Finally getting it, sort of

I remember once, not more than a few years ago, I complained to my parents that we were expected to go to school in the beginning of our lives, rather than the middle.  The middle would be better, because we would know enough to appreciate each moment of learning, but we'd not be so old to be unable to continue learning (if we wished to) or to use what we learned. 

It occurred to me that, finally, I'm learning to luxuriate in classes.  Not so much the classes themselves, I guess--my English 50 course this quarter is dull and predictable in its approach, but the material is both unnerving and somewhere between "pretty" and "beautiful."

The learning, though--I'm getting it.  It's nice to feel that stretch in my mind that happens right before something clicks, to listen to someone vocalize something I'd have never thought of and feel the new thought raise goosebumps as it settles into my skin.  It's nice to work hard, to really work hard and make one of my stories better than anything I could have written a few years ago and to know that it's better than anything I could have written a few years ago.

It's just a shame, you know?  I'm finally getting it--I'm understanding what's so great about school, but I've only eight weeks of it left. 

Maybe that's why we send people to school for so long, though.  It takes us a while to get why it can be so wonderful, but after that it's time to move along--like we shouldn't get too used to living with something wonderful, but we should know how to look for what's wonderful in whatever comes next.