I almost didn’t do this session. Not because I didn’t care about the topic, but because I’ve never really seen myself as someone who stands up and delivers a polished message. I don’t have a neat framework I roll out or a signature keynote. What I do have, though, is a way of moving through the world that’s been consistent for as long as I can remember. When I sat with that for a while, it became obvious that the thread running through everything is curiosity.
Watch the whole recording here.
I grew up in a small fishing village, and I think that environment shaped me more than I realised at the time. There was always something to explore, something to test, something slightly risky that made you feel alive. Whether it was climbing too high, jumping too far, or just pulling something apart to see how it worked, I was always more interested in going deeper than skimming the surface. That instinct never really left. It just evolved.
At some point along the way, though, we’re all told a version of the same story. Curiosity is dangerous. It gets you into trouble. It’s the thing that “killed the cat”. I went down a rabbit hole on that phrase and found out it wasn’t even the original version. It used to be “care killed the cat”, which is a very different message. Somewhere along the line, curiosity got framed as the problem, not the pathway. I don’t buy that. I think curiosity is the reason you get a full life in the first place.
When I look back, the best things that have happened to me didn’t come from certainty. They came from leaning into something I didn’t fully understand yet. That might have been technology, community work, sport, or even relationships. There’s a pattern there. If I follow my curiosity, I end up somewhere useful. If I ignore it, I feel flat pretty quickly.
One of the challenges, though, is that curiosity doesn’t always feel comfortable. It often puts you in positions where you don’t have the answer. You might look silly. You might ask the question everyone else is too proud to ask. I’ve done that more times than I can count. What’s interesting is that afterwards, people nearly always come up and say, “I was thinking the same thing.” That tells me the barrier isn’t a lack of curiosity. It’s ego. It’s the fear of judgment. And that’s a shame, because the moment you push through that, the learning curve opens up for everyone in the room.
I’ve also noticed that curiosity changes the quality of your relationships. When you genuinely want to understand someone, not just at a surface level, it builds depth. It creates trust. It also creates the occasional awkward moment, because not everyone wants to go there. But overall, it leads to more meaningful connections, and that’s something I value more as I get older.
A recent example that stands out for me was stepping into a setting where I had to sit in a room with a group of men and really open up. It wasn’t something I’d done before. It was uncomfortable at times. There were moments when I questioned why I’d put myself there. But the outcome was significant. It shifted how I think, how I communicate, and how I show up for the people around me. That only happened because I followed a curiosity that said, “There might be something here.”
Curiosity also shows up in smaller, everyday ways. I’ve always been involved in sport, particularly tennis, and I still love it. Not just the game itself, but the challenge of improving, the relationships you build, and the constant feedback loop. You’re always adjusting, always learning. It keeps your mind active. It keeps you honest. It’s a simple example, but it reinforces the idea that growth comes from engagement, not just outcomes.
That’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, especially with how the world is changing. We’re living in a time where instant gratification is everywhere. You can get a hit of satisfaction in seconds, whether it’s through social media, content, or anything else designed to keep you engaged. The problem is that it shifts your focus away from the journey and onto the outcome. You start chasing the hit instead of the process.
From what I’ve explored, there’s a real physiological element to this. We get rewarded not just when we achieve something, but when we anticipate it. That’s powerful, but it can also work against us if we’re not careful. If everything becomes about quick wins, we lose the deeper satisfaction that comes from effort, struggle, and shared experience. I worry about that, particularly for the next generation.
For me, curiosity is an antidote to that. It pulls you back into the process. It encourages you to ask better questions, to explore things properly, to stay engaged for longer. It’s not always the easiest path, but it’s the one that leads to something more meaningful.
Over time, I’ve realised that curiosity has also shaped what I care about most. When I was introduced to the concept of Ikigai, it felt like someone had articulated something I’d been building without realising it. The idea of aligning what you love, what you’re good at, what the world needs, and what you can be paid for made a lot of sense. When I looked at my own life through that lens, I could see how curiosity had guided me towards that intersection.
It’s influenced my work in technology, my involvement in the community, and even the way I think about the future. I spend a lot of time exploring what’s coming, whether that’s AI, automation, or broader social shifts. Not because I have all the answers, but because I want to be prepared. I want to understand how to adapt, how to contribute, and how to create something useful in that environment.
It’s also influencing some bigger decisions I’m considering. Things like stepping away from parts of my current business to focus on new opportunities that align more closely with what I care about. That’s not a fully formed plan yet, but it’s driven by the same instinct. Follow the curiosity, see where it leads.
What I’ve learned through all of this is that curiosity isn’t just about asking questions. It’s about how you live. It’s about being willing to explore, to challenge yourself, to step into discomfort, and to keep learning even when it would be easier to stay where you are. It builds resilience. It creates opportunities. And, if you let it, it helps you design a life that actually feels like your own.
I’m still figuring plenty of things out. I don’t think that ever stops. But I do know that when I lean into curiosity, things tend to move in the right direction. And when I don’t, I feel it pretty quickly.
If this struck a chord, lean into something you’ve been putting off. Ask the question. Follow the thread. Or grab a coffee with me, and we’ll go down a rabbit hole together.