Well, it’s happened.
Little bubbles of excitement well and go “pop” inside of me.
It’s not always sunshine and daffodils. Sometimes I get queasy when I see Clebsch-Gordan coefficients and other tensors, bemusement and hystericity knotting up my tummy. I used to know those. I used to be smart.
Smart and sad. Sad and smart. Yuck yuck yucky duck duck. See, I wasn’t actually smart enough, or happy enough, for theoretical physics. I went about it all the wrong way, without joy. That was the problem.
Which comes first, the physics or the joy? For Einstein, for Dirac, for Feynman…I don’t know. But whatever it was for them, I had only the physics and none of the joy. Physics, like religion, is useless without gladness. Heck, life is useless without a quiet cheer.
All of this to say that I shake my head in disbelief at who I was, wonder if who I am now is much stupider than her, but finally sigh with a smile on my face, merry at who I am becoming.
Woohoo I’m gonna be a doctor woohoo woohoo woohoo I’m gonna be an orthopedic surgeon woohoo woohoo and I’m gonna like it woohoo woohoo woohoo