Phil W. Bayles

Or: How I Learned To Stop Trying To Do Everything

The Three-Body Problem is a concept in physics that I’m only about 50% sure I actually understand. But ever since I first came across it, I haven’t been able to get it off my mind.

Here’s the problem, at least as I understand it.

When two massive objects in space — like planets or stars — get big enough for their gravitational pull to affect each other, it’s relatively easy to predict the paths that they’ll end up taking using some very complicated mathematical formula I’m not even going to attempt to replicate here.

Once you add in a third body, however, everything turns to chaos. Any tiny change in the positions of the three bodies can lead to wildly different outcomes, which makes guessing where they’ll ultimately go almost impossible. They might veer off in unexpected directions, take unusually wide orbits, or even end up flying off into space entirely. And of course, the more bodies you add into the mix, the more chaotic things will inevitably become.

I find it surprisingly easy to relate to these hypothetical objects floating in non-existent space. It often feels like there are multiple versions of me, being buffeted by each other’s gravitational fields and ever-threatening to descend into chaos.

Let’s call this the Three-Phil Problem.

It’s nearly ten o’clock at night as I write this, which means that Writer Phil is in ascendance right now. Writer Phil is a rare celestial phenomenon: he only comes out late at night, when the stars are aligned and I’m feeling particularly creative. The problem is that, like one of those massive objects out in space, it only takes a little nudge to spend it spiraling away into the aether.

Maybe Work Phil has had a bad day and sapped out all of my creative energy. Or maybe Procrastinator Phil is ascending, flanked by the twin moons of Film Buff Phil and Gamer Phil — there used to be a Reader Phil as well, but that one’s gone the way of Voyager 1. These days it’s little more than a pale blue dot on the horizon. I do hope it comes back again.

There’s the cluster of familial orbs jostling for attention. Husband Phil. Brother Phil. Son Phil. Friend Phil is usually in there somewhere, though his orbit has become somewhat wobbly of late. Dad Phil is a recent addition, who sits in the middle of all of them like a neutron star – small and dense and incredibly hot, and giving off a light more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.

On the bad days, my depression feels less like a black dog and more like a black hole; an all-consuming void that threatens to consume everything that crosses its event horizon. On the worst days, that almost sounds like a relief.

I used to imagine all these planets, these parts of myself, as an orrery. Each orb was a tiny, delicate part in a vast, interconnected mechanism: one that I alone was responsible for maintaining. Each malfunction — every loose screw that kept one planet stuck in place while others span wildly around it — was my fault, a failure on my part to keep everything ticking over.

The Three-Phil Problem has helped me to see my universe for what it truly is: a collection of disparate elements careening through space and time, meeting and diverging and smashing into each other. Which, yes, can feel a little bit overwhelming at times. But in a way, it’s also oddly comforting. It’s a reminder that I am not the master of my entire universe because nobody is. We’re all at the mercy of huge, nearly incomprehensible forces, and trying to fight them is like… well, trying to fight gravity.

It’s also worth remembering that the universe can be a surprisingly small place. We’re all jostling for space, and we can all send each other spinning in exciting new directions. I started writing again in earnest at the end of last year because some incredibly talented and inspiring people came into my orbit. And I’d like to think that I’ve wobbled somebody else’s solar system at least a few times in my life.

So if you feel like you’re in the middle of your own unsolvable three-body problem, I can commiserate. It’s hard to feel like you’re being pulled in multiple directions at once, especially when none of them are the direction in which you want to go. I wish I had a concrete solution, but physics was never my strong suit.

What I do know is that the universe is expanding every day, and everything is always moving. I can’t predict where we’ll all end up, but I know that things won’t stay the way they are now for very long.