We are no longer living in an age when information is scarce. If anything, we are surrounded by too much of it. Different claims collide even on the same subject, and everyone seems convinced that what they know is closest to the truth. At first, I thought that finding more information would make the answers clearer. Instead, I found that the more information I encountered, the harder it became to decide what to believe.
That gradually led me to one conclusion: I needed to build at least a basic filter of my own. I cannot become an expert in every field, but I can learn enough to ask whether an explanation makes sense, whether something has been oversimplified, or whether important evidence is missing. For me, studying therefore became more than simply accumulating knowledge. It became a way of continually educating myself so that I could judge information more carefully.
My intellectual curiosity has always been a little excessive. When something catches my interest, I am rarely satisfied with understanding it only halfway and moving on. I also do not believe that learning belongs to a particular stage of life. As we go through life, we begin to notice things we once failed to see, and gaps appear even in what we thought we already understood. When that happens, we can simply learn again.
We absorb an enormous amount of knowledge when we are young, yet as we grow older, we often become increasingly reluctant to return to learning and fill in what is missing. Ironically, however, it is often only with time that we begin to see more clearly what we do not know—and sometimes that is when we finally discover what we genuinely want to learn.
I am a good example. There was a time when I truly disliked chemistry. Now, no one is pushing me, there is no exam waiting for me, and yet I find myself happily studying chemistry simply because I want to understand it and because I now see why I need it. At one point, while already working, I even returned to graduate school because I felt there were gaps in my knowledge that I wanted to fill. To me, learning is not something completed by earning a degree or finishing a course. It is a lifelong process that keeps continuing, changing, and expanding.
There is also a strange irony in learning. When we know very little, it is difficult to see just how much we do not know. But the more we learn, the more clearly the size of our ignorance begins to reveal itself. One answer leads to several new questions, and as understanding deepens, what once seemed simple begins to acquire conditions, exceptions, and complications. So perhaps learning is not so much a process of getting closer to saying, “Now I know,” as it is a process of becoming more precise about what I still do not know. At times I find myself thinking, Ah, so this must be why people say ignorance is bliss. :)
This tendency became even stronger when I began studying life science and biochemistry. Biochemistry rests on fundamental sciences such as chemistry, physics, and molecular structure. If those foundations are not sufficiently understood, there comes a point when it becomes difficult to move any further. So when I encounter something I cannot properly understand, I do not force myself forward. If necessary, I stop and return to the fundamentals. If the problem is chemical bonding, I go back to chemical bonds. If it is the movement of electrons, I return to atoms and orbitals. Once that part begins to make sense, I come back to the original question. There is no hurry.
Studying this way means that one question almost always brings another with it. I may begin with oxidative stress and end up following electron transfer and mitochondria. I may begin with DNA and find myself wandering through chemical bonds, chromatin, evolution, and even the origin of life.
For me, learning is not a straight highway leading directly to a destination. It feels much more like an adventure in Alice in Wonderland. I follow one curiosity down a rabbit hole, discover an unexpected path, follow that path, and encounter another question. Sometimes I find myself very far from where I started. But I enjoy the whole process—the wandering, the detours, the peeking into unfamiliar corners, and occasionally slipping onto a road I had never intended to take. There is no requirement to reach a predetermined destination as quickly as possible. I simply follow wherever curiosity happens to lead.
There are two main reasons I write this blog.
The first is for myself. Trying to explain something in writing is one of the best ways I know to test whether I really understand it. Something may seem perfectly clear in my head, yet the moment I try to put it into words, the gaps become obvious. I do not think I can properly write about something I do not understand.
So when I get stuck while writing, I often stop. I go back to textbooks and papers, and sometimes all the way back to more fundamental concepts. Then, when my understanding feels a little more solid, I return to the article. The posts on this blog are therefore also a record of my own learning process.
And, frankly, my memory is not getting any longer. These days I sometimes feel that the moment I turn around, what I just learned has already begun to fade into the distance. There is not much I can do about that, so writing things down has become even more useful.
The second reason is that I would like to share this process with people who think in a similar way. I am sure there are others who are not easily convinced simply because someone speaks loudly, carries an impressive title, or wears experience like a badge. People who would rather check, question, and understand things for themselves. People who do not stop at “I suppose that must be true,” but ask one more time, “Why?” I think of them as fellow wonderers. If anything I write here can be even a small help to people like that, I would be very happy.
And, unexpectedly, all this studying has also proved rather useful at home. My other (better) half, who is generally regarded—by both himself and others—as highly intelligent, and I sometimes have extremely intense debates. To our son, these debates occasionally look less like discussions and more like his parents having a serious fight.
In the past, I might eventually have fallen back on, “Well, that is just what I think.” Now I can pull out papers, mechanisms, and evidence one after another, which has made me far too pleased with myself. The quality of our debates has certainly improved. I cannot honestly say that domestic peace has improved along with it. Still, being able to argue with evidence—what more could one ask for?
This blog is not a textbook that declares final answers. It is a record of following questions, occasionally getting lost, returning to the foundations, and gradually expanding my map of understanding.
And if, somewhere along the way, I happen to meet other curious people who would like to venture down the next rabbit hole with me, that alone is more than enough reason to keep writing.
