The Case for Curiosity
They lied. Curiosity never killed the cat. In fact, the widely-circulated phrase couldn’t be further from the original:
Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
This forms another misused idiom-proverb, lending to an age-old, growing list of indiscretions of picking sentences out of context, rendering the original meaning wholly useless (also read: proudly saying ‘great minds think alike,’ while overlooking the contrary, ‘but fools seldom differ’). The reason? Probably to stop an inquisitive, restless teenager somewhere from pursuing their latest quest for knowledge (the contents of a banned book) or an exciting new experience (touching the boiling hot plate the waiter just cautioned them against, or something more extreme, like skydiving).
With curiosity, the mythical ‘end goal’ has never been an answer. Really, the aim is a sustained curious outlook towards things. Thus, the objective of this process is the act of knowledge-seeking in itself, not stopping at a single answer. Curiosity doesn’t leave you satiated, although it can sharpen your creativity and get you cruising past writer’s block and boredom. It leaves you wanting more: opening the door to possibilities.
We are born curious. This fundamental human trait is most clearly evident in children — in the form of their ‘Whys.’ Why is the sky blue? Why can’t I have dessert before dinner? Why do dogs wag their tails? This forms a critical stage in a child’s cognitive development, especially as they embark on a journey to make sense of the world, to think critically and with greater depth.
As these children grow older, however, their curiosity can stagnate or decline. Not because of a natural disappearance of this trait, but because of environmental factors and external responses to this set of behaviours and questions. The education system, for instance, doesn’t always do a great job of fostering curiosity. Questions, especially not directly related to the course, are often discouraged. While this may not be the case universally, it is largely true.
Moreover, as we become adults, we also become less willing to acknowledge the limits of what we do know. With greater knowledge, linkages are formed, and pieces of the ‘puzzle’ fall into place. As a result, we become constrained by existing patterns of thought, which limits any looking beyond.
But, although we may believe curiosity is an inherent outlook and our resources for the same have been depleted over the years, there are still many ways by which we can cultivate curiosity:
- Browse/Consume: Delve deep into a specific niche topic of interest by reading more on it from multiple sources (a tip: look beyond your existing field of interest — this can allow you to broaden your perspectives further). In the same vein, apply this method to your social relationships — ask more (meaningful) questions, and listen more intently. To the words of a 5-year-old or a hardened subject matter expert giving a TED Talk. Learn about the person sitting in front of you. Open unread newsletters. Read articles and watch previously ‘undiscovered’ films. Add different genres of books to your To Be Read list.
- Create: Write. Or create in ways that work for you — make art, film a video, build your own DIY volcano (as I’m sure many of us have done for school science projects. The trick: lava = baking soda and vinegar). Discover hacks and how-tos, think of the what ifs of scenarios. Writing is an act of exploration and discovery — of both the world and the self. This can have you stumbling upon truths you may not have consciously been aware of when you were staring at the blank screen, just minutes earlier. Building on this, carry a notebook (or digital equivalent if easier; the notes folder on your phone). Write down questions you have as they pop up, or observations, or topics you want to know more about, or words you’ve never heard of before. Do some research when you head home. Really, just approach life as a science project — constantly experiment, and don’t be afraid to fail.
- Take a walk (or any other exploratory equivalent): Go somewhere new — be a tourist in your own hometown. Look around, and actively aim to notice more. Go to places that spark your curiosity, be it a museum or library, a bookstore or park, or even the cafe or a workshop you’ve been wanting to attend. [I recently subscribed to Rob Walker’s ‘The Art of Noticing’ newsletter, which complements his 2019 book (by the same title) and suggests exactly this. With each newsletter, he attempts to encourage readers to find inspiration, discover joy in the everyday, spark creativity and notice more. This can be through ‘asking childish questions,’ innovative icebreakers, and consciously paying attention. He offers a number of prompts, exercises and activities to ‘build attention muscles,’ which I’d highly recommend — particularly if you’re feeling stuck].
Follow the questions. Ask Whys and Hows, even about the most mundane of things. The results can be monumental — not necessarily at the same scale as discovering fire for the first time as a species, but potentially in the realm of driving innovative approaches to problems that plague us, better understanding topics that intrigue us, or sparking a refined, introspective outlook of ourselves.
Finally, a podcast I heard — a Vox Conversations episode with engineer-author-cartoonist Randall Munroe) was an especially interesting take on curiosity. It discussed Munroe’s work, from his web-comic XKCD to his book, ‘How To: Absurd Scientific Advice for Common Real-World Problems.’ The book explores the most complicated ways to do the simplest of tasks, driven as if solely by curiosity (and the author’s unfettered love for science and math).
Munroe’s book encompasses formulas and theories dictated by child-like curiosity and wonder, with a sense of absurdity that is evidently intentional. The book (and consequently, the podcast) talks you through solutions, from ‘how to dig a hole’ to the steps to cross a river by boiling it. It is fun, ridiculous, and a wonderful example of the complexity and creative potential of answers to mundane questions. It is an anti-self help guide: the purpose is the challenge, irrationality and ambitiousness of the ‘solutions.’ Take a moment, ask some ‘silly’ questions, and attempt to take a child’s approach to answering them. You never know what you may stumble upon.
How many unthinkable adventures or discoveries lie in wait for us, beyond the realm of what we already know? It’s time to learn to live our full, wild, spirited lives.
The takeaway? Slow down. Feed your curiosity. The right proverbs will follow.
