Fragile As Glass
Listen: The universe is a tangled mess of chaos, indifference, and a handful of moments that almost make sense, kind of like a very bad performance by a weekend community theater group.
The most fascinating thing in this semi-organized puddle of absurdities that we lovingly call life is the simple, fleeting gift of curiosity. It’s what makes humans human, for better or worse. Take, for example, the humble honeybee. To a bee, its daily humdrum of gathering nectar might feel as meaningful as a tedious local government meeting. But to us, through the kaleidoscope of our curious minds, it becomes an intricate dance of life and necessity—pure poetry in motion. It’s all about perspective.
Now, ponder that we have managed, in a way only humans can, to deconstruct and view the very codes of existence, much like database entries in a fictional intergalactic government report. We've unlocked DNA, decoded mathematics, and even peeked into the abysmal depths of human psyche.
The same curiosity that had early humans gazing at the stars, the same detectives of patterns who projected their gods and scriptures onto the movements of celestial bodies, now has researchers peering into the quantum realm, where particles behave like mischievous children who can’t decide where they are, or indeed, if they should behave at all.
Curiosity led us to build machines—poetically, tragically dubbed “computers”—that tell us more about ourselves than we ever wanted to know. Curiosity unearthed stories locked in fossil records and whispered them into our understanding of ancient civilizations.
Human curiosity is both the curse and the golden thread. It’s why we make mistakes, why we love, why we endure pain for the fleeting pleasure of understanding. And as we stumble along, fragile as glass, on this tiny speck of dust in a void that doesn’t care one whit about us, we discover just enough magic to keep going.
So it goes.