A professor once explained that being curious is simply one of the most human things we can do. I’m never going to forget that (partially due to the petrified canine poop he passed around the classroom).

While sitting in his class, I was the most curious I had been in years. It was a state of mind, I discovered, I sincerely missed. To want to know the unknown is a uniquely gratifying sensation.

Sitting in his class, I felt like I was 8 years old again. He passed around fossils which he dug up himself, shells, and… petrified, thousands-of-years-old canine poop. For those of you who knew me when I was 8 years old… firstly I apologize, and secondly you’ll understand exactly what I mean. The only time I didn’t have my eyes glued on a book was when I was outside, covered in dirt. I enjoyed memorizing dinosaur encyclopedias, learning to write with Egyptian symbols, and sharing random facts about comets with anyone who I could persuade to listen.

So what happened? I grew up, became self-conscious, and realized that not only were people disinterested in what I had to say, but actively avoided me because of it. I got quiet. Shy. Then, I went to college and sat in a classroom for the first time since second grade. I didn’t have time to be curious; I was too busy trying to guess what parts of textbooks would be on exams, trying to memorize someone else’s definitions of things I was already familiar with. And goodness forbid someone dare ask a question in a classroom.

I’m nearing the end of my college career, at least for the present time, and I’ve decided to be curious again. To ask questions. To think of asking questions in the first place. I’m going to be curious, and I’m going to enjoy writing again. It all starts here, on this blog.


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