The Joy of Being Curious
When I was 16, I asked my grandmother a seemingly innocent question: “How did you and Grandpa meet?” I expected a rom-com-worthy “meet-cute,” maybe something involving a glamorous cocktail party under the sparkling Beverly Hills skyline. Instead, without missing a beat, she said, “I crashed his date. She wasn’t that interesting, and I was.” Her candor left me stunned—and wildly amused—but it also taught me something foundational: curiosity, and a bit of chutzpah, can change the trajectory of everything.
Curiosity gets a bad rap sometimes, especially in relationships. It’s painted as nosy, as prying, as the thing that got that poor cat in so much trouble. But here’s the thing: curiosity, when wielded with kindness and respect, is the unsung hero of connection. It’s what fuels great conversations, pushes us to grow, and leads to some of the most unexpectedly wonderful moments in life. Let me tell you how leaning into curiosity—with others, the world, and even myself—has led me to a few surprises along the way.
The Art of Asking the Weird Questions
It started with a date. Let me set the scene: Italian restaurant, candlelight, a guy whose whole personality seemed to revolve around his devotion to vintage vinyl. Midway through a somewhat repetitive argument about whether Fleetwood Mac’s Tango in the Night is underrated (sure, fine, it is), I felt restless. I needed something to kickstart a real connection—or at least make the night more memorable.
“Okay,” I blurted out, “if you could live the life of any movie character, who would it be? And you can’t say Ferris Bueller, because that’s cheating.”
He paused, fork mid-air. For a second, I thought I’d gone too far off-script. But then he lowered the fork, grinned, and said, “E.T. No need for an Uber when you’ve got a glowing finger, right?”
Was it strange? Totally. Was it the moment the date turned fun instead of formulaic? Absolutely. That one question led to a surprisingly deep discussion about childhood imagination, why he still loves biking by the ocean, and eventually, our shared love for terrible ‘70s sci-fi movies. (Spoiler: we watched Logan’s Run a week later.) The date didn’t turn into everlasting love, but it stuck with me because it made me realize something: curiosity unlocks layers in people. Asking unexpected, quirky questions lights a spark in even the most mundane interactions.
Why Familiar Is Boring (And Unfamiliar Is Magic)
A few years ago, I took a solo trip to New York City. It was one of those Eat Pray Love-style getaways, minus the temple chanting and the pasta (though I did eat bagels religiously for three straight days). On my last night, I popped into a bookstore in the West Village. There was a man flipping through a cookbook filled with recipes so elaborate they’d make a Michelin chef sweat. Out of nowhere, I asked, “Do people actually cook from these books, or are they just aspirational coffee table props?”
Again, I thought I’d overstepped. But he looked up, chuckled, and said, “I was just wondering the same thing. Also, why do they sell dessert forks? There’s no way those are practical.” We ended up chatting for twenty minutes—about niche tableware, our shared confusion over soufflés, and his dream of opening an ice cream shop where all the flavors are inspired by movies. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Lime, anyone?)
That conversation didn’t lead to a date or even an Instagram follow, but it cracked open a part of me I didn’t know I needed: the part that feels alive in the randomness of it all. Curiosity pulls you out of your comfort zone, dragging you away from what you know and catapulting you toward what you don’t. And in the realm of relationships, whether romantic or platonic, isn’t that the whole point? To be surprised? To learn? To spend twenty minutes dissecting the logistical failings of dessert forks instead of debating who left the toilet seat up?
Curiosity About Yourself Is Sexy, Too
Let’s chat self-discovery for a moment—which is something I’m overly familiar with, thanks to one fateful screenwriting workshop at UCLA. Our professor (a man who exclusively wore linen pants and frequently quoted The Godfather) once said, “The story you’re avoiding writing is the story you most need to tell.” At the time, I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my medulla oblongata. But the words stuck with me long after the seminar ended.
When my last serious relationship ended, I realized I had been avoiding the biggest story of all: my own. What did I want, not just in love but in life? What scared me, thrilled me, confused me? And could I look those questions in the face and not blink first?
Over the next few months, I interrogated myself the way a hard-nosed journalist might grill a political scandal. Some questions were trivial (Do I like oat milk because it tastes good, or just because all my friends drink it?), while others dug deep (Why do I get defensive when someone critiques my writing? Let’s unpack that). I learned I was terrified of not being liked, that I’d been choosing restaurants I hated to appease dates, and that I loved singing show tunes in the shower but convinced myself it was corny.
What changed? Everything. The more I embraced my own curiosity, the freer I felt. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid to say, “I hate oysters,” on a first date or to admit I hadn’t actually read Infinite Jest despite pretending to love it in college. (Let’s be real—no one’s read all of Infinite Jest.) And here’s the wild part: people liked me more. Or, rather, they liked the real me more because I actually let them see her.
Curiosity Is Contagious
Here’s the kicker: once you start letting curiosity drive your decisions, it turns everything into an adventure. A seemingly dull brunch date becomes the perfect venue to ask, “Would you rather have the ability to time travel but only to minor inconveniences in your past, or the ability to perfectly reheat leftovers?” (An excellent icebreaker, by the way). Nervous about meeting your partner’s friends? Channel your inner Oprah and ask a question they’ve never been asked before, like, “What’s the most unexpectedly delightful purchase you’ve made in the past year?” This one works wonders—people love talking about things they love. (Mine, for the record, is a pair of slippers that look like poodles and feel like clouds.)
When you approach life with curiosity, you give others permission to do the same. Curiosity says, “Hey, I’m interested in you—not just the surface you, but the messy, wonderful, unexpected you.” And when someone feels truly seen and heard, something shifts. Something opens. That’s the sweet spot where love, laughter, and connection live.
The Takeaway
The next time you’re sitting across from someone—whether it’s at a bar, a coffee shop, or a crowded Beverly Hills charity gala with your aunt ruthlessly critiquing everyone’s outfits—ask yourself: what am I curious about? It doesn’t have to be profound or life-altering. Ask them about their favorite cereal, the best birthday gift they’ve ever given, or the time they laughed so hard they cried. Who knows? The answer might lead you somewhere you’ve never been before.
So go ahead, lean into the curiosity. It might just make your date, your day, or even your entire life a little brighter. And if all else fails, you can always ask about dessert forks.
