We get so serious, don’t we? We crawl into tunnels of everything being so much, unable to see a way out.
When we hold curiosity, we flirt with life rather than vice-gripping it. When we’re curios, when we’re flirting, we lean in before we know what’s going to happen. We tilt toward the unknown.
Flirting doesn’t ask us to commit, and neither does curiosity. They ask us to play. To say: I am willing to be interested. When we are willing to be interested, we are willing to try. When we are willing to try, we are able to change.
The only way for me to stomach our world right now is to be curious about what might happen. Curiosity lets me flirt with possibility, rather than swan dive into the void of despair.
There’s a rhythm to flirting, to curiosity: approach, pause, notice, approach, pause, notice. We don’t start at the end. We start at the beginning.
Life shines and shimmers when we are curious. When we don’t know the answers, we meet the possibilities.
We aren’t allowed to check out when we are curious, flirting. We are in our bodies, present, creative. Our armor can’t come with us, and we can still be safe, protected.
Ahhh, the exhale of “tell me more” — to the person or to the world.
Flirting plays at the threshold between knowing and not-knowing. Curiosity lives there permanently.
There’s a reciprocity. Flirt with life, and life will flirt back. Wonder “what might the be?” and watch for the answers.
Both are wildly inefficient, and wildly urgent.
When we are curious we wager that something is worth discovering. Staying for. Asking about.
We look at life and say “I’d like to know more. I’d like to wonder.”