It’s a curse to be so inquisitive. Or maybe I just think it is. I want to understand too many things. Acupuncture for instance. How does poking a tiny needle into a meridian make a difference in the body, creating less pain and more euphoria? Essential oils. How does the oil from lavender cross the blood brain area and produce good results for the recipient? Horses. Why are they so much like humans in temperament? How can they read the rider’s emotions? Surgeons. Why are they so intelligent and have the ability to do so many intricate healing designs in the human body after the anesthesia takes hold? Authors. Why do some people have a knack for sitting down to pen words that can remain through eons of time? Dancers. How do dancers learn and remember all the steps of the ballroom and make it look like they are floating on air? Pilots. Every time I get in an airplane I look at the pilot. Why are they always so handsome? How do they do what they do and do it safely? I can barely do it on a game simulator on my phone. Sales people. I don’t have that gene. Dog trainers. My dogs have zero manners. I haven’t a clue. But I try and learn. Architects. Interior designers. Chefs. Playwrights. Actors. Actresses. How do the humble people at the local community theater remember all those lines? And what about the person who wrote the play to begin with?
These things make me realize how much talent we all have inside our curious souls. And having written this, I tend to believe that curiosity is a gift. My mother-in- law once asked me if I would ever stop looking and doing all that I do. After many years and by the stacks of books on so many topics of interest, I believe that the answer would be no.