On Curiosity in Times of Change

How I'm experiencing this moment

Hello, folks. How are you feeling as you read this?

2024 me in richmond park. haven’t had the chance to share these yet, so shoehorning them into this post. photo by rory mulvey

The US election has dominated my conversations this week, as folks begin to reckon with the repercussions of another Trump administration. I’ll be honest with you: I have no take. I’m still in the ‘processing’ phase. Not processing emotionally, because my emotional cup is far too full, but processing politically. I’m still trying to figure out what I think about things, what this election result means about the state of the world, how I relate to it, and what therefore, I should do.

The last time Trump got elected, I was not surprised. I expected it. I was working as a drilling engineer on oil and gas rigs at the time, and I knew loads of blokes from the American Deep South, all open about their desire for, and support of, Donald Trump. I understood their dissatisfaction, and in some ways, agreed with it. In 2016, I was what some would consider socially conservative, and I had grown up in a community that had long been disillusioned with the status quo. Sure, my colleagues and I wanted change for very different reasons; I was a child of the war-on-terror who despised American Imperialism, and they were the white working class who felt left behind by the Obama era. Either way, we all wanted something to shift. So, I felt like I got it.

This time around, I am in a different position. This time, my milieu is almost entirely progressive¹. I have a career in the creative industries, have been self employed for the better part of the decade, live in a big, urban, racially-diverse metropole. While I continue to be disatisifed with the status quo, I’m less connected to those men I used to know. I don’t spend a lot of social time with folks who would openly declare themselves Trump supporters, or feel represented by or aligned with his politics. To further complicate the picture, many of my friends today despise the Democrats almost as much, if not more than, the Republican party, smarting from the betrayal of the US’s continued support of Israel.

I feel further away from any ‘majority’ than I was in 2016. I’m not sure whether that is because the poles have drifted further apart, or because I have moved along - or away from - the spectrum.

It could be I’m in more of an echo chamber than I thought, but I’m more persuaded by the idea that this shift is the result of age-old, banal social sorting, the kind of filtering that occurs as you get older and you make choices which align with your values. In 2016, I was 25 years old, figuring out who I was and what I cared about. Today, I’m a 33 year old who has answered a lot of those questions and tries to live accordingly.

Echo chamber vs social sorting. Are these different names for the same thing? I say this not as moral judgement, more observation. Either way, the outcome is that I have to work a bit harder to understand the macro trends around me and figure out what to do about them. I’m trying to resist jumping to conclusions, thinking I have it figured out, convincing myself I understand. Right now, I feel like I understand nothing. But not in a dispiriting way. In a, ‘well, let’s look at this with curiosity’ way.

Everytime I think about what provides meaning and solace in this moment, I think of curiosity. Curiosity feels substantial. It feels like it has meaning and value, providing me with a sense of agency that is both active and humble at the same time.

Curiosity is asking Why. Why is this happening? Why. Why, Why?

This same theme came up in an event I did recently with a group of First Story alumni. I was asked to be in-conversation with a room of young writers, to speak about my writing practice and to offer advice on building and maintaining a writing career.

It was a real trip, y’all.

I’m used to speaking to young people about ‘inspiring’ topics - how to start organisations, how to build movements, how to change your world. That’s my bread and butter, has been since I founded Youth Without Borders as a teenager in 2007. However, I’ve not made a habit of speaking to folks about building a career as a writer. Perhaps the opportunities hadn’t presented themselves, but more likely I hadn’t thought of myself as someone who could be a role model in the field. The story I had repeated so often was that I’d trained as a mechanical engineer and stumbled into by accident. I’d won national and international accolades in the space of social change and engineering, but nothing of the same scale in writing. What legitimacy did I have to talk about a career in the arts?

me, circa 2015, being a ‘young leader’. the main thing i remember about this night was dad being scandalised by the tightness of my dress, lol

Awards or not, turns out I had a lot to say ! To my own surprise, I found myself deeply fulfilled by the evening. I loved being able to make what I do on the daily - grappling with the challenges of building a creative career - legible. I enjoyed being able to share the practical lessons on how to make it work, especially as someone who has never studied writing, or humanities, as someone from outside the dominant culture, as someone who did not start out with a financial safety net². I loved being able to share the strategies I had developed, the practices I found useful, the experience I had gained.

It was a real moment of perspectice. I was once in their shoes; I hadn’t quite realised how far I had come. Subhanallah.

But the moment that has stayed with me came out of answering a question from the group.

‘You said we should always connect to the sense of joy in our work,’ someone asked, after I’d waxed lyrical for the better part of an hour. ‘But it’s sometimes really hard to do that. How do you find joy when you’re stuck? When something isn’t working?’

Initially, I gave an off-the-top-of-my -head response, suggesting switching projects, filling your cup, you know - the usual. But then, I took a beat. Thought about what I do when something wasn’t working in the writing. I realised it all came back to curiosity.

‘What I do, is I start asking questions,’ I said, revealing the answer to myself at the same time I was sharing out loud. ‘I look at the problem not with judgement, but a sense of curiosity. What might be going on here, I will ask myself. What’s this knot actually about?’

As I leaned forward in my chair, warming to my theme, I could tell the young writer was not quite convinced. I tried harder. ‘It’s about not judging yourself,’ I said, firm on this point. ‘It’s not, this is not working therefore I am a terrible writer therefore I am a terrible person therefore I am not worthy and nobody will ever love me—’ I chuckled, reassuring him I know that slippery slope, because we’ve all been down that slide before. ‘It’s about ensuring our inner voice is one of curiosity, compassion, a sense of wonder.’

What I wish I’d also said was this: curiosity, like hope, is a practice.

It’s hard to be curious about something that’s causing you pain. It’s difficult to be curious about something you want to look away from, something that seems too difficult, something that feels impossible to understand. But what I have learnt from practicing curiosity in my writing is that we get better with practice.

While the stakes of writing and politics are worlds apart, I’m finding myself more drawn to this idea. Of not holding so tight, of not being so anxious at not knowing the answer. I’m allowing myself time and space to breath, observe, consider. To practice being curious.

There are changes afoot. There are always changes afoot. How do we remain intellectually nimble, responsive, current? I don’t know, exactly. But I do think remaining open to admitting that I don’t know the answers, is a start.

Sending blessings to you, wherever you are in the world. Be easy on yourself, inshallah.

Until next time,

Yassmin

me and my race car team, circa 2011. ah, good times. lads, lads, lads!

1. Funny, you know. I do have family members who espose conservative and Trumpian politics. Like many diaspora communities, there are those who connect with parts of his message and see themselves reflected in, rather than rejected by, his ideology. I would wager I have quite a lot of that in my own family - immediate and extended. But when I think about my social circle, I’m not thinking of them. A bias of my own, perhaps? What does that say about me?

2. I now have a husband, so the calculus has changed somewhat - Alhamdulilah.