urgent

There was a time I would lock myself in my study for hours, poring over scientific tests--desperately looking for the solution to my latest problem, trying to solve all of the world's questions, questing after the theory of everything. I didn't just need answers, I needed them now. Everything I did had a sense of urgency about it. I would write impassioned essays about the results of my experiments. This was important. This mattered.

A few days ago I brought a cup of tea into the study and kept the door open while an old friend of mine sat and chatted with me. I casually looked over the books and wrote some cursory shorthand notes so I could remember later. The next day I compiled a terse summary of my findings. Nothing about why these might be world-shaking. I've long stopped looking for the theory of everything. I'm happy with some questions left unanswered. I was restless; now I'm content.

I'm starting to wonder where the urgency is gone, though I'm not sure I want it back.