I’m five years old and looking wide-eyed at the gray skies. The little glimmer of wonder in my pupils matches the reflection of the puddles on the sidewalk outside our house. The storm has settled and run its course, but my mind is still reeling with curiosity. How is rain made, and why does it wash away my chalk-drawn masterpiece but not the cement? Where did all these worms come from? Why do they turn into twins when you cut them in half?
I’m twelve, now, and fighting with my mom. My boots lay haphazardly by the doorway in an act of pitiful defiance, and my tear-stained shirt matches the window panes drenched with rain in front of us. My mind is reeling again, but this time I don’t care much for the answers. But mom, why can’t I go hang out with my friends? The storm isn’t that bad, is it? Why does my brother get to do what he wants and I never do? Why? Why not?
I was once each of these children. These days at age 20, I am both of them, often flip-flopping from one to the other within the span of an hour.
When twelve-year-old me asks questions, she knows the answer she desires even before the query leaves her lips. She asks you “Why?” not because she’s interested in your reasons for choosing to walk the long way to class, but for a chance to explain why her path is superior. Her questions are a challenge, fueled by adolescent doubt instead of a kindergartener’s curiosity. She often asks them of herself too but doesn’t listen patiently enough for an answer. Sometimes they don’t make it out of her brain, but they often rattle around inside.
Twelve-year-old me is asking for the sake of doubting, because she’s either too sure or not sure enough.
Five-year-old me is intrigued by the workings of the world and marvels at what she knows she doesn’t yet know. She spends ten extra minutes on an accounting problem even after she knows the right answer, because she wants to know the why behind it. She asks people questions about their lives because she is itching for the answers.
Five-year-old me is asking for the sake of learning, for the sake of excitedly grasping onto something she didn’t understand before.
According to a 2013 survey by online retailer Littlewoods, the average child asks nearly 300 questions a day. This number starts to dwindle with each candle we add to our birthday cake, perhaps as we lose our innocent curiosity or gain a filter on what comes out of our mouths. Or maybe we’ve simply become too busy and automated to stop and think of the right questions.
But regardless of if we’re five or twelve or twenty years old, often the questions we do ask aren’t the ones we should. They’re not aimed in the right direction. They’re aimed at challenging other people or criticizing what we don’t know, instead of challenging ourselves and embracing our ignorance with open arms.
Let’s revive the meaningful question. Next time we ask, “why?”, let’s listen—really listen— for an answer. Let’s ask not for the sake of doubting, or proving, or even just for the sake of asking. Let’s ask for the pursuit of knowledge and the excitement of discovery. For the acknowledgement of our own limitations and the desire to surpass them.
Why?
Well, why the heck not?
Follow HCND on Twitter, like us on Facebook, Pin with us and show our Instagram some love!