Grow Yourself by Growing Your Curiosity

Sitting next to my desk in my home office are four stacks of books, varying in height. (I start a new stack when the previous begins to tumble.) Many are unread, some are partially completed and others have been read many times.

Almost all that I read is nonfiction. Looking at the nearest stack, I see "Blessed Unrest," by Paul Hawken, "How Paris Became Paris," by Joan DeJean, "Making Space: How the Brain Knows Where Things Are," by Jennifer Groh, "Searching for Robert Johnson," by Peter Guralnick, and "The Human Age: The World Shaped by Us," by Diane Ackerman. I finish five or six per month. And I admit, I often purchase audiobooks to accompany the text versions, to fill in my commute.

I'm curious about things. That curiosity fuels me and provides perpetual forward motion. It has shown me that almost every inquiry I pursue relates to something in another domain of my life which had a "hole" in it to be filled by new, unanticipated knowledge, or is in relationship with another domain, the connection to which I previously did not understand.

I can't help but recall that memorable scene from the movie "City Slickers," when veteran cowboy Curly (Jack Palance) opens up to "slicker" Mitch (Billy Crystal):

"Do you know what the secret of life is?" Curly growls.

"No, what?" Mitch replies.

Holding up his index finger, Curly says, "This."

"Your finger?"

"One thing, just one thing," Curly tells Mitch, "You stick to that, and everything else don't mean s**t."

"That's great. But what's the one thing?"

"That's what you've got to figure out."

There is probably not one of you reading this who is not on a similar path of inquiry. Folks may not talk about it, but they are doing it. When I was given my "two years to live" cancer prognosis, almost 25 years ago, my quest for the "one thing" came sharply into focus. The problem was not only could no one give me what I sought, there was no discreet framework for seeking it. I found comfort and support from other "seekers," who revealed themselves along the path - the yoga practitioner at music camp, the meditator at yoga class, the hospice volunteer restaurant owner whose premises I frequented, the life coach I consulted. It took a while for me to understand these individuals were my "teachers." And they were not appearing in my life out of coincidence. They emerged because I was seeking them, albeit unconsciously.

That's the wonderful thing about curiosity. It is a form of energy. It is released through inquiry. A couple of you inquired of me, following last month's column ("Before you 'brand': simplify, then amplify," Oct. 27), why I was citing from books on making comics and selling a screenplay. The answer is simple: Humans are storytellers. Our stories shape our views of the world, others and ourselves. Our stories make or destroy relationships.

I make my living as a lawyer, but beneath that label I am a storyteller. If I can tell an effective story which allows parties to better understand one another, get to the heart of their issues, and provide a foundation for future relationship, then I have effectively done my work. If my curiosity about comics and screenplays leads me to discover information on more effective storytelling, then I am better equipped in my profession and more likely to achieve better outcomes for all affected parties.

We are all curious. We all possess the energy. The issue is how we release it. There is a risk in becoming curious. Curiosity only can be exercised if you are attentive to the world. Just becoming grounded and present to what is going on around you may seem daunting. It needn't be so.

When I studied Iyengar yoga in San Francisco from one of BKS Iyengar's most senior students, I brought with me my historical "great student" mindset. "I'm good at learning. I can do this." Until Manuoso gave an instruction to "release your inner calf." Now, I knew where my inner calf was. My brain knew how to release muscles. But for the life of me, I could make no such release. The ensuing months taught me I really had much less "control," let alone understanding, of my body than I ever imagined. For a former jock, that's quite an admission. But with curiosity and inquiry, my attentiveness and body presence grew.

Being curious about and attentive to your body is important. Your body connects your mind to the world. Your body can reveal or distort what is going on around you. When I walk into a meeting or a public hearing, I not only look into the faces of the parties, but study their postures and demeanors. That can tell me a lot about how best to handle the situation. Another book in my stack is "What Every Body Is Saying: An Ex-FBI Agent's Guide to Speed-Reading People," in which the author breaks down's body language from the feet to the fingers to the face.

My curiosity has led me to psychology and neuroscience, not only to better understand myself, but those around me. In my work as a land use lawyer, I often stand as the representative of change to a community. Change often evokes fear, often ungrounded and irrational fear. Sometimes fears are so deeply embedded in community participants they can only articulate a concern which is representative of an underlying fear. If you negotiate to the concern, you miss the boat. The fear remains. You must find a way beneath the words to do your most effective work. You must learn how to present yourself, your client and the project, to remove fears or to at least open the door for meaningful dialogue.

I not only have to attend to the minds of others, but my own as well. Not to sound prudish, but I am no big fan of swearing. It is not an effective communication skill. Not only is it off-putting to many audiences, excessive swearing is implicitly demeaning and violent. Nonetheless, I would find myself doing it. I began an inquiry into the circumstances under which this behavior arose. I found a close correlation between my discomfort in setting or circumstance and my use of unacceptable language. I would like to tell you that was the end of it. But I now am tuned into the fact that when I swear, I should pause and regain my ground. Something is amiss. I cannot be most effective under the circumstances.

There is a rather profound book by Lance Gunderson and C. S. Holling titled "Panarchy: Understanding Transformations in Human and Natural Systems." It is long and dense, but helps explain how complex interactive systems work and how we must be mindful of them in planning for the future of the Earth's biosystems. Once you understand complex systems thinking, it is very difficult to practice what is nominally referred to as "environmental law." Most of our existing environmental regulations and land use planning regimes are so simplistic, reductionist and anachronistic, as to stymie the imagination. The good news is there are many curious, talented people looking for a solution, planning for ecological and social sustainability and resilience. My work is to assist them and prepare others to hear what they have to say.

And that's a wonderful thing. Curious, inquiring people are our promise for the future - not to mention extraordinarily interesting. Many are just starting their journeys. Others have realized that our bodies, our minds, our biosystems, and our planet are "one thing, just one thing."

How do you grow your curiosity? Try to be present as much is possible, to grow awareness of your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of those around you, to learn the part that your life and your work plays in the complex systems around you. Don't try to do everything at once. It's a graduated practice. Recognize there are so many others out there, trying to do the same thing. Connect with them. Witness how your curiosity has made you more open and available to others. Understand that your inquiries ultimately are acts of kindness and generosity. Never forget that it is more important to ask the question than to provide the answer.