Curiosity as the Destination
That awkward moment when everyone expects to hear about your master plan but you've decided not to have one.
"So, what are you going to do with the degree?"
This question follows me to every dinner party I've attended since I left my 25-year corporate career to pursue graduate studies in psychology. The ink had barely dried on my application when the interrogations began. Sometimes asked with genuine interest, a curious head-tilt and warm smile. Other times delivered with the barely concealed concern of someone watching a car accident in slow motion, wondering if they should call for help or just keep driving.
I've noticed an interesting pattern in these conversations. People seem genuinely puzzled when I explain that I don't have my next career move mapped out. That after two decades of strategic planning and career laddering, I've chosen to follow something as unstructured as intellectual curiosity without a predetermined ROI.
But consider this: History's most innovative breakthroughs rarely began with practical applications in mind. They started with someone simply following what fascinated them.
Steve Jobs didn't take calligraphy classes because he had a master plan to revolutionize digital typography. He took them because he found the art form beautiful and fascinating. “I learned about serif and sans-serif typefaces, about varying the space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can’t capture, and I found it fascinating,” he later recalled. This impractical artistic pursuit became a cornerstone of Apple's revolutionary design philosophy and changed typography forever.
Lin-Manuel Miranda's obsession with hip-hop was completely separate from his love of history and musical theater. When he picked up Ron Chernow's biography of Alexander Hamilton on vacation, a book he read purely out of personal interest, he certainly wasn't planning to create a revolutionary Broadway musical. Yet the unexpected collision between these seemingly unrelated passions produced "Hamilton," transforming both theater and how we engage with history.
There's a unique kind of freedom in following your interests without knowing the destination. The path unfolds organically. It allows for serendipity. It can reveal unexpected connections that were impossible to predict at the starting point.
The next time someone shares their excitement about learning something new, try asking what draws them to it. What fascinates them about it. What joy it brings them.
As for me, I'm studying psychology because I'm captivated by why we do the things we do and why we stay in patterns that don't serve us. I’m fascinated by how our earliest experiences shape our little brains. I’m intrigued by our infinite ability to change that wiring, and change how we think. And that curiosity is guiding me toward something meaningful, even if I can't yet name what that will be.
Following curiosity, joy, and passion isn't just a legitimate path – it might be the most important path. After all, you never know which seemingly unrelated interests might collide in your mind to create something extraordinary.
