"I reckon the sun's made of coal," he said, the prospector who lost his claim, on his short walk to the gallows. Poor man, no fight left, nothing for it but to muse on nature itself in the last few minutes of his life. It must be coal, like all that coal he found, had a claim on for a while, so much coal it would burn for six thousand years, give or take a couple centuries. It makes my chest ache, so painfully adorable to hear him, but I'm not condescending, I'm admiring. It's not a bad theory, there's some basis for it. He did better than I'd do, probably, in his place and time, with my questionable curiosity.
Modern technology cured my curiosity problem, it was problematic to want to know so many things, I can instead just take for granted that whatever works works. Just works, like google said their email just works, except they have to change it every year, and I have to dig around in the flags menu for hidden options to change it back to what "just worked" for me forever.