She Was Curious

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Estimated time to read:

3–5 minutes

“Everything fas­ci­nates you, doesn’t it?” Jane smiled.  I had just fin­ished explain­ing the myth that crack­ing your knuck­les leads to arthri­tis (it doesn’t).  She’s right. Everything does fas­ci­nate me. In fact, I want my tomb­stone to read She Was Curious.

Just this week, I learned it is ille­gal to car­ry an ice cream cone in your back pock­et in the state of Kentucky. This was intend­ed to curb horse theft, as would-be horse rob­bers would tuck a scooped cone in their pants to get an unteth­ered horse to fol­low them home. In the­o­ry, the thieves could avoid pros­e­cu­tion because the ani­mal fol­lowed them home; they didn’t actu­al­ly steal the animals. 

Another gem I unearthed? Solo syn­chro­nized swim­ming was an Olympic sport from 1984–1992. Solo. Synchronized. Swimming. The “syn­chro­niza­tion” was absurd­ly between the swim­mer and the music. Why wasn’t it called swim danc­ing or aquat­ic bal­let, you ask? Who knows? I won­dered that too. 

One more. The char­ac­ters Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street were named after Bert the cop and Ernie the taxi dri­ver in Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. And a bonus, because it is so charm­ing. Cookie Monster’s real name is Sid.

If you’re not fas­ci­nat­ed by life, you’re not pay­ing atten­tion. Curiosity is the cor­ner­stone of mind­ful­ness; this nuanced emo­tion cracks open the shell of pre­con­cep­tions, assump­tions, judg­ments, and expec­ta­tions to allow us to see what is beau­ti­ful, inter­est­ing, and real. 

When we are inter­est­ed instead of jad­ed or apa­thet­ic, delight nat­u­ral­ly fol­lows.  In the 16th Century, it was vogue in Europe to own a curios­i­ty cab­i­net, or Wunderkammer, which means won­der room. At this time, the term cab­i­net referred to an actu­al room and not yet a piece of fur­ni­ture. Wunderkammers dis­played spec­i­mens and ephemera intrigu­ing or inter­est­ing: every­thing from lichens, ani­mal skulls, and rocks — to stamps, ancient runic texts, and weapons. You could add any­thing to your col­lec­tion that you deemed fan­ci­ful or fascinating. 

Every human on the plan­et is gift­ed at birth with his or her own Wunderkammer in the form of an inquis­i­tive mind. We need only access it. Yet we too often take this gift for grant­ed, choos­ing instead to stay mired in core beliefs we are unwill­ing to chal­lenge or pes­simistic thoughts we are indis­posed to change.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it seems to bring humans to life. The words curios­i­ty and cure arise from the same Latin root cura, mean­ing a means of heal­ing. A curi­ous mind allows you to more ful­ly love and under­stand the incred­i­bly diverse world in which we live. Science has revealed, time and again, that curi­ous peo­ple are the most con­tent. It isn’t mem­o­riz­ing facts just to pass the test. Curiosity is its own reward. The joy is intrin­sic to the activ­i­ty itself, as when you learn all of the state cap­i­tals, final­ly mas­ter the barre chord on the gui­tar, or see the beau­ty of a cul­ture you hadn’t been exposed to before. This short-term delight moti­vates us to learn even more, snow­balling into a life of con­tent­ed delight. 

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Understanding is like a con­stel­la­tion. The unknow­ing mind is like vast, emp­ty black­ness. Every time we learn some­thing, it’s a bright star shin­ing in the void. When we final­ly have enough stars, we start to con­nect the dots, draw­ing gor­geous pic­tures in our mind sky. And the cos­mos is infi­nite. We can nev­er run out of space for new constellations. 

Want to flex your curios­i­ty mus­cle? Eradicate the word bor­ing from your vocab­u­lary. Boring is the absence of curios­i­ty, an inabil­i­ty or unwill­ing­ness to pay atten­tion. Bored is sim­ply lazy in my book; only unin­ter­est­ed peo­ple are bored. As Ellen Parr writes, “The cure for bore­dom is curios­i­ty. There is no cure for curiosity.” 

Look around right now at your envi­ron­ment. What do you see that asks a question? 

I just saw my cof­fee cup and won­dered why it is called a “mug.”  Thirty sec­onds lat­er, I dis­cov­ered that it most like­ly derives from the Scandinavian mugg, or drink­ing ves­sel. In the 17th cen­tu­ry, mug­gs were often dec­o­rat­ed with crude­ly drawn human faces with exag­ger­at­ed fea­tures, lead­ing to the slang “mug” as a syn­onym for an ugly face. So interesting! 

Asking ques­tions leads to under­stand­ing. Look for the lit­tle details that you might have missed if you were look­ing down at your phone. Strike up con­ver­sa­tions with strangers, espe­cial­ly the ones that don’t look exact­ly like you. Jot down ques­tions as they arise to research lat­er. Read some­thing that isn’t on a screen. Start your Wunderkammer col­lec­tion today. Life is too short to be bored. 

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