The art of asking thought-provoking questions is a true gift. In the United States, our depth of inquiry often ends with a simple “How are you?” This casual greeting usually receives a polite, expected reply: “Good,” “Fine,” or “Living the dream.” But if we pause and reflect, we realize that it is not as benign a question as our response would dictate. What are we really asking? And are we truly prepared to listen?

Most of the time, we aren’t. In that moment, when someone unexpectedly answers that question with vulnerability and detail, we’re left scrambling to respond or escape the conversation. We may not have the time, the energy, or the emotional bandwidth. But perhaps the real issue is that we’ve never been taught how to stay curious.

A friend visiting from Malaysia was deeply offended when someone asked her, “How are you?”—then walked away before hearing the answer. She later told me, “That’s such an important question, and the person just walked off. They didn’t care how I really was.” To her, the question carried emotional weight, and the person was not curious enough to stop and listen. In the United States, our culture asks deep-level questions and often lets them float by without substance. Our brains are wired to categorize quickly, assigning gender, age, political affiliation, education level, religion, and more—all in under ten seconds. Once we’ve boxed someone in, we believe we already know what they’ll say—and whether they’re worth listening to. Sometimes, we even decide they aren’t worth our time at all.

Just last week, a dear friend sat me down and asked if he could have an honest conversation. He shared his frustration with how I had spoken over him multiple times, and he could not clarify his viewpoint. He mustered the courage to say that my interruptions were cutting off his thoughts and silencing his voice. I wasn’t curious about what he had to say; I was anticipating the next words he would say. My assumptions drowned out his insight, and my behavior signaled that my thoughts mattered more than his perspective. In that moment, I realized I was violating the very thing I value: connection rooted in curiosity.

Curiosity challenges biased assumptions. It is a quiet rebellion against the abandonment of people. It asks us to pause, to question, and, most importantly, to stay and truly listen. In a world where attention spans are shrinking, and we want to jump into finishing the conversation, we have to pause, because most of us listen just long enough to form a response. But curiosity invites us to listen to understand, not to reply.

Curiosity isn’t just a communication tool; it’s a pathway to reconciliation. In a polarized world where differences often divide us, curiosity invites us to sit with discomfort, to suspend judgment, and to lean into the complexity of another person’s story, their perspective. Curiosity says, “I don’t have to agree with you to care about you.” When we make space for honest dialogue and resist the urge to categorize or cancel, we begin the slow, sacred work of healing. Curiosity opens doors that assumptions slam shut, and through those doors, reconciliation can begin.