At night, curled up on my side, I can hear my heartbeat. When I first noticed this (over a year ago), it sounded most like my pulse against the pillow case. I’d assume that’s the case, but I really have no way of knowing. It distracted, disturbed and lulled me to sleep.
Now, I hear it just as well – if not better because of my emphasis of study – but it doesn’t distract, disturb or lull me. No, it has become something similar to a nightly habit. If I am unable to hear it, something isn’t right, and it takes longer to fall asleep.
I don’t know how many times I’ve had to learn the functions and course of blood flow through the heart. It never stuck in my mind, and I was ever confused. Eventually, I just gave up and satisfied myself with my minuscule amount of knowledge. After all, I knew where it was, a small amount of its physiology, what it did, etcetera. Why would I need to know more?
Unfortunately, this is/was the case for many things that I learned. I studied, studied, studied, but never truly understood. It should have bothered me much more than it did. It should have bothered me enough to figure out exactly what I didn’t understand – it should have bothered me enough to cause me to be unsatisfied until I understood.
I can’t help but wonder if this is a large part of my growing up. No longer am I satisfied with the bare minimum. When time only allows that to be understood, it’s frustrating (and that’s an understatement).
Now, when I hear my heartbeat at night, I can only marvel at what I’ve learned – what I’m hearing. Once, I was afraid that learning the science would make things less wondrous, but this isn’t the case.
The more I’ve learned, the more I’ve wondered.