The way I participate in conversations keeps changing. For quite some time now, I’ve found myself sitting quietly, observing, and listening. I pay attention to the discussions, watch others, try to immerse myself in their stories, and learn from them. And in this silence, one thing has become strikingly clear:
There are almost no questions.
Amid all the stories, declarations, monologues, statements, teachings, clashing opinions, and debates, we rarely ask one another questions.
But why don’t we ask?
There was a long period in my life when I barely asked questions, except in work-related meetings. Somehow, it didn’t come naturally, or I just didn’t think of it. Maybe, like most things, this traces back to my upbringing. And perhaps I raised my own children the same way…
Why ask questions when, as a child, I was silenced for asking too many? And when my sons couldn’t stop asking questions, I likely cut them off the same way. I don’t need to look far for another example: my wife, Kata, is incredibly curious and asks about everything. Sometimes I find it hard to answer all her questions.
“Don’t ask—I’ll tell you.”
During my teaching practice, I worked with students in elementary school, middle school, and high school. The younger kids were bursting with curiosity, asking about everything. “Teacher! Teacher! What’s this? How does that work?” I couldn’t imagine how their teachers managed this all day long.
By middle school, however, they’d grown quieter. A good student, right? One who doesn’t ask too much and doesn’t disrupt the lesson. And by high school, they wouldn’t ask questions even when I specifically encouraged them to. Maybe it’s easier, simpler, and more manageable when kids don’t ask, but just answer—and, of course, give the answer we expect.
And then there’s what we see around us—on TV, on the internet. Influencers, celebrities, politicians, successful people, thought leaders—what do they do? They tell us what’s what: what to eat, what to buy, what to do, how to feel, which car is best. In modern society, our interactions seem built on parallel monologues rather than genuine questioning. Perhaps we’ve become conditioned to emphasize our own views instead of seeking out others’.
Are We Afraid to Ask?
Maybe. Maybe we’re scared of what questions might open up. Scared of rejection or criticism? There have been times when I didn’t ask because I feared a negative reaction. What if my question seemed stupid? (“Oh, come on, don’t ask such silly things!”) What if the other person ignored or dismissed me? And if they didn’t answer, did that mean I wasn’t worthy of a response?
Or does it seem smarter, stronger, to declare rather than ask? The one who teaches is the master. And the master stands on the stage, at the lectern, above us. And we want to be up there too. So, no questions.
Is the One Who Asks Questions Foolish?
Maybe we’re just getting dumber? Is it the fault of smartphones and social media? The internet has made quick exchanges of information the norm. We’ve grown used to brief, concise communication, which doesn’t encourage deeper conversations or probing questions.
But I’m not convinced by that explanation. Chatting is easier than handwriting letters, so shouldn’t we be asking more questions—of anyone, anywhere? Perhaps it’s more about the fact that online communication has made us less willing or able to truly connect. We’re surrounded by so much noise, so many demands for our attention. Sometimes, online conversations feel like being swarmed by mosquitoes after a rainstorm.
“Aaah, leave me alone!”
So, is that it? Is it that we just don’t want to connect? And what do questions have to do with connection?
If I go back to an example from earlier, when someone asked me why I didn’t ask questions, I simply shifted the responsibility onto them: “You’ll tell me whatever you want to share.” That’s what I do, right? 😊 Dear God, that’s terrible.
Questions as Connection
Maybe we can agree that asking a question is an expression of curiosity and, perhaps, empathy. Curiosity—the ability to wonder and to be open—is essential if we want to connect with others. When I ask questions, I show genuine interest in the other person. Questions also add depth to conversations. A well-framed question can take us beyond surface-level chatter and into more meaningful discussions. They help us understand the other person’s perspective, emotions, and motivations.
Do we ask questions of ourselves?
Maybe it’s worth going back to basics and removing others from the equation. After all, who hasn’t had a conversation with themselves? Sure, it sounds strange. I remember reading something by Andrew Feldmár where he explored the idea. How can we have a conversation with ourselves? Aren’t we just one person?
This has become a fresh experience for me. Lately, I’ve been talking to myself a lot. After selling my company, life threw some big questions my way. At first, I did everything I could to shove them back into the corner they came from. But those questions were relentless.
“Am I in the right place? Should I leave my wife? What kind of person does that? What kind of father am I? Am I going to lose everything I’ve achieved?”
I didn’t want to ask those questions!
But I didn’t need to want it—they forced their way out. The more I resisted, the harder they hit. Once they were out, I had to find answers that felt acceptable to me. But that inner voice, the one asking the questions, kept circling back, demanding I face them.
I wasn’t afraid of the answers; I already knew them. I was afraid of the actions those answers demanded. Of their consequences.
No wonder we avoid asking certain questions of ourselves. But those unasked questions can tear us apart from the inside. It’s not a matter of if they’ll surface—only when and how.
And when they do, how uncomfortable will the answers be? “Step out of your comfort zone!” Sure. But what if it hurts? If the question hurts, the answer will too.
Do We Want to Conquer or Discover?
Asking questions is dangerous. Dangerous because it can reveal things we don’t know. Do we want to explore parts of ourselves we’ve hidden or avoided? Do we want to understand someone else when they say something we don’t get? Or do we just want to colonize their world, painting it in colors we like so that their world becomes more like ours?
If we make their world like ours, then we’re the same. And if we’re the same, we feel less alone.
But no, we’re not alone. Even if our world is different from everyone else’s. That just makes us unique.
Special.
The article was originally published on the vendler.hu blog.
