I've always had insatiable curiosity. When I was a kid, I used to read encylopedias and dictionaries like novels (pre-internet, of course). My family had an Encyclopedia Britannica set, and I'd park my butt on the dusty blue carpet right in front of the bookshelf and would get sucked in, one volume at a time. The world around me was brilliant and confusing—heck, it still is—and moments of pause where I'd think about how insignificant we are in the grand scale of the universe was the quickest way to make my brain feel like it was melting. But I loved it.
One of my most prized possessions was a telescope. It wasn't a high-powered one, and it certainly wasn't an expensive one, but it didn't matter. I could see the surface of the moon, and this hazy yellowish