Curiosity As A Form Of Life-Giving

This is an entry (just in the nick of time) for May 2026's IndieWeb Carnival, with the theme of 'a love letter' chosen and hosted by Juhis. It was very much inspired by Brennan's entry.

I'm writing a 'love letter' to a concept. A little abstract, perhaps? (But why wouldn't someone who lives and breathes text pick something like that?) Aside from my other favorites, like love, hope, and creativity, curiosity remains something I never grow tired of thinking about.

Because really there are many reasons to arise in the morning. However, my inability to imagine a future, my often anxious tendencies, and need for control…they dwindle easily.

However, that a new day means more things to learn and delight in? I'll bounce out of bed!

There are many downsides to endless, insatiable curiosity, sure (burnout and overwhelm being two recurring patterns) I don't want to write about that today.

Instead, what I'd like to mention here is the ways it's 'life-giving.'

To my neurodivergent brain, the world, at least as others see it, doesn't make much sense. Nor does the tendency to accept things as they are, or to not question them. Still, twenty-plus years into this strange life, whenever someone mentions they do something, my brain screams, 'but why?'

And it's the most mundane things, too. To illustrate, here's a snapshot of the things that wander through my head when I sit idle in someone's living room. (Or, more likely, running background commentary when trying my hardest to focus on what someone's saying.)

• Ooh! A bookshelf. The titles on it: half in Spanish? Interesting. Which language do they prefer reading in, and why? Would that mean they read translations? Do they compare editions?
• The couch is one of those funny ones which change color depending on how you rub the fibers. Why do they do that, anyway? I've never figured out what material they're made from.
• A ceremonial mask? Where did they get that from? What's its history?

Do you see what I mean? I take nothing for granted, because I'm incapable. Now, I have to add a caveat to that statement. When I'm exhausted, resentful, or just 'coasting as a coping mechanism,' sure, I take everything for granted. It's exhausting, and easy to slide into cynicism.

Yet the thing I allowed myself to think of as a 'curse' or 'unwelcome' is the very thing that brings joy.

For example:

• Asking about the books leads to a fascinating discussion of how they think about their heritage, the differences (and similarities) between the languages, which genres and tones lend themselves best to either, and the frustrations and appreciation they have for translated works.
• Investigating the question about the fiber-content in the person's couch leads to the discovery of 'crushed velvet' and how the fibers don't change color, their direction toward the room's light source does, affecting how you perceive it.
• Pointing out the mask leads to being regaled with reams of interesting stories, not just about it.

And sure, conversations get shut down sometimes, and research rabbit holes lead nowhere. Yet, like with the creative process, finding the joy isn't in the having, it's in the doing.

So, thank you, curiosity. When I remember to fight cynicism, a world full of possibilities and free from obligation appears. And that's the world I want to live in. And I can. Every day. If only I agree.

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