I am an artist. I can take a vision in my mind’s eye and use only pigmented goop and some brushes to make that vision appear on a canvas where everyone else can see and understand it.
I am a writer. I can take the ordinary words that the English-speaking world shares equally, and I can set those words beside eachother until their individual meanings give way to a combined meaning that somehow allows a piece of my soul to escape onto the paper.
I am a creator. I take normal everyday objects and use my mind and my hands to make them into something more, something that could never be made by those objects without me.
I am also a scientist. I study the world, the cell in particular. The cell is made of thousands of tiny proteins, nucleic acids, lipids, and water, all basic molecules, but working together to function like a city. One protein makes many copies which lay down into a tight spiral, forming a track, and another type of protein walks along the tracks with its 2 “feet”. Yet another protein holds on to the walking protein with one hand and a (relatively) giant vesicle with the other hand. This setup allows the vesicle to travel to a certain destination in the cell, such as to carry waste to the garbage-can organelle.
Proteins can and are often studied in isolation from the cell with many useful purposes; however, they are not alive or capable of doing what they normally do inside a cell. The track protein outside a cell exists as many tiny individual pieces without direction as to how to link arms with the other track proteins and lay down to form the spiraling track. They are just like the brushes of an artist or the words of a writer. Inert and ordinary. Even if we gather together all the necessary pieces, a functioning cell will never emerge on its own. It needs a creator.