When I was 11 years old and expressed an interest in writing plays, my father was on it – booking theatre tickets, driving me to Parramatta Library to borrow scripts and giving me a portable typewriter for my 12th birthday. Soon after, when my teenaged sister mumbled an interest in genetics, we all found ourselves in a university lecture hall for a public talk on the subject.
My dad’s philosophy was “always follow your curious nose” and along the way, he was inspired to conduct his own research into theatre or genetics or whatever happened to be fascinating to us kids. Even if it was mostly through books, Mind Alive encyclopedias, and vicariously through his children, he was a stickybeak about the world.
As an adult, I’ve continued this inquisitive family tradition. Arguably, it’s how I’ve made a living. One of the joys of a writing career is the excuse to be nosy. I’ve ridden around on police rescue trucks, done a Tafe certificate in asbestos removal, interrogated peach farmers, obstetricians and coroners.
I’ve encouraged my own kids to follow up on any itch of curiosity. One of the delightful parts of being a parent is learning about areas your kids become interested in – in my case, I know more about blues harmonica music and Russian history than I ever thought I would. Now I have the same chance with grandkids, and it’s glorious. A four-year-old’s fascination with Egyptian mummies means we’ve made several visits to the University of Sydney’s Chau Chak Wing Museum (can recommend). When his little brother became obsessed with a baboon’s red bum in a storybook, we went down that curiosity path to find pictures and videos about baboons (can also recommend).
Not every childhood obsession is meant to turn into a profession or a lifelong hobby. But that curious habit of mind hopefully carries on into adulthood. And in my experience, curiosity can make life more bearable and interesting.
Recently I had a skirmish with breast cancer. It was small tumour, detected early (a “boutique” cancer). Trained from childhood to be a stickybeak, I was fascinated by the technology, by the weird physical sensations in the various procedures, by the thought sequences and gusts of emotion in my own mind. During tests and treatment, I would ask the medical personnel questions about their jobs. I enjoyed observing the rapport between the sonographer who was wielding the transducer over my breast while the doctor inserted a wire into me (would not recommend). Taking an intense interest in what was happening, around me and inside me, has helped maintain my sanity.
I don’t want to sound glib about the weight and pain of bad stuff happening to people. But being curious offers different camera angles, and that can help us endure whatever is happening.
I’ve always believed curiosity is much preferable to opinion (she wrote opinionatedly). Ask people questions about themselves and what fascinates them, then ask follow-up questions. You may well still loathe everything they believe, but at least it might be interesting. Better to elicit stories from someone than just bounce your opinions off their Teflon-coated opinions.
And if, at your tense holiday gathering, any questions crop up about mummification techniques, baboon bums, friable asbestos, the October Revolution or diatonic harmonicas, I can recommend information sources that provide intriguing details.
When our father died, my sister and I had to chuck out the Mind Alive encyclopedias (the pages had gone mouldy), but Dad’s spirit lives on as a family tradition – we all still “follow our curious noses”.
Debra Oswald is a writer of novels, children’s books, stage plays and television
