Today’s accompanying tune: “Old Pine” by Ben Howard
What if I ran an ultramarathon?
I’d spent part of the week reading reports from a race on the other side of the country, enraptured by the feats of humanity on display. I’d watched other big races before, and as is the same every time, I sat in awe of the participants and volunteers, all of which decided, why not them? So, why not me?
I asked my partner Andrew what he thought about it, to which he quickly declared how no one in their right mind would voluntarily enjoy running 50 miles through time and space. But, he said, you could probably do it.
I’ve never ran in a race longer than a half-marathon (13.1 miles), though I am hoping to complete a full marathon (26.2 miles) later this year. It’s not the lure of achievement that pulls me, and it’s safe to say that experience isn’t beckoning either. Instead, I’m curious. Curious about what my body can do. Curious about what happens to my mind after staying awake and moving forward for 24 hours or more. Curious about where the limits of my abilities lie, since I haven’t quite found them yet.
My penchant for curiosity has taken me to some strange places and wound through my checkered resumé. Becoming a journalist felt like an easy way to sate that urge — I could learn about any topic under the sun from its foremost experts, and then sit with what I’d learned long enough to be able to write about it coherently. I bounced around beats, and before that, entire industries, hoping to feel content at one point or another. Eventually, without fail, each point came and went, and I left, following my curiosity to a new job, new industry, new home. Could I be a business journalist after spending the previous half-decade running communications at non-profits and startups? Could I live in the desert, when all I’d ever known were the endless fields of the Midwest and the vertigo-inducing hills of San Francisco? Better yet, what awaited me on the other side of those changes, those pursuits? Who could I be, as a journalist, as a desert dweller? Would my curiosity calm, satiated by the environment I had dropped it in?
If you’ve been here before, you know the answer to at least one of those questions. I am no longer a journalist, at least not formally. While part of that is undoubtedly tied to burnout, part of it is also wrapped up in the dull fact that I was bored. I wrote the same kinds of articles about the same kinds of news day in and day out. I had a formula for interviews because I always talked to the same kinds of people. My curiosity sat at the edge of my consciousness, whispering, “you can do so much more than this, you know.” Eventually, I listened.
A life lived with curiosity at the sidelines, one where it is not allowed to lead, feels enclosed, the paths from A to B more like sidewalks, well-lit and easily navigated. It is full of fear — fear of the unknown, fear of failure. We know what we should expect, and the steps to live what we think as a happier life are laid out well in front of us. We’re afraid of not making it, of not being good enough, our shortcomings responsible for our inability to follow the path. We’re afraid of things we don’t understand, of chance or luck. Living without curiosity is living with the acceptance that this is as good, as interesting, as life can get. But that, to me, is boring.
I prefer to follow my “what if’s” all the way down, a toddlerhood habit I never seemed to shake, to my parents’ deeply felt dismay. I want to know how, and why, and when, and what. We smother curiosity in negative words — boredom should be avoided, but endless questioning is annoying. Curiosity is risky — it even killed the cat. Children are curious, but adults are realistic. I started to think, what if we treated curiosity the same way we treat ambition? What if we re-centered our lives with curiosity at the center, where could we end up? Who would we be?
Approaching problems or challenges without curiosity feels like a masochistic exercise. Instead of imagining the ways in which something can be better, can grow from its current state, we’re stuck ruminating on all the ways it falls short. Instead of asking how we become better — not in spite of our shortcomings but because of the ways in which they force us to think creatively — we’re stuck feeling like nothing and no one can be enough. These solutions are more repetition than innovation, more of the same approach which pushes quick fixes over larger change that, in the long run, would leave everyone better off.
We can’t think outside the box, if the box is all that we’ve ever known.
Another piece of this puzzle that I feel compelled to address simply because it has infiltrated popular thinking more successfully than a catchy pop song is productivity. I do not, currently, feel compelled to be productive at all hours of all days. I don’t believe productivity is something most people should aspire to, and, frankly, often stops us from reaching the potential of our humanity. In this country, we have to be productive, lest the paychecks stop coming and the bills pile up. It is achingly millennial to want to turn every hobby into a hustle and every hustle into a career. Productivity sucks the life out of curiosity because it demands our full time and attention. Curiosity, though it knows few bounds, needs time and space to work itself out. Pursuing that which piques our curiosity is inherently an unproductive endeavor, even for a journalist, because the outcome is ultimately undecided. Learning for learning’s sake is something I genuinely enjoy, and I tried to make that into a career. But once productivity takes root, curiosity heads for the door.
What if I took a risk, quit my job, and let curiosity lead me to somewhere unknown? What if I stopped waiting for friends to free up their schedules and went on that backpacking trip by myself? What if I started a newsletter, not for pay because I’m resisting the productivity parasite, and see where it took me? What if I traveled to a place I’d only ever dreamed of with people I’ve never met? Who could I be if I stopped resisting my curiosity and followed it all the way down? What would I learn? Would I ever feel bored again? It sounds risky, and, sure, I’ve taken some risks simply to quiet my curious thoughts. But the more I trust my curiosity, the lesser those risks feel, their upside immeasurable compared to the discomfort they sometimes produce. The growth I’ve been lucky enough to experience isn’t an achievement or the resort of a bottomless pit of self-loathing, though that was a driving factor at points in my life. It’s something new, something optimistic. A what if, personified in myself. A lifelong student of learning, of curiosity.
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but the truth brought it back to life.
What if I had the courage to be that person, the one I’d always wanted to be? The one that reads books about microbiology or fire science simply because she was curious? The one that saw other people brave enough to follow their own curiosity and instead of thinking that could never be her, thought, why not me?
What if I ran an ultramarathon? What kind of person would I be at the finish line? I don’t know, but I’m excited to find out.
Here’s to the curious cats that lived.
- Megan