I know it’s been a while since I’ve written for the blog. A few other writing projects have been in the works. If they pan out, I’ll be sure to share with you. For now, hope you enjoy this topic, which has been on my mind for the better part of a year.

“I’m just curious…”

How many times have you heard someone start a question with these three words, knowing full well that what they’re about to say has nothing to do with curiosity? What follows is less a question and more a veiled opinion or a challenge disguised as innocent inquiry.

“I’m just curious… why would you choose to do it that way?” The judgment and I-know-better undertone are palpable.

This type of faux-curiosity is everywhere these days. And ironically, it evinces the opposite of what curiosity requires: humility.

Today, curiosity is the star feature of business articles and personal development blogs. It’s praised as a driver of innovation, a secret to success, even a cornerstone of good leadership. And it’s all true. In fact, curiosity is a core value I myself try to live by. Curiosity has opened my eyes to diverse perspectives. It’s exposed me to new connections and learnings. It’s made my world bigger and more interesting. And it’s helped me to grow as a person.

But humility is a prerequisite to curiosity, and it’s usually mentioned as an afterthought, if at all. Real curiosity — the kind that’s generative, connective, transformative and does all the things it promises to do — is impossible without humility.

Absent humility, curiosity is performative. It ceases to be about learning and becomes all about showing: showing what we already know, showing how sharp our questions are, showing how right we are. (I’ll admit, I’m guilty of this sometimes!) That’s how you get panel discussions where panelists talk past each other, or a workplace where team leads never really come together because each thinks they know best, or “thought leadership” that amounts to confident speculation (how many “AI experts” can you count since the launch of ChatGPT?).

This is partly the result of living in a culture where humility isn’t rewarded. Most of us have experienced a work setting where incompetent leaders are elevated, volume trumps substance, and that one loud and over-confident person gets recognition, deference, and promotions. And practicing humility can be hard. It feels like a risk — to our ego, our reputation, even our self-confidence. We’re wired to want to be right. To wit: studies show that people routinely overestimate their knowledge or abilities, like the (in)famous stat that about 30% of adults (interestingly, 50% when considering only men) believe they could safely land an airliner in an emergency. So in environments that prize decisiveness, action, and expertise, admitting “I don’t know” can feel like shooting yourself in the foot.

For all these reasons and more, humility doesn’t get much airplay. It isn’t loud. It isn’t sexy. But humility is what allows us to say, “Maybe I don’t know enough yet and would like to learn more.” It’s what creates room for listening and for the possibility of change.

Practicing humility doesn’t necessarily mean selling yourself short, though. It’s the courage to ask the so-called “dumb” question that everyone else in the room is too afraid to ask. It’s letting go of the need to be the smartest person in the room and empowering others to contribute. It’s recognizing that your perspectives are incomplete and inviting someone else’s to help deepen your understanding. It’s being willing to say, “I was wrong, and I’d like to learn from you.” Admittedly, it’s not always easy. And women in particular face a double bind: appear confident, or be dismissed; admit uncertainty, and risk being overlooked.

Nevertheless, it’s the humble ones we ought to be celebrating and emulating. And they’re out there — exemplars like Warren Buffet, Mary Barra, and Nelson Mandela. So if we want to be truly curious, we also have to practice humility. We have to be willing to admit we don’t know everything. To learn from people we might have underestimated. To be open to changing our minds.

Curiosity without humility is ego with a question mark at the end. And maybe that’s the question worth asking ourselves next time we say, “I’m just curious…”

Are we?

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