He has the genes of a nomad; restless, uneasy, interested in what lies beyond his immediate understanding, preoccupied with new pursuits, with getting things done. To a degree that imposes upon him deadlines, even when there is time aplenty.

His curiosity takes him to strange places, introduces him to both odd and mundane things. He has no need for formal instruction. He searches out answers on his own.

His mind so actively engaged, so given to the pursuit of finding answers, it represents a challenge to my own sense of curiosity, even to try to keep abreast of whatever it is that consumes him at the present.

He is forever on the move, finding something that needs to be looked after.  I, on the other hand, am content to just look. His response is to react. And often enough to be proactive. He understands in a way that I am not attuned to, that things deteriorate, and anticipating that, fixes what is not yet begging to be fixed.

If there is a process, mechanical or artistic, ingenious and aesthetic, his interest is piqued and he begins his process of studiously examining it to determine whether he might be interested in going further, to master it.

He is, in a sense, a Renaissance man, a man of multitudinous gifts and endless patience.