A Curious Life

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

They say you have to know your audience.

That you have to find your niche.

Downsize your scope

And find what you offer.

Your unique value proposition.

I've done some work on this.

I've spent some time

Considering ...

What can I uniquely offer the world?

But here's what I've found.

The world, in fact,

Has much more To uniquely offer me.

I have decided

I am the audience.

And the performer is the world.

I'm merely taking notes.

When the world is so big and glorious,

Why would I try to limit its parts

To a certain set of things

that fit into a ... niche?

Why would I file away

Some of its beautiful intricacies

To fit ... a strategic plan?

The small, insignificance of a leaf's vein

Is not insignificant to the bloom

Or the fruit that follows it.

Just as the vastness of the night sky

Is not insignificant to the well-being

Of our humanity.

Everything can be a study

In significance.

So I am merely taking notes.

Writing, first, for me.

And I don't know if that's the right strategy.

Or if I even want one.

Because to me, writing isn't a strategy.

It's life-giving, life-processing.

It's a way to expose yourself

To your own thoughts and beliefs

And see what you make of them.

So, I suppose,

I’m taking notes.

If my audience is me

I will make my niche

Noticing.

But not in limited amounts.

Everything, as much as I can.

And fortunately,

I don't think this proposition is unique.

Because the world offers the same to you

And I hope you take her up on it.

Because I believe it is invaluable.

So no,

I probably don't have this strategy right

Whatever the strategy of living

Is supposed to be

Or look like.

But I do have the dried yellow dandelions

My children's little fingers

Have placed in my hands over many years.

I do have a nest of robin's eggs

In my birdhouse of the same color

I do have a tendency to stand,

House keys in hand,

Staring up at the sky from my driveway

After a long day.

Looking for the Big Dipper or Orion's armor

While my family waits for me to

Unlock the door.

And I'm so grateful that

The other day,

My 8-year-old came home

And said, Mom,

Guess what I saw today?!

And it was something small,

And yet not at all insignificant.

Something miraculous to his little heart.

And that my almost 12-year-old still asks

To drive around our local park,

Windows down, at sunset,

Sometimes music,

Sometimes nature.

As the background noise.

Letting the wind ruffle his hair

And the sounds take his mind

Wherever it wants to go.

And that my 3-year-old's first instinct

Is always

Curiosity. Always.

I am taking notes.

So here's my proposition.

Maybe this is the strategy

Humanity should be after,

The niche we should all aspire to:

The shared value of

A generously curious life.

That value is as unique

As the person.

It is not a manufactured curiosity

That needs to be artificially

Told every answer

And steals the noticing of someone else.

No, it's just a kind of simple,

Personal, quietly powerful curiosity

That watches the shadows cast on

Tree-lined streets through the branches.

That notices the lines of a seashell

And wonders what inhabited its beauty

Before you held it in your hand.

That reads a book of words,

Written by someone else

And is suddenly ignited by

The spontaneous combustion of

Connection.

Something ... indefinable

That makes our own life curious,

odd, compelling.

And generous.

That doesn't limit our own parts

Or file away any of our beauty.

Your embarrassingly loud laugh.

The way you tend to leave much-too-long

Voice messages for your friends.

How you annoyingly might interrupt

Out of excitement.

Don't tuck any of it away.

Learn to love and be curious

About yourself and the world —

And take notes.

Then, offer freely unto others

That same value.

A generously curious, 

Invaluable, 

Spontaneously combustible

Life.

– Whitney