I can honestly say that most of my life has consisted of hating research. I have denied ever wanting to obtain a doctoral degree simply of the hours of diligent research that proceeds the writing of a dissertation which is followed by a grilling defense. I have always believed that I would never get myself involved in something that forced me to spend hours on end searching for clues, supportive statements, or information that would lead me into a deeper understanding of something. However, as I am standing here, attempting to piece together something meaningful I have realized that I am in fact a researcher. I suppose that for me, the self proclaimed hater of research has finally found a facet of life that makes this meaningful. Stumbling across this notion I have realized that it is not necessarily "research" that I loathed, yet the act of searching for something that provoked no interest in myself. I have hated searching for meaning in the meaningless, despised the act of searching for something that a higher power and instructed me was the determination of whether I had intelligence. I have discovered, rather sheeplishly, that I love this act of discovery. Although the tedious nature is something I have always turned a frustrated back on, I have realized that it is not the hours of digging that I loath it is the hours of pointless searching for an answer I care little for.
What I search for now are things I care for, I search for meaning and I search for what will help others discover their own meanings. I research for the best possible introductions, I do not search for answers. I continue to find ideas that perk my spirit and instill in me a need to find out more. I do not find answers, I do not find truth because I realize that there is no such thing. What I decide is right today may be entirely different tomorrow, and that my friends finds me with peace.