The other day a friend mentioned that there is a small child who lives near her, who often peppers her with questions.

"Where are you going?" He calls to her on the way to the car. She tosses an answer over her shoulder. She is running late after all. 

"Why?" he asks. 

Three letters. One syllable. How can such a modest word evoke pervasive uncertainty? Why is she going? Does she even know? Surely the child has no judgement on her choices, only curiosity. Yet his thirst to know is challenging.

This morning on NPR I heard an interview about why some children ask more questions than others. The expert suggested that rather than whether the parents offer enough answers, the linchpin is whether the parents themselves ask questions. 

Curiosity improves my marriage. If I believe I already know what John is doing and why, the conversation is over. He is guilty without so much as an opening statement. But if I can perch my feet between the worlds of Known and Unknown, John has a chance to get a word in edgewise. 

If only I can be as curious as a three year old.