A few weeks ago, I was on the tube, heading back to Waterloo with my friends and my five-year-old godson. We had spent the day exploring the Science Museum, and then we walked around Hyde Park. My godson was sat next to me on the tube, his eyes full of wonder after the day's exploits. He looked up and down the carriage, then turned to me with a curious look in his eye and said:
“Auntie Emma, why are the seats on the tube not in rows like a train?”
My beautiful, clever godson had just asked a question that typified childhood wonder. I couldn’t believe the question that just came out of him, it was so simple but oh so brilliant. In his mind he knew that on trains the seats were in rows and so wondered why this was not the same. Every single adult in the carriage who caught his question smiled. All I could come up with was that there needed to be space in the middle for people to move easily on and off the tube. But I realised I could not give him a definitive answer, as I did not know. But he accepted this and his attentions turned back to the journey, his wonder sated for now.
This question got me thinking about when do we lose our childlike wonder and the questions it produces. As adults, we lose our curiosity and question things less, we tend to move away from open-ended questions to closed ones to make life easier. There is a certainty attached to a closed question, as it usually produces a yes or no answer. Employing a closed question can be seen as an extension of control, as you are narrowing what the answer will be and limiting follow-up questions. As adults, I think we employ this technique as it makes us feel like we have some power in a world where we feel like we have very little. And if we are not feeling comfortable in a situation, it allows us to control our social interactions.
Sometimes there is a fear attached to questions, things run through your mind such as, am I asking a totally obvious question? Does this question make any sense? And you can often feel self-conscious, leading to questions not being asked. This then leads to a late night google or a sense of frustration as to why you hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask it in the first place.
As a child throughout school you are taught the exercise of WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, WHY and HOW? Not only did it teach you about the structure of writing, but these questions also taught you how to gather information and question the world around you. The strength of fascination and discovery is strong during childhood, and these traits seem to fuel a child to ask questions that are enquiring, imaginative and creative. This seems to slowly dissipate as we turn into adults, as you grow up, I believe that realism creeps in and that self awareness also plays a large part in your confidence and your ability to ask these types of questions. We turn to questions that provide decisive direct answers, and very occasionally do we ask questions that are dripping in wonder.
We take more time and consideration over what questions and answers we are seeking as adults. This can squash the wonder out of them, but then sometimes something can bring it back and the eagerness to explore and feed our curiosity returns. A surge of confidence, boldness, and desire for an answer sweeps over you, and you feel the urge to ask questions regardless of the situation.
As an adult, asking questions feels like being on a seesaw. At times, you feel like you can touch the sky and ask anything, and other times you hit the ground with a bump and just want answers with clarity and conciseness. We can’t always see the wonder and the light, and other times we can return to our inner child and once again want to explore and question things.