I was sitting in a doctor’s waiting room once to what felt like an eternity. My ears drifted into the sounds around me, and I was struck by a conversation between a mother and young daughter.
The child asked her mom how long it would take for a balloon to reach the sun. I smiled—what a beautifully curious question. The mother, however, replied with visible frustration, explaining that it was impossible and that the question was “jumping over too many variables of error.” Her tone was impatient, dismissive.
Perhaps the mother was a scientist. But in that moment, she was also someone extinguishing wonder.
For minutes this conversation went back and forth between a child posing a curious question and a mother crushing it with scientific data. Sure, the scientific data was all relevant and true, but anyone would know that this expressing was out of place. What would it hurt to have a child ponder such questions?
A child’s curiosity is wondrous. It’s limitless. It opens doors to imagination, possibility, and exploration. When was the last time you let yourself think so freely? As adults, we live inside caged boundaries—some rooted in facts, others shaped by fear, judgment, past experiences, or the risk of failure.
Childlike curiosity, though, moves differently. It drifts through the galaxy like a star glowing with joy, untethered, simply enjoying the ride. We can observe it, yet often forget that we once had this brave curiosity and asked interesting questions too.
If a parent is quick to shut down a child’s wonder, how easily might they one day dismiss that child’s dreams? Children are impressionable, and moments like these can linger longer than we think. We often think memory lives in words spoken or scenes witnessed, but it is the emotions attached to them that quietly take root—shaping us far more deeply.
I will never know the outcome of this child, the life she will lead; but I wonder. What struck me was the absence of warmth between this mother and child, and it made me sad. I wanted to step into the conversation, sit down with the child at eye-level, smile, and invite her to share with me more of her questions so we could wonder about them together. Like lying in a field of grass, staring up at the night sky, imagining what the stars might see looking back at us.
This moment reminded me to keep asking questions. To stay curious like the mind of a child, regardless of how that curiosity is received. Because to stop wondering is to lock our thoughts away and close ourselves off from experience and possibility.
Be curious.
Wonder freely.
Like the gentle, open spirit of a child.
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