(re)claiming curiosity
the courage of questions
Come love, make me better than I was. Come teach me a kinder way to say my own name.
—Andrea Gibson—
After my dad died, I found dozens of old envelopes around the house. On those envelopes were questions in my father’s messy handwriting. So many questions.
How did _____ work?
Do I need to talk to _____?
Should I choose _____ over ____?
Much to my mom’s frustration, my dad wanted to know more. And more. From choosing a dishwasher to figuring out the taxes, he was curious to learn. While I imagine part of this note taking was the early stages of dementia, it was also a good lesson for me.
Ask more questions.
And the even deeper lesson follows me today:
You don’t know what you don’t ask about.
I tell stories about the world around me (writer!), sometimes true and mostly not. I’ll watch the way a person moves their body, scrunches their face, or shifts their eyes, and from that information, I determine what is true.
It’s mostly harmless. Until it isn’t.
It’s meant to be harmless, until I hurt my own feelings. Until I decide what someone means when they take a deeper breath. Until I assume I know what someone is going to say and react accordingly, preemptively, before they even get a word out.
Until I have told so many stories about someone’s behaviors that I have built up a wall of resentment. A wall that could be easily torn down by asking a few questions.
I’m not sure what you meant. Can you say more?
I feel confused by what just happened. Would you be willing to share your reasoning?
I don’t think I was paying attention. Can you repeat that?
I heard differently about that person, that place, that history. How did you find that out?
I can take a breath. I can ask for clarification.
This is how I can love out loud.
Look, I’m going to admit that I don’t always read the entire article. And if you send me a long email, I will likely skim it before I decide to read every word.
But I slow down more now. I ask questions before I assume I know everything.
(Because I don’t. Because when I don’t ask questions, I create stories that may or may not be true. I create narratives that wound myself and others. I spin tales that leave me unable to move, unable to consider another option.)
In these times of confusion and misinformation, I encourage you to ask a few more questions. Look for other sources. Ask if the story makes sense. Consider who is telling the story and who benefits from your fear and your outrage. Check the facts (without using AI).
I cringe to think how many times I have spent days all pissed off and righteous until I asked a direct question, got a direct answer, and found out I didn’t have to feel like that at all.
Admitting you don’t know or you might be mistaken can be hard, but it’s also courageous and kind. When we reach out, when we decide to uncover answers we might not like or agree with, we clear the way for understanding. We give the situation a chance to be different.
We give ourselves the chance to be different. Open. Receptive.
I might not agree with what I learn. I might still hold onto feelings I created along the way. But I can learn something new. I can be willing to add new details to my previous conclusion.
With that knowledge, I can decide what to do next.
I can move onto the next question, the next envelope.
This is also how I can love.
In love and magick — Irisanya
Side note: Greek mythology would be a lot more boring if they’d just asked a question or two. ;)
Classes & Events
July 20: Aphrodite, part of the Entering the Temple series, online
August 23: Artemis, part of the Entering the Temple series, online (registration opens in July, email to get on the waiting list)
August 31: One Day with the Norns - w Irisanya & George, Santa Rosa, CA
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