The Electron

• Something Big: the electron. It's not big at all-- in fact, it's so small that it's almost outside our reach. But one thing is certain-- it will always be outside our comprehension to grasp. It's location: impossible. It's behavior: almost more so. I've poured over my chemistry books, then spent hours at the whiteboard trying to grasp what I had just read. How can something be both a wave and a particle-- both energy and matter-- simultaneously? And then I learned about De Broglie: WE are both a wave and a particle-- both energy and matter-- simultaneously. And how are these "probability waves" part of the physical world? In the crash between the math and the tangible, distressed and caught in the middle of it, I asked a professor whose specialty is physical chemistry, "What is real?" His response was equally mystifying: "You know, you're asking a dangerous question."
  
• Something Broken: my insides. I have Celiac disease, an autoimmune problem that attacks the lining of intestines whenever I eat gluten. That's fine-- just go gluten-free. But it's not that simple. Years after diagnosis, I'm still suffering. I've tried so hard-- crazy restrictive diets, less restrictive diets, more doctors, a dietitian, physical exercise, and so on. But it persists. I'm blessed with a body that works quite well generally, but the stomach is an exception. And honestly, the mental side effects of unexplainable, chronic medical problems are torturous. The constant juxtaposed cry is there: "Am I doing enough? What else can be done?" Scraping, searching, hoping for an answer. But sometimes, nature is just silent.
• Something Artistic: a sculpture in the Musee D'Orsay. There's a portrait bust of a woman on the second level of the Paris museum-- I can tell you the exact place-- that stops me in my tracks when I see her. The first time I encountered the sculpture, it was as though the world stopped moving. Wide-eyed and heart-pierced, I stood and did more than admire her features. Somehow, I felt she personified everything that I can't describe. The simple hair, the chip on the nose. The stillness, peace, and reliability of her face. It was as though she felt the inner yearnings of my heart and wore them on a marble sleeve. I can't for the life of me describe why I felt such an attachment to this sculpture, but I still do. 
• Something Mysterious: my absolute faith as a scientist. Faith, which is supposedly the essence of irrationality, has become such a normal part of my scientific life. And that makes me marvel. From a secular perspective, one would call it a fluke when my laboratory experiments suddenly work so that I can make it to the temple one night. I say to myself, "Of course! God was controlling the circumstances to help you live up to your divine potential." But to the rest of the world, you can't make a miracle something perfectly rational. Moreover, when I need help in searching for scientific answers, I ask an "irrational" God for aid.  It's just inherent to incorporate my faith into my scientific work. Faith is described as a lack of perfect knowledge, while the Latin root of science is "to know". And yet to me, science never lies outside the realm of my faith.