Why did everyone stop being curious?

My theory on curiosity's decline

“You made par, right?”

A few weeks ago, I played golf with a friend. He only asked me three questions, including the one above, during the four-hour round. The next day, I spent six hours with two other friends. Again, only three questions. It made me wonder if this was normal for a friendship. Could I even call them friendships?

Before making a rash decision, I began to investigate. I started by paying more attention to the level of curiosity in all of my interpersonal interactions. I noticed there was a high correlation between how long I’ve known someone and how much curiosity they express. This confused me at first—a person that knows little about me has much more green space to work with than my mom does, for example. In other words: curiosity should be a layup. But it’s not.

In addition to observational studies, I also did some research. Based on what I read, it’s clear that curiosity is innate in humans. Just like breathing, it does not have to be taught to us. As soon as a baby can see, they are trying to understand how their new world works. When they can talk, they are able to (and do) ask about literally everything. Asking questions is integral to understanding how to navigate life on Earth. Thus, at an early age, curiosity is imperative to survival.

So, if it’s both innate and there’s a lot of green space to work with, why am I experiencing such limited expressions of curiosity in my newer relationships? Is it because I tie up an emotional hose to anyone who will listen, then proceed to open the faucet to its maximum flow rate? Not anymore. I have a support system that helps me deal with life’s puzzles. Am I annoying? Of course, but in a charming sort of way. Do these people secretly dislike me? Highly unlikely—they’ve since asked me to hang out.

At this point, I still had no answers. Fortunately, there was one lever left to pull: asking people I perceived as curious about their experiences with the subject. These conversations led me to a few broadly applicable explanations:

1. Curiosity is a muscle.

It must be used in order to stay strong. Otherwise, it will wither away. I’ve noticed that my own curiosity muscle has atrophied over the last few years. I visited family a few weeks after having the poor experience with my friends above, so I was highly focused on curiosity at the time. On several occasions, I noticed myself not being curious about others although they were being curious about me. I was able to turn it on, but not without feeling a pull against it. A pull not dissimilar to having to brush my teeth; I know it’s good for me, but do I really have to?

Part of my aversion to brushing my teeth (I do it 2x/week, 6.5 days a week) is that it requires some amount of presence. I can’t walk around my house while I brush, because my toothpaste is extra foamy and it will fall onto my shirt or chest. And I don’t want to have to clean that up. So I stand in front of my bathroom mirror for 1.5-2 minutes, looking at myself.

To a greater extent than dental hygiene, curiosity also requires being present. When I’m being curious, I must listen to the responses to my questions or I may miss something important. I don’t want to pretend that I heard what they said, or to ask them to repeat themselves. So I listen intently.

2. Curiosity becomes less valuable as we age.

In adulthood, curiosity is no longer necessary for survival. Most adults spend much of their days performing necessary tasks to make a living and provide sustenance for themselves. When they get downtime, they don’t want to have to work hard. They want to have a good time and be entertained. Being curious requires effort. This may explain why my friends didn’t ask too many questions: we were outdoors, playing a game we love, trying to enjoy the weekend.

3. Curiosity may lead to difficult conversations.

Not only is curiosity less valuable in adulthood, it also can lead us into some precarious situations. One example: my friends and I were at a bar when a man dressed like Walter White, top hat and all, walked in. He was carrying a trash bag, with one hand inside. My friend asked the man if he was okay, which prompted him to un-sheath the machete-length blade from its makeshift carrying case. Fortunately, no one got hurt. But my friend’s curiosity could have gotten one of us killed.

Some more likely examples of uncomfortable situations include asking a friend about his dating prospects, only to find out he has none. Or, your other friend. She really liked that guy after their first date. “He ghosted me,” she tells you. Maybe, you ask your friend how his dad is handling his battle with cancer. He starts to cry. How were you supposed to know? The last you heard, it was looking promising…

As we come to realize the harsher realities of life, it makes sense to be more cautious with our curiosity. But, for me, gaining depth in my relationships is more important than the potential uncomfortableness that comes from difficult conversations. I’ve learned over time that other people’s problems are exactly that: theirs. They do not somehow magically become my responsibility once they share them with me. Instead of new burdens to carry, I see these conversations as opportunities to learn more about myself and the people I care about.

So, when it comes to my golfing friends, I can empathize with their lack of curiosity. It’s an infrequently used muscle that becomes less “valuable” as we age. I’m still friends with these people, and I have no plans of breaking up with them. But this whole experience has made me realize that I prefer “curiosity-matched” friendships. They lead to depth, intimacy, and growth that I cannot experience otherwise.

Declining curiosity is par for the course. Are you brave enough to break the trend?