Recently, a friend told me he has always “questioned” things. Obviously, that is a trait leading directly to intelligence, and likely the reason he was always in advanced classes in school.
Only when he said that, did I realize I have never been one to question. Oh, I wonder a lot, yet, never question rules, laws, or theories already in place.
I simply accept.
Realizing I rarely question made me wonder:
Why don’t I question more?
I was initially inclined to go all Freudian, and blame my mother. She really did forbid me to ask “why?” However, that was limited only to those occasions when I had asked permission to do something, and the answer was “no.”
I might have asked “Why?” once in my life, at which time, Mom made it perfectly clear I was to never-ever ask her “Why?” (Anyway, the answer was inevitably: “Because I said so!”)
However, if I did press too much, Mom would ask me, “Can’t you take no for an answer?”
That rhetorical question guided me, not-so-subtly to the understanding it would definitely be in my best interest to just take no for an answer. So, there went my career in used car – or any other kind of sales.
Yet, clearly, I cannot blame Mom. It’s not as if she had forbidden me to ask, “Why is the sky blue?”
Therefore, I am left to wonder (but, not question) whether it is simply a lack of inquisitiveness on my part. One would think a writer would question everything. Not this one.
I wonder, and primarily, I reflect. I would add, I am also largely introspective.
While wondering, reflecting and introspection are key characteristics for a writer, I’m going to rationalize here, and postulate that questioning is more of a scientist thing.
Based on that hypothesis (look at me, doing sciencespeak!), we all should be grateful I was born in the 20th Century, and not a minute before.
One can only imagine the primitive state of the world, had discovery, inventions, and innovations been left to the likes of me:
- The world globe would be just a placemat: “They say the world is flat. Okay. I wonder how they know that… Oh well, I sure hope I don’t sail over the edge before I finish writing this poem.”
- There would be no wheel: Me pushing a square boulder out of the way: “I wonder how this could be easier. Maan, these corners sure do get in the way!”
- No fire: “I sure am cold. I wonder what these wood sticks with the red tips do… I guess I’ll never know. Mom said not to play with matches, and I can’t ask why. Besides, if I discover fire, I may burn the whole darn cave down.”
There it is.
My reflection on a conversation of wondering why I rarely question things that appear to already have answers.