I’m soon approaching 25. The big 2-5. Half way to 50. Whilst many reading this will baulk at the idea that such a lowly milestone warrants a blog, bear with me.
One thing I’m realising about getting older is that I ask fewer questions as the months pass by. Not because the need for questions doesn’t arise on a day-to-day basis, but more so because I’m starting to feel like I need to have the answers to others’ questions. My nephews and nieces are growing up, friends are settling down, and, well, things are getting serious.
Currently sat on a delayed train, I’m surrounded by hyperactive children who are asking the most intriguing questions:
“Why can’t I have my sword?”
“Why can’t I have your iPhone? There’s WiFi!”
“What do you do? Why do you do it?”
“Why isn’t the train moving, Mummy? It’s strange they haven’t told us why and when we will be going”
Perhaps as ‘grown-ups’ we should know a lot more answers and not ask silly questions. Indeed one of the mother’s on the train answered: ‘stop asking stupid questions’. However, is there any such thing?
Maybe the questions are stupid because it’s picking at something that’s never been picked at before. I’m starting to think maybe I should be questioning more before it’s too late. Why is something done the way it’s done? Why couldn’t it be done differently? Where is there an opportunity for change? Why am I stuck on a train with no idea what time I’ll be home?
So ask yourself the question: do you still ask questions?