I think it's really funny that you open this piece wondering about the nature of curiosity in a decidedly curious manner, then go on and bash it, and then end up curious about your instinct to bash the curiosity in the first place. This is a very Nicholas post to make, I feel.
The distinction you (or Nietzsche, I suppose) draw between the "important" and "unimportant" parts of the past from which we draw our inspiration is interesting. Yes, I think we necessarily translate our views of the past through our own lenses of relatability-- I think we also do this with our views of the present. I'm big on subjective-experience-is-all-we-got in my poetry, so perhaps that's why. All this to say: you (or Nietzsche, regrettably) are right that we do this. I think drawing comparisons between unexpected, apparently unrelated things is half the joy of poetry.
And I think you are right to say that the past can be debilitating. I wrote about this this past week and I think you summed up my thoughts on it really nicely. I wish I'd done that in my post! It is such a tough balance-- the past and the difficulty to move forward from it. We are so tired of having to receive new information, new changes to our lives. And that, I think, is why we become so quickly tired of curiosity: it requires us to accept that our past way of knowing is, well, past us. New information places us necessarily into a new understanding of the world, which makes the passage of time very real very suddenly, and as such, we do not like it.
I think there is nothing more valuable than indulging that curiosity anyway-- moving forward, even when it's exhausting. Thanks for this post, Nicholas!
Ya gotta interrogate yourself! If I find myself shitting on something, then I have to stop myself and be spurred on to defend it, or consider why it is the way it is. But you can't stop there either. Curiosity as a consistent interrogation is tough. I like your take that curiosity involves moving into the new. Thank you for your thoughts, Cara.
I think it's really funny that you open this piece wondering about the nature of curiosity in a decidedly curious manner, then go on and bash it, and then end up curious about your instinct to bash the curiosity in the first place. This is a very Nicholas post to make, I feel.
The distinction you (or Nietzsche, I suppose) draw between the "important" and "unimportant" parts of the past from which we draw our inspiration is interesting. Yes, I think we necessarily translate our views of the past through our own lenses of relatability-- I think we also do this with our views of the present. I'm big on subjective-experience-is-all-we-got in my poetry, so perhaps that's why. All this to say: you (or Nietzsche, regrettably) are right that we do this. I think drawing comparisons between unexpected, apparently unrelated things is half the joy of poetry.
And I think you are right to say that the past can be debilitating. I wrote about this this past week and I think you summed up my thoughts on it really nicely. I wish I'd done that in my post! It is such a tough balance-- the past and the difficulty to move forward from it. We are so tired of having to receive new information, new changes to our lives. And that, I think, is why we become so quickly tired of curiosity: it requires us to accept that our past way of knowing is, well, past us. New information places us necessarily into a new understanding of the world, which makes the passage of time very real very suddenly, and as such, we do not like it.
I think there is nothing more valuable than indulging that curiosity anyway-- moving forward, even when it's exhausting. Thanks for this post, Nicholas!
Ya gotta interrogate yourself! If I find myself shitting on something, then I have to stop myself and be spurred on to defend it, or consider why it is the way it is. But you can't stop there either. Curiosity as a consistent interrogation is tough. I like your take that curiosity involves moving into the new. Thank you for your thoughts, Cara.