In psychology, it's associated with openness, learning, creativity, and well-being. But in real life-especially under stress -curiosity often feels impractical, slow, or even risky. When emotions run high, curiosity is usually the first thing to go. That's not a character flaw. It's biology. Decades of research show that when people perceive threat-social, emotional, or status-related-the brain shifts into protection mode. Instead of prioritizing exploration and learning, the nervous system reallocates resources toward basic survival.
Recently, I was at a family gathering when I noticed something fascinating. My friend's grandmother, in her eighties, was completely surrounded by her adult grandchildren. They weren't just there out of obligation - they were genuinely engaged, laughing at her stories, asking for advice, and making plans for their next visit. Meanwhile, at another table, I watched a different grandmother sit mostly alone while her adult grandchildren stayed glued to their phones, offering only polite nods and forced smiles.
Last month, I found myself at a friend's dinner table, surrounded by strangers. What started as polite small talk about the weather quickly evolved into a fascinating discussion about urban development, the role of art in society, and how different countries approach healthcare. Three hours flew by. Walking home that night, I realized something. The people who seemed most at ease weren't necessarily the ones with the most degrees or the fanciest job titles.
I've interviewed over 200 people for articles, from startup founders to burned-out middle managers, and I've discovered something fascinating: intellectual depth isn't about fancy degrees or knowing obscure facts. It shows up in how we communicate. When certain habits dominate someone's style, it reveals a concerning lack of curiosity and critical thinking that goes beyond just being annoying-it fundamentally limits their ability to engage with the world meaningfully.
When the new arrives, we generally have two choices in how we respond. The first path is resistance. This is the path of fear. We tighten up, we judge the change, we worry about the future, and we try to fight it. This path almost always creates suffering. The second path is acceptance. This doesn't mean "giving up"; it means opening up. It is the path of curiosity where we observe, learn, and adapt. This path creates peace.
Weather affects us all: Where we go, what we wear, how we gather, and sometimes even how we feel. Who could understand this better than Al Roker, who has spent decades guiding families through snow days, heat waves, and everything in between as "America's weatherman"? Now, he's translating that knowledge for a new demographic through his animated PBS Kids show Weather Hunters.
Why Political Conversations Feel So Hopeless Political life in the United States is increasingly marked by interparty animus, including tendencies toward dehumanization. Partisans can seem to prefer distance to dialogue and moral judgment to intellectual engagement. Such unproductive habits steadily erode both the willingness to engage politically and the capacity to consider ideas that conflict with one's own. It's easy to assume that political conversations are hopeless because nothing you say is likely to change anyone's mind.
Torpenhow Hill, a place in England, is famously a quadruple tautology: "Tor," "pen," and "how," all mean "hill" in different languages, so "Torpenhow Hill" essentially translates to "Hill-hill-hill Hill." Each new group of settlers felt compelled to rename the place in their own tongue, and each of them drew inspiration from it looking like a hump. Cultures that passed through the region added their own word for "hill": tor from Old English, pen from the Celtic, how from Norse, and finally hill from modern English.
Attention is the gateway to learning. Before comprehension, before memory, before critical thinking, the brain must first decide to focus. Learning does not begin when instruction begins. Learning begins when the brain voluntarily directs its limited cognitive resources toward the content. The challenge is that attention is not automatic. The brain constantly filters incoming information and selects only a fraction to process actively.
If we want to build a better life, we have to be able to not know. Does that sound confusing? Perhaps you don't know what I'm talking about? Good! That's great practice. If you cannot tolerate not knowing, you run the risk of arranging your life so you can know everything (or at least try to), and you may end up sapping your existence of any spontaneity and joy.
The word syllabus makes me think of "syllabus week," those opening days of a college semester, when there was still time to switch out of an arduous course. I was a picky student, I'll admit; if my would-be professor was lacking in sense of humor, or assigning too many readings, I'd just jump ship for something else. This process, repeated over and over for years, imbued the word syllabus with a degree of pessimism.
We've all felt the pressure to be "on." To be witty, magnetic, full of stories, and somehow the kind of person others orbit around. From job interviews to first dates to Instagram bios, we're taught to polish ourselves into a brand. Be bold. Be memorable. Be interesting. But here's a quiet truth that doesn't get enough airtime: Being interesting is overrated. What really opens doors, deepens bonds, and changes lives isn't being the most fascinating person in the room. It's being the most interested.
They grew up with algorithms and screens mediating their social interactions, dating relationships, and now their learning. And that's why they desperately need to learn how to be human. The most alarming pattern I've researched and observed isn't AI dependency. It's the parroting effect. AI systems are trained on statistical pattern matching, serving up widely represented viewpoints that harbor implicit bias. Without explicit instructions, they default to whatever keeps users engaged - just like social media algorithms that have already polarized our society.
Nora emphasizes the importance of curiosity in identifying gaps or assumptions in product management, advocating for a culture of openness and diverse perspectives. She believes that understanding the audience is crucial, as this aligns closely with product strategy and helps to create meaningful interactions.
