The Utter Horror of Stupidity (and the beauty of asking questions)

We’re wired to have this intense fascination with things we don’t understand, things we haven’t seen or experienced. Born with curiosity inherent, it’s this fascination that pushes us to seek more, learn more, ask questions, make absurd demands. Somewhere along the way, the pursuit of fascination got lost. If there isn’t a tangible output, rejection of said activity is highly probable.

And yet, the second we do reach the boundary of the thing we found so fascinating, poof. It evaporates. Ownership, comprehension, it instills a sense of superiority that robs us of our wonderment; “[w]e look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory” (Louise Glück). 

A week ago, I had the opportunity to finally slip on my big girl shoes. Twenty-one has always been painted as this ideal age to achieve it all: travel, work, party, meet people, do everything under the sun—no room for complacency. In films, in books, twenty-one year-olds are it-girls. I’m a month and 9 days away from losing it-girl status and I fear I haven’t it-ed much, nowhere close to the women Hollywood whisked into the standard. 

And this, this is the loss of fascination. The age I yearned for is here and I’m so 

tired. 

Knowledge and ageing are modern-day thieves that we, with no choice or say, fall victim to, willingly offering ounces of enchantment with each orbit around the sun. The more I know, the more I educate myself, the worse I feel about the state of

huh.

Everything. 

Existing in a vacuum is not an option. It’s something I often find myself looking down on others for, so how can I want that very thing? Neglecting to educate oneself, as I’m discovering slowly, has its plus points, namely the preservation of fascination because there’s nothing dissuading you from disliking anything. If you can’t see the politics in literally everything, nothing is a botheration.

The choice is not a choice at all. Be the proud owner of a wrinkle-free brain or be so overly burdened that joy is nought. We’re at the precipice (what with being in our early 20s and all) where a choice is inevitable. We must choose. The intersection of these polarizations? Easier said than done. 

Become disgustingly educated. Recognize the nuance, the history, the aftermath (please!! I implore you). Nevertheless, give yourself room to absorb that enjoyment and whimsy can transpire despite knowing what you now know and will find out. Wear the big girl shoes and revel in it. The day you stop being curious is the day you lose meaning; isn’t the goal to use this corporate machine-like structure [that we’ve reduced our lives to] to survive so we can focus on what’s truly important?

As somebody who’s deeply afraid of drifting and forgetting to do anything just for the sake of it, my best, unsolicited, inexpert advice would be to feign interest. Feign interest until it becomes interesting. Ask someone about their niche hobby that you couldn’t care less about just because and you’ll find yourself learning unimaginable concepts. Not your cup of tea? Sure. Yet you walk away a tad bit wiser and a little more exposed to the world. 

I refuse to lose my fascination. Perhaps this post is more for myself than anybody else. A reminder: why I do this, why I need to continue doing things with zero monetary outcome, regardless of the exhaustion that accompanies it. Building a village and keeping a village takes copious amounts of work (as it should!!) and at this stage, we’re all wrapped up in trying to tape the beginning of our lives together. In the meantime, pick up that book. Google the random thing you overheard someone discussing. Ask why. Enrol in a workshop on a whim, because you’re free and the alternative is staring at your screen until Monday begins again. 

Let yourself be tired, for now. Yes, the it-girl [/boy] era will reshape itself, it isn’t disappearing; it just takes on a different form. Push the boundaries of this form so you can look back with satisfaction, eagerly awaiting the fascination that tomorrow beholds.