Each week I unpack one insight about questioning and one great question from the real world. When relevant, I also share articles and challenges that reinforce themes discussed in that week’s newsletter. Recurring themes include: decision-making, innovation, human connection.
Greetings from Atlanta. This week’s insight explains why we struggle to ask questions when we know very little about a subject, and what we can do about it. This week’s question uses a clever metaphor to simplify and focus the way we think about building a fulfilling career. I hope you enjoy them.
Insight of the Week: Curiosity is More of a State than a Trait
We mistakenly label people as either curious or incurious. It seems simple: people who listen and ask follow-up questions are curious. People who stare through us or quietly nod are not.
But research suggests that curiosity is more of a state than a trait. What matters is the context in which we are exposed to new information. Context can include how we receive information (i.e a book or conversation) or how distracted we are when we receive it. But the most important contextual factor is how much we already know about the subject. No matter how curious we think we are, we struggle to generate questions about subjects we know little about. We are essentially caught flat-footed. And we struggle to generate questions once we become (or believe) we are experts. We turn into know-it-alls.
Questions thrive between these two poles.
Ian Leslie calls this space the Curiosity Zone, visualized here:
Let me elaborate. Our field of vision is always limited when we first engage with a topic. We simply don’t know what we don’t know, nor do we have a mental map that tells us where to start. But as we receive our first taste, we begin to notice information gaps. These gaps draw us into the material. With each question we ask, new avenues of exploration are revealed. Soon we are firmly in Leslie’s Curiosity Zone.
I’m sure we have all experienced this before. A seemingly boring subject we once dismissed becomes an intellectual playground when we peel back a layer or two. The first few steps may have felt like we were walking in mud. But soon our curiosity provides momentum. This explains why every lawyer I meet tells me how surprised they were to realize their obscure specialty is so interesting.
But as we develop expertise, our questioning slows down. We stop noticing information gaps. We skim more. We zone out or interrupt others when they speak. We pontificate. As experts, we no longer believe there is much new to learn.
The obvious question: How do we earn our way into this Curiosity Zone?
Part of the answer is mindset. We are quick to dismiss subjects we know little about as boring. Instead, our default attitude should be that everything will be interesting if we only look at it closely.
As for where to begin when we don’t know what to ask, we can approach new subjects like we might a jigsaw puzzle. First, we can confirm we understand the subject as a whole (its outer edge). We should be able to explain what it is (and what it is not). We can then turn our attention to one part of the subject that catches our eye (whatever colorful section stands out). Each answer (or piece we place) leads to additional questions. When our questioning pace slows, we can step back and pick a new part (or section of the puzzle) to focus on.
The first few questions will always be a little awkward. But we only need to make a layer or two in for our curiosity to kick in. It’s not as deep as we think.
Source: Curious: The Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends On It by Ian Leslie
Challenge of the Week: Earn your way into the Curiosity Zone
Pick a subject you know little about and earn your way into the Curiosity Zone. First establish a firm understanding of the whole. Make sure you can explain what it is in a sentences or two. Next, turn your attention to a piece of the whole that intrigues you. Ask whatever comes to mind, listen to the answer, and let your next question emerge naturally. It may be easiest to do this in conversation with someone who is expert in something you know little about. But the internet or a book is a fine substitute.
Extra credit: Pick a subject you have previously dismissed as boring.
Question of Week: What is your tennis ball?
A few lucky people know very early on in their working life how they will contribute. Their dedication to a specific problem or the mastery of a skill doesn’t ever appear to be an open question. But most people spend years searching for a calling. Some people restively sample (and abandon) career paths. So many more of us muddle along traditional paths, wondering daily “Is this the work I’m meant to do?”
The answer to this question is often an easy no. Answering what we should be doing instead is much much harder. It is a weighty, open-ended question that can overwhelm the best of us.
Dropbox founder Drew Houston reframed the question in a 2013 commencement speech he gave at MIT. He asked: What is your tennis ball?
First, an elaboration: Houston went on to explain that the happiest people he knows are obsessed with solving a large problem that matters a lot to them. He compared their behavior to that of a dog chasing a tennis ball. When the tennis ball is in flight, it’s as if the dog is being pulled by the ball. There is little need for self-motivation. The dog is also single-minded in its pursuit. Nothing else seems to matter.
What makes this question effective is its use of a metaphor. It takes an overwhelming question with dozens of plausible “right” answers and connects it to an emotion we all understand. We have seen a dog chase a tennis ball. We can imagine what it feels like.
And it sets up the obvious next question: “What pulls me like a tennis ball pulls a dog?” And “When have I felt that way before?” These questions are unlikely to give us the answer. But they provide us with clues that signal where best to begin our search.
Source: Youtube video of Drew Houston’s 2013 Commencement Speech at MIT
Thanks for reading. please share it with someone who might be interested!
Aaron