Today I Choose to be Curious – How to be Curious

August 21, 2025

One of my biggest “curiosity tests” came when I was first building Enlightenzz. At 61, diving into WordPress, plugins, SEO, and social media strategy felt like stepping into an alien world.

My instinct was to get frustrated—slam the laptop shut when something didn’t work, mutter about “why can’t this just be simple,” and wish someone else would just do it for me.

But I was trying to be curious about how it all worked—how to connect plugins, set up analytics, format content for social platforms. I wanted to not just follow instructions but really understand how the pieces fit together.

When Curiosity Meets Humiliation

Curiosity is hard when you feel stupid.

Every error message made my stomach tighten, my jaw clench. I could feel heat rise up my face, like I was too old or too far behind to keep up. The screen would flash “Fatal error” and I’d think, “Yes, fatal to my dignity.”

Curiosity wanted me to lean in, but shame wanted me to back away.

My shoulders would hunch over the keyboard until they ached. My eyes burned from late-night Googling. I’d find myself holding my breath, as if not breathing would somehow make the code cooperate.

The Gritty Side of Curious

We’re told curiosity is natural, easy, even fun. Watch any commercial about learning and it’s all smiling people having “aha!” moments with soft lighting and triumphant music.

But real curiosity often begins in frustration. It’s choosing to stay open when you’d rather shut down.

That night trying to connect Google Analytics to WordPress, I wanted to throw my laptop out the window. Every tutorial assumed knowledge I didn’t have. Every “simple” instruction had seventeen substeps no one mentioned.

Curiosity that night looked like:

Reading the same instruction six times
Having 47 browser tabs open
Taking screenshots of everything in case I broke it
Googling “what is an API” at midnight
Watching a YouTube video by a 12-year-old who understood it better than me
→ Today I Choose to be Mobile
→ When Your Spouse Almost Dies: Finding Strength You Didn’t Know You Had

The Physical Reality of Learning at 61

Nobody talks about how curiosity feels in an aging body:

Eye strain from squinting at code that might as well be hieroglyphics
Neck pain from leaning into the screen like proximity would create understanding
Hand cramps from gripping the mouse too tight in frustration
That specific headache that comes from trying to understand something just beyond your grasp
The full-body exhale when something finally, finally clicks
→ Today I Choose to be Mobile
→ When Your Spouse Almost Dies: Finding Strength You Didn’t Know You Had

Then came the moment—always unexpected—when something worked. The sudden rush of “Oh, so THAT’S how it works!” The release in my shoulders. The way my breathing suddenly deepened. Even my vision seemed to sharpen, like understanding had literally cleared my sight.

Curiosity vs. Competence

I realized I’d been confusing curiosity with competence. I thought being curious meant being good at learning, picking things up quickly, getting it right the first time.

But real curiosity is messier:

It’s being willing to be bad at something
It’s asking questions that reveal your ignorance
It’s trying the same thing fifteen ways until one works
It’s admitting you don’t understand even the basics
It’s starting over when you realize you’ve been doing it wrong
→ Today I Choose to be Mobile
→ When Your Spouse Almost Dies: Finding Strength You Didn’t Know You Had

The Moment After “I Can’t”

What I learned is that curiosity isn’t about being lighthearted and childlike all the time. Sometimes it’s gritty. It’s choosing to ask “why isn’t this working?” instead of slamming the door.

The moment right after “I can’t do this” is exactly when the breakthrough happens.

Last week, I was trying to set up email automation. I’d been at it for three hours, ready to give up. I actually said out loud to the empty room, “I cannot do this.” Then, because I had nothing left to lose, I tried one more thing. It worked.

The curiosity that mattered wasn’t the bright, eager kind. It was the stubborn, almost spiteful curiosity that said, “I’ve come this far, might as well see what happens if I click this.”

Curiosity as Rebellion

At my age, choosing curiosity is almost rebellious. The world expects us to have our expertise established, our learning years behind us. But here I am, learning TikTok algorithms and studying CSS like a freshman.

There’s something punk rock about being curious at 61. It’s saying to the world, “You think I’m done learning? Watch this.”

The Unexpected Gifts of Technical Curiosity

Building Enlightenzz taught me that curiosity creates unexpected connections:

Understanding how websites work helped me understand how systems think, which helped me restructure financial processes at work.

Learning social media strategy taught me about human psychology and attention, which improved my presentations.

Figuring out SEO showed me how to make any information more findable, which revolutionized how I organize data.

Wrestling with plugins taught me patience with myself, which softened my approach to other challenges.

Curious Doesn’t Mean Comfortable

I used to think curiosity should feel good. Now I know it often feels uncomfortable:

The discomfort of not knowing
The vulnerability of asking for help
The frustration of slow progress
The humility of being a beginner
The exhaustion of sustained attention
→ Today I Choose to be Mobile
→ When Your Spouse Almost Dies: Finding Strength You Didn’t Know You Had

But sitting in that discomfort long enough for an answer to reveal itself—that’s where transformation lives.

Creating Space for Curiosity

Now when I need to learn something new, I prepare for the full experience:

I schedule frustration time. Literally. “Tuesday, 2-4 PM: Be terrible at new thing.”

I take movement breaks. When my brain feels scrambled, I walk around, letting my body process what my mind can’t.

I document small wins. Successfully uploaded an image? Write it down. Finally understood what a widget is? Celebrate.

I find the youngest teacher possible. They explain things without the assumption of prior knowledge.

I remember that confusion is part of the process, not evidence of failure.

The Compound Effect of Curiosity

Each thing I figure out makes the next thing slightly easier. Not because the skills transfer directly, but because I’m building curiosity muscles. I’m getting better at being bad at things.

WordPress led to Mailchimp. Mailchimp led to Canva. Canva led to understanding design principles. Design principles led to seeing patterns everywhere. Now I’m curious about things I didn’t even know existed a year ago.

When Curiosity Feels Too Hard

Some days, curiosity feels impossible. The brain is too foggy, the energy too low, the frustration too high. On those days, I practice micro-curiosity:

Why does my coffee taste different today?
What makes that bird song different from yesterday’s?
How does my neighbor keep their lawn so green?
What would happen if I took a different route to the store?
→ Today I Choose to be Mobile
→ When Your Spouse Almost Dies: Finding Strength You Didn’t Know You Had

Small curiosities keep the channel open for when bigger curiosity returns.

The Transformation in the Struggle

That struggle with Enlightenzz technology transformed more than my technical skills. It transformed my relationship with not knowing. At 61, I finally learned that curiosity isn’t about maintaining childlike wonder—sometimes it’s about choosing to stay engaged when everything in you wants to quit.

And that’s when it becomes transformative—when it takes you someplace bigger than where you started.

Now when I face something I don’t understand, I remember those late nights with WordPress, fighting with plugins, cursing at code. I remember the heat in my face, the tension in my shoulders, and then—that magical moment when understanding dawned.

Curiosity at this age isn’t cute. It’s courageous. And it’s worth every moment of frustration for the expansion it brings.