We use several tools as we go about our day. Sometimes we draw on what we know, sometimes we get ahead by applying what we know in a certain way. But often, we can make use of what we don’t know, by channeling our curiosity—even if we’re not always encouraged to be curious.
Curiosity gets a bad rap. Take Curious George, who for decades has been held out to infants and toddlers as an exemplar of curiosity. It’s in his name! Even though George is “a good little monkey,” he is always very curious, which tends to make life for those around him considerably worse, with all kinds of mayhem and property damage ensuing. Sure, at the end of the story, George’s goodwill and sheer tenacity mitigate much of the harm, but Curious George books make curiosity look like a lot of trouble, and frankly juvenile, since the titular monkey is an insert for the young reader. It’s the uncurious, indeed oblivious (who else would leave a chronically curious monkey unattended in a chocolate factory and expect a good outcome?) man in the yellow hat who is the responsible adult, constantly cleaning up George’s curiosity-fueled messes.
If George doesn’t convince you that we tend to put a negative slant on curiosity, what about the cat? You know which one I’m talking about. The cat. The one whose cause of death was…curiosity. This is cats we’re talking about here—notoriously stealthy and hypervigilant animals. Anyone who as ever tried to get a cat into a carrier prior to transport to the vet knows how canny they can be. If curiosity can kill them, what can it do to poor gullible us?
We start life, perhaps, with unbounded inquisitiveness about the world around us, but at some point our curiosity curdles into caginess. Our new guardedness may be the result of several factors; curiosity, as much as it can give us (more on that below), has a price. First, in wanting to know something, we have to admit to the world that we don’t already know it. In settings that put a premium on personal knowledge, confessing that we retain a pocket of ignorance can be tantamount to self-humiliation, translating into a loss of status.
Second, in learning something new, we might be disappointed. Perhaps we currently view the world as it should be; being suddenly confronted with the world as it is can be disconcerting. Having our preconceived notions upset is usually not an occasion for celebration. As the British Army’s musicians played “The World Turned Upside Down” at the surrender at Yorktown, General Cornwallis was probably not jumping with joy. A new paradigm can threaten our existing worldview.
Third, being curious can be hard work. It can be easy to coast on what we think we know, to accept our current understanding as definitive. Shifting ourselves out of complacency might mean fighting against a mighty inertia, and some days we are so busy keeping our heads above water that we feel we don’t have the strength to do it. Or we may be afraid that, if we lift our gaze off the path directly in front of us, we might stumble, denying ourselves knowledge of all the other paths we might pursue.
Even though curiosity gets a bad rap, even though it isn’t always fun to indulge, we have much to gain from letting our curiosity lead us. For one we can learn something new, broadening our understanding of the world we live in. For another, we can connect with other people, seeing that world through their eyes and, in that way, gaining a new appreciation for their perspective.
For those of us with perpetually unsettled minds, curiosity is essential, because it offers constant assimilation of new knowledge, new viewpoints, staving off boredom and stagnation. While it is comfortable to fall back on what’s tried and true, there is something invigorating about experiencing new things, or seeing the same old things through new lenses.
Or, as my grandmother would say with a shrug, justifying even the least satisfying experience, “It’s better than sitting at home.”
Having hopefully hashed out why curiosity is worth the price (well, in most cases—the cat’s example reminds us that unbridled curiosity can lead us astray), I would like to explore how we can feed our curiosity without unduly upsetting those around us.
First, we can start by asking questions, genuinely curious questions that we don’t already think we know the answer to. We’ve got to be willing to have our expectations overturned and genuinely learn something new. Now, some people have a greater tolerance for curious questions than others. What we consider a polite, naïve enthusiasm may come across as annoyingly inquisitive. There is a fine line between being asked to share from your depth of knowledge and being interrogated. I think we all can relate with how uncomfortable the latter feels. To avoid coming off as an interrogator, it may be best to start with very general questions, increasing in intensity well within our partner’s comfort zone.
One tip: if your questions get monosyllable answers, the questioned may feel you are prying (or this isn’t the right time). Feel free to back off, or let them indulge their curiosity at your expense to build rapport.
Second, we can be more curious by doing genuinely new things. I cringe just a bit at how obvious this sounds, but I persist in mentioning it because many of us don’t try new things. Learning a new language, taking up a new hobby, even starting a part-time job offer us so many opportunities for growth, and even if they end up not working out, at least we saw a different perspective for a while and learned that the tried-and-true isn’t so bad. Again, I think of my grandmother saying that it’s better than sitting at home.
Curiosity is such a powerful tool, we sometimes don’t appreciate what it gets us: new ways of seeing and understanding. While active curiosity can sometimes be uncomfortable, it’s almost always better than the alternative—as long as we heed the example of the late aphorismed cat and keep an eye on scene safety.
So until next time, expect the unexpected, stay informed, and I’ll stay informal.
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