Today I peer inside my own eye. The doctor takes an x-ray to examine a benign choroidal nevus (a freckle deep inside my eye). I tell him that "choroidal nevus" sounds more like a garage band name than a medical term. I have him write the phrase down because I'm absolutely fascinated.
We look at my eye, and the doctor translates. He points out the little tributaries--little creeks--of vessels that flow to my bright yellow optic nerve. It's an atlas representing a foreign land of color and texture I've never seen before. He travels back into my history--how my eye formed as a baby and how the shape of the cornea grew--as he points to the edges of this universe.
It's my eye. I've missed my calling: I want to go to school to study the human eye.
I realize the mystery and wonder of the whole world, right down to each tiny vessel in the eye. At this very moment, I'm seeing. It's sublime, unimaginable, and cause for the kind of euphoric celebration of an explorer who finally spies the New World. I want to learn more! Why would we ever exclaim, "I'm bored! There's nothing to do!" when the whole world longs to be explored?
If anyone says, "I'm bored," to me today, I'm going to point to my eye. There's an eye to learn about right now.
Journal: What new thing can I learn about today?