I was thinking about hobbies recently, and realised that I’ve been collecting questions my whole life.

Not answers. Questions.

Weird questions. Beautiful questions. Terrible questions. Meta questions.

I just never thought of it as a hobby - until now. It was just something I do, for the sake of it.

It started before I was a teenager. I collected ‘words on marble’; words, sentences and aphorisms that resonated with me. I had a series of commonplace notebooks with thousands of those sentences. Still saw one of those the last time I checked the room I grew up in.

Now, I just find questions everywhere. Every answer creates a question. Every solution births a new question. Every question becomes another question.

At some point, I was not interested in the answers. Just the questions. Sitting with them. Dancing with the possibilities they hold. And letting them go when they’ve done their job.

Questions matter. Oh, I love questions.

[Another hobby is tinkering with water - how it is served, what it contains and why. I don’t understand where this is going yet; it’s a post for another day.]

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