progress. And while I may regret the tattoo itself, the lesson it represents is one I’ll carry with me: sometimes, you have to collapse your possibilities to move forward.
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